I went to a Death Cafe on the weekend.
The end 🙃
But seriously….
I’m one of those fortunate (or unfortunate) souls who has arrived at mid life with very little exposure to the death of close loved ones.
I wasn’t close to my grandparents – geographically or emotionally.
In my twenties, a dear high school friend passed from a rare form of cancer. It was sad, tragic, and shook that idea so many of us carry in our twenties, that we’re somehow invincible. She was on the cusp of graduating from medical school thousands of miles away. And we had grown apart by then. Park that in the category of things that should not happen and…sadly…move on.
I’ve been there for loved ones who have lost loved ones. My father-in-law passed away 15 years ago. My sister-in-law lost her mother more than 10 years before that.
I understand what it means to be there for others.
I have no sweet clue how to manage it for myself.
I am VERY close to my family. The people I love have weaseled their way deep deep deep into my soul…and frankly, I can’t imagine life without them.
Here’s my first problem. I’m still figuring out how to face the inevitable loss of others. Because clearly…I’m gonna live forever (doh).
Intellectually, of course I understand all of it. Death is part of life. I also believe it’s inherently human to avoid it at all costs. We’re survivors, after all.
Still…I want to improve my relationship with the grim reaper and so…when I saw the sign up at the yoga studio where I teach a couple classes a week, I was ALL IN.
You could say I was even excited about it. I thought: This will be great. I’ll learn some things from people who know better. I’ll add some tools to my death tool box. I’ll face some of my fears, gain perspective and come home with some kind of game plan, even a bad one.
Not the case. Not even close.
The Death Café movement was started by Jon Underwood in London, UK, in 2011.
He was inspired by the work of Swiss sociologist Bernard Crettaz, who had organized “café mortels” in Switzerland and France as a way to encourage conversations about death.
Jon Underwood hosted the first Death Café in his home. It was so well received that it sparked a global movement. Today, thousands of Death Cafés have been held in over 85 countries, all guided by a simple mission:
“To increase awareness of death with a view to helping people make the most of their (finite) lives.”
And conversation was all it was.
No teacher. No lessons. No top 5 ways to do death better.
Just people, and their thoughts and experiences with death.
If only I could have hit the eject button right then and there.
First question: What brought you here?
I was the ONLY one without direct experience. I felt like a teenager. A freshman amongst seniors. The novice among veterans. I think this shocked some of them. Others were trying to coach me by the end.
I shared. And I mostly listened. To Louise, about the death of her mom, the indignity of those final days in the hospital.
To Mary (our death doula) about the incredible, intimate last moments with her sister.
To yet another Mary, who fell asleep tucked in next to her mom in the hospital bed, only to wake after she was gone.
To the death of children and friends.
To the subject of grief, and how it begins long before the actual loss. (I hear that).
I witnessed what appeared to be a joy or relief in the sharing.
I heard there was beauty in death. That people tend to die the way they lived. That others were there to learn how to be more present in these sacred moments.
I felt a bit like I was standing on the other side of a door and staring in. My sharing wasn’t cathartic. It was anticipatory and vulnerable.
Their kindness showed up in their advice and on their faces.
I’m not sure why there were so many Marys in this group, but maybe it’s because no matter who you are, where you came from or how you showed up that day, you are no different than me, or her or them.
We have life and death in common.
And that makes us a community of people who walk each other home, whether we know it or not.
We arrive in the world on an inhale. And leave on an exhale.
And I’m not sure if I have any better idea of how to manage it, but I do know conversations about the hard things brought me closer to my own humanity and to the other humans walking this planet with me.
Why do we choose to talk about celebrities, politics and who won the football game last night… and avoid the really big meaningful things?
I think I’m going to change that. And for those people in my life who have lost, I want to hear your stories. From what I could see, it feels good to share and you help me learn.
Mary
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