In passing

I am so allergic to euphemisms that I am prone to stop reading (or visibly cringe) when a writer (or speaker) describes a dead person as having ‘passed’ — not to be confused with being ‘past’, the state of no longer being in the present. I grew up in a world of euphemisms, of aversion to calling a spade a spade, although nowadays one probably needs a euphemism for a ‘spade’. For long into adolescence I thought ‘numbers’ was a euphemism for faeces because when I was told to “go and do my numbers” no-one explained there were two things involved: number 1 and number 2. (Hypocrisy warning: Using the medical term ‘faeces’ as an alternative to ‘turds’ might be seen as a kind of euphemism). Genteel visitors to the family home would say they needed to ‘spend’ a penny, ‘powder their noses’, or ‘visit the smallest room’ when even ‘doing their numbers’ sounded too explicit. (Of course, we youngsters still knew the words ‘piss’ and ‘shit’ even though speaking them was taboo.) So, I am happy to pass the salt, to pass when asked a tricky question, to strive to pass muster, to pass the time of day, perhaps even to pass water, and not to pass by on the other side. But please, when my time is up, no-one say that I have passed. If you do, I will come back to haunt you! Just grant me the dignity of simply having died.