Death Cafe
Last night I attended my first Death Cafe. At a Death Cafe people come together to eat cake, drink tea, and discuss death. It’s always been a subject I’m intrigued by and one that most folks don’t like to chat about, so I was excited to register when a local library posted a meeting.
A Death Cafe aims "to increase awareness of death with a view to helping people make the most of their (finite) lives'. A Death Cafe is a group-directed discussion of death with no agenda, objectives, or themes. It is a discussion group rather than a grief support or counseling session.” https://deathcafe.com/
Jon Underwood developed the Death Cafe model. The first Death Cafe occurred in the UK at the Underwood house in Hackney, East London in September 2011. Since then, Death Cafes have become more popular. They are now offered in 93 countries across Europe, North America and Australasia.
I was strangely nervous driving to the library. I wondered if I should bring cake, if I was dressed appropriately, and if I should have prepared questions. I stopped at the grocery store and grabbed some Italian cookies, figuring I would take them home if food wasn’t allowed in the space. I arrived early and sat in the car for a few minutes watching people enter the library, wondering if they were there for the Death Cafe or just book shopping. After a bit, I entered the front door and followed signs to the basement conference room.
I don’t know why I felt so nervous.
Four tables were arranged in a large square around the room, dotted with a few people sitting spaciously apart. “Hi,” I said to the woman in black sitting in the center. I walked past her, put my coat on a chair, and placed my bag on the floor. The woman smiled at me right as I spied a beautiful cake topped with candied fruit on a table behind me, coffee urns and mugs surrounding it. I walked over, placed my grocery store cookies on the table, and sat down. The room was eerily quiet.
Ten minutes later, at kickoff time, we had almost twenty people around the table, mostly older women. The facilitator, Jessica, was the only person with empty chairs to her left and right. She explained that she was an End-of-Life Doula and an Ordained Interfaith Minister. She was a ball of energy, commanding smiles and chuckling through her comments. I immediately felt at ease.
An End-of-Life Doula (or “Death Doula”) provides support for someone nearing death. Helping individuals through life’s most unknown transition, a Death Doula will be there for emotional, physical, and educational support. They are not medical professionals, but folks who help people with end-of-life planning and offer comfort and respite for the dying person and the rest of their household.
To start us off, Jessica pulled a card from a deck called a “Death Deck”. Apparently, this is a game that can be played with friends and family (new to me) and includes cards that ask leading questions about death. Its website calls it a “lively party game to share stories and beliefs about death.” https://thedeathdeck.com/ (Lively, interesting choice of words.) The card Jessica drew read, “if you had the chance to scatter your remains in space, would you and why”?
“Does anyone have any thoughts on this they’d like to share?” She said,
People raised their hands, talking about how cool it would be to float around space for eternity, or how they didn’t care what happened to their ashes because they’d be dead. One woman raised her hand and said, “I don’t want to go to space. I want to be planted and grow into a tree.” She laughed a bit, then said, “My family thinks that’s strange, but that’s what I want to do.”
Jessica said, “Well I hate to tell you this, but that’s not really how it works. If they bury your ashes in the ground, your remains would kill everything surrounding it. The pH and salt content of a cremation is just too high; it’s pretty toxic.”
“Oh, what a bummer,” said the woman.
“But there are other ways around that,” Jessica continued. “For one, you could request a bio-urn. These are biodegradable and will naturally break down over time once they are planted. Another thing to explore is body composting. Body composting is when your entire body is submerged into a vessel with organic carbon sources which will expedite the breakdown of your remains. Once the process is complete, which can take a few months, you are left with nutrient-rich soil which can then be used in a garden or to plant a tree. This isn’t legal in all states, but a number of them do offer it. So, if this is something you’re interested in, I highly recommend you talk to your loved ones about your wishes and research the companies that will help you facilitate them.” The woman was jotting all of this information down in her notebook and smiled up at Jessica as she finished. “Thanks so much,” she said, “this is great. I’m definitely going to look into this.” I tried to figure out how old the woman was. Is she close to my age? Is she really going to look into this now? Should I literally be looking into these things now?
“What about the rest of the group?” Jessica looked around. “Have any of you thought about what you’d like to be done to your body after death?”
I remembered my mother’s wake, how utterly different she looked in the casket - bloated and embalmed, grey skin, her mouth stitched shut. It wasn’t Mom. I thought back to her burial, my family standing there around a hole in the ground on a bitterly cold January day, fresh from the tears of the funeral at Mom’s favorite church. That night I had cried to my husband because it was below zero outside and all I could think of was my mother’s body lying in the freezing, solid, dirt.
“But she’s not really there,” he had said. “You know that, right?”
I knew that. Of course I did. I believed Mom’s soul was already in Heaven, relaxing with the angels and hanging with Jesus and watching over us. I saw her dancing, laughing, talking (something she couldn’t do for the last 3 years of her life) and finally free. But the image of her colorless body lying in the box Dad had chosen at the funeral parlor six feet under the ground and 1.6 miles from my cozy, warm home rattled me.
