Death & Taxes.

I've often heard that there are only two certainties in life. Death and Taxes.

And yet with all this certainty, I've spent a huge amount of time thinking about and planning for one, and completely ignoring the other.

I've spoken with accountants and advisors, friends and family, casual acquaintances and even complete strangers about the ins and outs of various tax schemes.

Income tax, capital gains tax, corporation tax, inheritance tax. I've sought to understand them all, as if somehow by being 'tax efficient', I can meaningfully improve my life.

And even though one of these taxes - inheritance tax, is inextricably tied to death, I've never really thought or talked much about death at all.

Why don't we talk more about death in our society when it affects us all?

Every single one of us will grieve the loss of a loved one. Every single one of us will come to terms with our own mortality. Every single one of us will at some point look back and wonder, was mine a life well lived?

My first memory of death came when I was a child. My grandmother had passed away in Singapore following a stroke and short illness. I remember it being quite exciting at the time. I was quickly pulled out of school, much to the envy of my friends, plonked on a plane, and whisked off to sunny Singapore. When I got there I hung out mostly with my cousin, who had also been suddenly transported there from Canada.

My memories of that time are scattered. I remember the smell of the room at the wake. I remember my cousin fainting in the driveway after the funeral. I remember my grandfather sitting in his armchair in silence, tears streaming down his cheeks. I remember my mum and her sisters, running around keeping busy, cleaning the house, trying to put things right.

And then suddenly the trip was over. I was back in school. Back to life. I can't remember a single conversation with my mum at that time.

As the years went by, my other grand-parents slipped away one-by-one. Some funerals I went to. Others I did not.

I was never close to any of my grand-parents. They seemed from another time. Only one of them spoke English. My remaining happy memory of him was when he would drive my cousins and I to get ice cream when we would visit Singapore. He would cackle and drive like a maniac. Never slowing down for speed bumps, which would make us all scream with delight as the car would launch into the air, our heads bumping against the car roof. That was until his eyesight gave out and he wasn't allowed to drive anymore.

Not once did I really consider what death meant. What it was. How my parents really felt when faced with the death of their own parents, and most probably with their own impending mortality.

Recently my aunt and uncle both passed away. It was cancer that got them both, within a few years of each other. My aunt went first. A sudden illness and diagnosis followed by her passing within a week. My uncle survived her by a few years, suffering his own cancer, fighting through rounds of chemo and pain for the sake of his own children and grandchildren until finally one day he said 'no more'. He was ready. He passed away last night as I write this.

This aunt and uncle were such a formative foundation of my life. Even though I had not seen them for many years, they were a prominent part of my childhood, and my happiest childhood memories were always at their house in Nova Scotia. Memories filled with freedom, love, sunshine and lots of snow. And with their passing, it feels like another cycle of life has been completed.

I'm in my mid-forties now. Probably about the same age that my mum was that first time I was whisked off to Singapore to face death. Maybe now I'm experiencing something close to what she experienced back then.

A kind of reckoning. An understanding that this won't last forever. An understanding that the most important things in life aren't things. That it is relationships and the experience of life that matters. That it is death itself that brings the meaning of life rushing into the front room of our consciousness.

Being part of this community at Open House has meant that we've been able to share so many parts of life with you. We've celebrated countless birthdays and gatherings. Family get-togethers and friends reunions. Last year we held our first christening, a celebration of life just beginning. Later this year we will hold our first wedding. A celebration of a new life together. And we recently held our first wake. Which was a beautiful celebration of life and its memories. It really feels like we've been part of the cycle of life here.

Speaking with my cousins late last night, we reminisced over this latest cycle of life. We shared sadness. We shared tears. And then we shared happy memories. Laughter. Joy. Echoes of a life well lived. Filled with freedom and love, sunshine and snow. We didn't mention taxes at all.

André