For most of us, we have or will experience a loved one passing on, whether it’s through sickness, natural causes or something more sudden. At the very least, we all die.
A small group of people gather once a month to discuss death and dying, normally at the Mancos Public Library.
Plates of diced cantaloupe and gingersnaps; pitchers of iced tea and filtered water were propped on a table that seated eight people. They greeted one another as each entered the room.
Since October 2018, the library has held its Death Cafe the third Thursday of every month, where people voluntarily talk about their experiences of death. They feel heard and understood under a topic that not many feel comfortable speaking about.
Approximately 16,400 Death Cafes occur worldwide and 85 countries host them. Inspired by Bernard Crettaz, a sociologist and writer who hosted Café Mortal events to talk about death at bistros after his wife passed away in 1999, the British mother-son team, Sue Barsky Reid and Jon Underwood developed the Death Cafe model in September 2011. Six years later, Underwood suddenly passed away and the Cafes continue to hold strong globally, often known to be paired with tea and cake.
Over the past couple of months, the Mancos Library’s Death Cafe averaged around seven to eight people. Midge Kirk, who organizes adult programs at the library, said their Death Cafe is in its 12th year.
Since the cafe guidelines swear by confidentiality, the members who participated in this past event will remain autonomous.
Sitting around a rectangular table, they find solace with one another.
The dialogue began when one man started talking about his older brother, 69, who has Stage 3 bladder cancer. He and his wife revealed concerns for him. He lives alone in rural Oregon and they want to help cut a cord of firewood before winter. There’s a problem though. His brother doesn’t seem as concerned and keeps on forgetting about their offer.
As the couple navigate through this difficult period, they remember when death was prevalent.
The younger brother copes with his brother’s dying by reading The Last Chapter: Gene Amole on Dying. He recalls a moment in the book when Amole, a Rocky Mountain News columnist, spends his last Thanksgiving with friends and family.
“A pumpkin pie never tasted better … what joy.”
Another member’s brother-in-law passed away five days prior. Her stance in the group was poetic as she elaborately expressed her narrative.
She supported almost every member with symbolism and helped them understand a little more deeply what the dying go through.
“We die as we have lived,” she said when talking about the older brother who was dying of bladder cancer. “Maybe his desire is to be independent, since he’s been independent his whole life.”
The overall question was how do we navigate death, especially when it comes to people we love and care for.
Program director Kirk said, “It’s their death, not ours.”
Meaning we have to let go of our control when it comes to supporting other people’s last days, weeks and maybe years.
Another member, 82, who didn’t say much at first, pitched in and began talking about her mother’s death from Parkinson’s in 2014. As she recounted all the events – from her father solely caring for his wife to the moment when he couldn’t change her diaper one more time because of his grief and his wife’s continuous pain – he suggested that he and his daughter do something while her mother/his wife lay dying in hospice.
Nine years later she’s still anguished when she remembers how they administered the three morphine doses that the nurse left for them. The night before all of their family members said their last goodbyes over the phone because they knew she was closely approaching her transition.
At the Death Cafe, she wept and said she feels like she killed her mother, even though she displayed symptoms of death that people normally have in their last 24 hours. At the same time, she also felt relieved that the morphine was there to forgive her mother’s suffering.
“Morphine really doesn’t kill someone who is actively dying,” the other member who spoke eloquently said. “Your mom was actively dying, and your dad saw that as suffering. Morphine just made her relax.”
Although she will probably process that experience for the rest of her life, the real reason she attended the Death Cafe that day was because of her best friend’s death in September. It wasn’t until a month and a half after she died was when she found out her cherished friend passed away.
They shared 30 years of journals throughout their close friendship. When she found out about her friend’s passing, she began questioning death and what it means.
How much of death is in the mind of the people you leave behind? How much of your life is there even though you’ve passed on? And how long does that last?
“When I heard about her death, it just devastated me,” she said. “All I could think about was, ‘how did I not know she was gone?’”
She wondered if she should burn the journals to spare her daughter from reading them after it was her turn to die.
Others chimed in with their opinions.
“It’s what works for you,” one member said.
Another said, “I would give anything to read my grandmother’s journal.”
It’s not all heavy talk though, here at the Death Cafe.
Eventually sadness and grief is countered with humor, and that’s what quickly happened in the hourlong meeting.
The same member who lost her mom to Parkinson’s mentioned that the very next day her dad removed all the “handicapped” signs placed throughout their home. She said it seems like his whole life he only read instruction manuals, so the next logical step was to remove the handicap signs. People laughed.
Another member recalled his experience when his wife passed on.
“I was holding my wife as she died and felt her last breaths. It was very difficult, but it was a remarkable experience,” he said. “She would take a breath and then quit. There might have been 20 seconds or something like that where she’s gone down (her breath), then all of a sudden she’d breathe again. That went on for a while. The spaces in between breaths got further apart and I knew when the last one was. I could feel it, and she was not here anymore.”
After he described his experience, another member asked if he felt a sense of her lifting. He said yes but based on his own spiritual bias.
She mentioned that she experienced that with her dog and multiple people nodded their heads in agreement.
Shortly after, the cafe adjourned just after they agreed to have August’s Cafe in the cemetery. A suitable location in the summer where maybe tea and cake will be enjoyed.