I want to be cremated.
I wasn’t sure before, but after my mother died, I knew, and I haven’t wavered since. I don’t particularly care where my ashes go as I won’t be around, but I would like them to be scattered somewhere in nature and not divided into packs to hand out to family members. At first, my idea was to have my ashes spread in Acadia National Park, one of my favorite places in the world. But the more I thought about it, the less sense that made. Why make my children arrange a trip to Bar Harbor when they can just spread me closer to home and have the wind carry me up there?
I don’t want a headstone of any kind. My mom’s headstone still has room on it for my Dad, which I feel is so creepy. When I lived in Boston, close to the cemetery, I would visit it often to give her flowers or Reese’s Peanut Butter cups (her favorite). But now that I live in New Hampshire, I rarely get down. I didn’t put a wreath on her grave this Christmas and feel tremendously guilty for that. Does Mom care that she doesn’t have a wilting bunch of evergreens on her headstone? I’ll get there before Mother’s Day.
Most people at the Death Cafe said they wanted to be cremated. Most people said they didn’t care what happened to their remains. To my surprise, Jessica told us that cremation is the most popular choice for final disposition in the United States. I was surprised to hear this, especially after being raised Catholic where that wasn’t universally accepted. Jessica went on to tell us that there are lots of factors in support of cremation. For one, it’s much cheaper than a traditional funeral. Secondly, with travel being so expensive, people are opting to take remains to a universal location for a memorial service so it’s not as costly for extended family members to get to a specific funeral home. Lastly, she explained that the Catholic church has significantly relaxed its stance on cremation. Who knew?
The meeting rolled on, with participants raising hands and offering personal stories about death and dying. Two women had experienced a violent death in front of their eyes and talked about how that jolted them into realizing death is inevitable and we need to embrace it so we can truly enjoy our days here on earth. One woman explained she was a “birth doula” and was at the Cafe to familiarize herself with the other side of the spectrum. An older lady explained that her husband had passed away before Christmas and was struggling with her mortality. There was a camaraderie in the room; it was a space of reflection, intention, and peace.
As we wrapped up, Jessica ended our time together with one final question, “would you want to know the date and method of your death? Why or why not?” She put the Death Deck back in its box. “I’ll start to my left,” she said, looking at a woman who was scraping icing from her plate. I was happy I was going to be last.
The first nine people said they would not want to know. Reasons like, “I try to live for the moment,” and “We’re not supposed to know so I wouldn’t want to mess with the natural order of things,” rang out. Then the question got to the only man in the meeting. He was there with his wife and laughed, “We talk about this often.” His wife, sitting to his left, giggled and nodded her head.
“It’s true,” she said, “we have this conversation a lot.”
“I would choose to know,” the man said. “Maybe not the way I’m going to die, but certainly the date. I mean, I’m working my ass off paying bills, saving for my children’s education, keeping a roof over our heads. If I’m going to be dead in a week I’d rather be on a beach somewhere drinking a margarita!” The room laughed.
“Good point,” someone said.
The man’s wife had the same opinion, but added, “I know we should be doing all the things we want to do NOW, but it’s hard when you’re raising kids and have responsibilities. I’d like to know if I should grab all the cash in my 401k now and just travel the world.”
They made a very good case. So good that the next six people agreed with them and said they would want to know their death date. No one wanted to know the cause of their demise. When the question came around to me, we were running over time and the head librarian was standing at the conference room door to lock up behind us. People were zipping their purses and wiggling into their winter coats that hung on the backs of their chairs.
I had been mulling over my answer but never landed on anything specific. I honestly saw a case for both responses. Jessica looked at me, shifting her lap ready to stand up. “Um,” I started, “I think I’m on team 401K.” I smiled over at the couple from before. I felt a little shafted; I had much more on my mind to speak about the subject. But, I ended abruptly to allow the young librarian at the door to lock up quickly and get home to her family. I was done. My first Death Cafe was over.
I was pensive as I drove home last night. I thought about my Mom. She was unable to communicate because of her disease (Primary Progressive Aphasia, a rare neurodegenerative disorder that affects language) but I wondered if she would have discussed what her final wishes were had she been able to speak. I’m sure she wouldn’t have been pleased with how her children saw her lying in the casket, or how I still can’t escape the memory of standing at her freezing cold cemetery plot. I thought about how death is all around us, but no one talks about it. It’s taboo, but it’s one thing that every human being on earth will experience at some point. I thought about how long I might have left. Should Tony and I cash in our 401ks and live in a Tiki Hut somewhere?
My biggest takeaway from the Death Cafe was that death is coming; it’s not something to fear because it’s a natural part of life. But, it is coming. So for now, all we can do is live. Live each day like it’s on its way!
“Even death is not to be feared by one who has lived wisely.”
– Buddha
