Death and a Circle of Strangers: Hosting a Death Cafe
It's a rainy Sunday afternoon and a young couple arriving for the Death Cafe I'm hosting are shaking umbrellas and peeling off dripping jackets as they come through the door of the little church hall rented for the event. Pausing in the small foyer, they see a circle of chairs, slowly filling up, and smile nervously at the others in the room who seem just as unsure they are in the right place. The door opens again and a bright voice calls out from underneath a giant rain coat hood, "Hey, is this the death thing?" I laugh in response, "It sure is!" and wave them in.
Fresh coffee is brewing, and the comforting smell of dark roast calls people to the kitchen located just off to the side from where we set up. Watching people head toward it to grab a cup of coffee, I am relieved to hear them introduce themselves and strike up some general chit chat about the weather, as we often do with strangers. If they are willing to start with these light social interactions, there is a good chance this group will be willing to share even more and follow me on the unusual, and fascinating journey I am about to lead them on.
The modern Death Cafe structure was conceived by Jon Underwood and his mother Sue Barsky-Reid in the UK and was based on the original Cafe Mortel started by Bernard Crettaz in Switzerland. The objective of Death Café, as stated on their website, is 'to increase awareness of death with a view to helping people make the most of their (finite) lives'.
For many people, particularly in North America, death has become more of a medical circumstance, characterized as a foe to be avoided or fought against, rather than a natural and shared human experience. As such, finding others who are okay to talk about it, willing to listen to our fears and random thoughts, can be hard. Yet after attending my first Death Cafe in 2022, I realized that finding a community that will not only engage in, but encourage the conversation is not impossible.
"Alright everyone, let's get started. My name is Peg, and I am your host for today. I will tell you a bit more about what you've signed up for in a moment. First though, I'd love to know who you are and why you showed up to talk about death with a group full of strangers?" There's a break of nervous laughter and one by one, each of the 15 people present find their voices and start to share.
The details are unique to each individual, yet the stories are common to everyone I've had the honor of sitting circle with. Some have recently lost loved ones, others have had neath death experiences or were pronounced clinically dead. There are people who work in death care, and just as many others who don't. People from all faiths, cultures, backgrounds, and orientations make their way to Death Cafe and all are welcome in this circle, built on the foundation of respectful and thoughtful discourse.
"Thank you so much for sharing, and welcome. So, to open the conversation tonight, let's start with an easy question. How old were you when you realized, and I mean fully understood, that you were mortal and were one day no longer going to be on this earth?"
"Wow, you really do cut to the chase, don't you?" the young man sitting beside me comments. He's smiling, and the group joins in with his chuckle, the tension in the room easing even more.
"Life is short," I reply, "Why waste time with small talk?" I smile at the group, seeing nods of agreement, and we are on our way.
Hosting a Death Cafe is an interesting juggling act. As hosts, we are very clear from the onset that we are not counselors, and that Death Cafe is not grief counselling or a support group. And yet, grief is never far from the circle we sit in. I am constantly watching people's expressions and body language, listening for a break in their voice or long pauses, trying to intuit how each person is handling the deep dive we are collectively taking. Tears come, tissues are passed, and yet after each person shares, there is a breath, a reset, and the space is open and clear again for the next person to speak.
The first few rounds generally start this way. I ask a question and we share answers around the circle. People can pass or share based on their comfort and the question. Have you had a near death experience? When your partner or parent dies, will you read their private papers/journals? Some are questions are lighter than others, all intended to start the ball rolling on more free form conversation
Over the next hour, people start to just speak freely, with no input from me. They learn each other's names, build on the things someone said before them, ask questions of each other. Its beautiful and humbling to sit back and watch the nerves, and fear and sadness disappear, as sitting around drinking coffee talking about what you want done with your body, hoping aquamation might be available by the time you die, is completely normalized.
For the last half hour, I break everyone up into groups of 4 to allow the conversation to really start to flow. If a group seems quiet, I will pop by and offer another question, which usually gets them all talking again. And as we roll into the last few minutes of the event, its time for my favorite part.
"Ok everyone, we are just about ready to wrap up. Before that though, I'd love it if you could share with your group a funny story - it can be about death in general, or a funeral, or a mishap at the cemetery - the floor is yours." Silence and 15 pairs of eyes blinking at me, unsure what to do next. "Oh come on, am I the only one that has laughed at funeral?" Right on queue, the chuckles and the giggles start to rise, with the occasional “nope” heard over it all.
If anyone were to walk in on the last moments of the Death Cafes I host, they might think there was a party going on. There is laughter, excitement, animated voices and usually wild hand gestures as people tell their stories. After over an hour of intense conversation, the lightness that comes from giving ourselves permission to laugh at death is palpable. And when I tell people its time to wrap up the response is usually, "Already? Can we have a few more minutes?"
Attending a Death Cafe is not for everyone. But for those who do seek it out, and come back again, it can be comforting to witness complete strangers brought together by curiosity, held together for a brief period by common fears, questions, and experiences. And leading these conversations has taught me so much about my fellow humans, our capacity for compassion, and our ability to hold space and stretch for understanding. Mostly, I've learned about the power in our willingness to be vulnerable in the face of the one thing that truly connects us all - the end of this beautiful and challenging journey called life.
Peg Giesbrecht, February 2023