The Gift of Talking About Death and Dying

I'm 27, and hopefully I have a lot more time left on this planet. But if something were to ever happen to me, I have specific wishes for how I want to be cared for. Please don't keep me on life support if I won't have a quality of life coming off of it. If I'm able to transition at home, I want the Rolling Stones and Eagles playing in the background, a mahogany teakwood candle lit, and my animals and loved ones surrounding me. Hold my hand, remind me of your favorite stories of us, and spend time with each other while I'm there.

And when I die, place me in a green burial where I can give back to the earth what she gave to me. Plant me below all the wildflowers and trees. I want people to visit me and feel my presence through nature.

People may read this and think, "Wow, you're so young to have these plans in place." But I know tomorrow is never guaranteed, and it makes me feel peace knowing my family has this information to save some stress off of them. This clarity and comfort is something I wish everyone could experience, but the truth is, most people don't have these conversations. Most people avoid them altogether.

Why? I think a lot of people are scared of multiple things. The unknown, the thought of being in pain, worrying about their family. Talking about death can bring up uncomfortable emotions. Maybe it reminds you of your grandma who was so dear to you that passed a few years back. Maybe it makes you think of your dog who you know you will lose one day. These thoughts bring up something called anticipatory grief, where you feel grief before the loss can even happen. I've experienced it and yeah, it sucks. It makes you unbearably sad.

But I'm more comfortable talking about death now because I've seen and learned how peaceful it can be. I remember once I went to do a hospice haircut. They had this person's bed in a beautiful room with their favorite soft music playing, their cat on their bed, and family talking to them. I could feel the sadness in the room, yes, but also the amount of love they had for their family member and the peace that came with it. This person was in no pain and went peacefully with their family by their side.

I've seen people laugh, talk, and share stories until their last days of life. I've learned from my schooling about things like death rattles, which a lot of people are terrified of because they don't know it's not painful. I've seen people be traumatized by it, causing them lifelong fear of dying. But it doesn't have to be this way. It's my experience in hospice and nursing homes and my education that made me realize how important this topic is and how peaceful death can be. It doesn't always have to be scary. It can be quite beautiful.

So why has death become such a taboo subject? I've talked about this in my blogs before, but we used to take care of the dead ourselves. We would join as a community to care for and remember them. Death was something we did together. Now it's very hands off. We call the funeral home and step back. We've removed ourselves from the process, and I think that distance has made death feel even more uncomfortable and foreign to us.

And look, everyone's brain is different. If you can't do certain aspects of it, that is totally valid. That's why there are people like me, funeral directors, and doulas. But when we completely outsource death, we lose that familiarity with it. We lose the understanding that it's a natural part of life. We lose the community that used to hold us through it.

This disconnection has real consequences. When these conversations don't happen, people get overwhelmed and drowned by grief, especially if it's sudden. It's hard to think when you have a grief fog. It's hard to make decisions when you have all of that weighing on you. People feel guilty and ask themselves, "Is this the right thing? Is this what they would have wanted?" They're trying to honor someone they love while drowning in their own pain, and they have no roadmap to follow.

I know even when my noni died and it was peaceful, I still felt overwhelmed. Grief is grief, and it's heavy no matter what. But what changed for me was what happened after. When my noni passed, it was still sudden for the family. I decided that it was important to ask my papaw what his wishes were if something was ever to happen to him. We talked about if he got put on life support, would he want to be left on it. I asked him if I was his medical power of attorney. He told me he would prefer to die at home if possible, and he told me what he wanted done with his remains.

This conversation made me feel less stress and more relief and clarity. Knowing his wishes meant I wouldn't have to guess. I wouldn't have to carry that guilt of "did I do the right thing?" I could honor him exactly the way he wanted. And that's the power of these conversations.

When people are willing to talk openly about dying, it changes everything. As Lee Gutkind writes in "The End of Life," "in many ways my father became our guide in his own death. Because he was so willing to discuss dying, to tell us how sad he was in having to leave us, it made it easier for us to express our own sadness in saying good-bye to him."

That's exactly what I've seen in my work and in my own family. My papaw's willingness to talk about his wishes with me made it easier for me to express my own feelings about potentially losing him. So where do we start? Here are some of the questions people avoid but really need to ask:

If you were in a medical emergency, would you want to be kept on life support? Under what circumstances?

Where do you want to die? At home, in a hospital, in hospice care?

What do you want done with your body? Buried, cremated, green burial, donated to science?

Who do you want there with you, if possible?

Is there music you'd want playing? Scents that comfort you? Your pets nearby?

Who should make medical decisions for you if you can't? Have you made them your medical power of attorney?

What kind of ceremony or celebration do you want, if any?

These aren't easy questions, but they're important ones. You don't have to have all the answers right now, but starting the conversation opens the door. And if you're not sure how to begin, there are spaces designed specifically for this.

Death cafes began with Swiss sociologist Bernard Crettaz's "Cafe Mortel" events in Switzerland around 2004, but the modern Death Cafe movement was launched by Jon Underwood and his mother, Sue Barsky Reid, in London in 2011. The movement spread across the country and was first introduced to the United States by Lizzy Miles in Columbus, Ohio in 2012. Death cafes were developed to create a safe space for open conversations about death, dying, and end of life care.

I've been to a few death cafes hosted in Columbus, and I'll be honest, I was nervous walking in the first time. But I felt so safe and allowed to speak. We talked about the cost of burial, discussed questions about death, and talked about nursing homes and dying. There were no arguments, just all of us voicing our opinions and coming together as a community to talk about such a vulnerable time. I think spaces like these are so important. When death can be scary, having support around you makes all the difference. It shows that we're all human, and no matter our beliefs, we can share the unknown and vulnerability that comes with dying. It's bringing back that sense of community and conversation around death that we've lost.

I want you to know that it's okay to talk about death. It's okay to feel all the emotions that come with it, the fear, the sadness, the heaviness. There are people who will hold space for you and support you through these conversations. Death should be dignified and peaceful, and if you have the choice, you deserve to say how you'd like to die. Don't let discomfort or fear silence you. Have these conversations with the people you love. Your wishes matter. Their wishes matter. And having them now means you can all face the future with clarity, peace, and less regret.

If you're in the Columbus area and would like support navigating end-of-life decisions or planning meaningful celebrations of life, I'm here to help guide you through this sacred time.