When my mum died at a very young age when I was four, my slightly older brother and I were told she had gone to heaven.
That seems a perfectly reasonable and gentle explanation to give to two young children, right?
But, on being told our mum was in heaven, we thought the best thing we could do would be to pack our Paddington Bear cases and go to see her. Because in our minds, heaven was a place just like Wigan and there would be a bus to take us there.
Now, I am sure Wigan has its high points, but I don’t think any of us envisage spending eternity in the home of rugby league eating pies. Well perhaps the odd one.
This is the anecdote I ended up telling my new acquaintances at the Death Cafe I visited in May.
Death cafes are now held worldwide and they have gained popularity here too. Supported by the Hospice UK’s Dying Matters campaign, they aim to create an open culture in which to talk about death and dying.
I stumbled on it via a noticeboard in a community centre that was promoting it in a library in my home town of Stockton.
Thanks to colourful flyers and posters in the past, I have signed up to Tai Chi classes (limited success), taken up Spanish (mucho better results) and unsuccessfully attempted to reunite a lost cat with its owner (have you seen how many missing cats there are?!).
As soon as I saw the words ‘Death Cafe’, it piqued my interest, but I wasn’t entirely sure why. I don’t have a morbid fear of dying.
Having lost a parent at such a young age, it makes you vow to appreciate the privilege of getting older and making the most of life
I went away and realised over the coming days that I kept wondering what it would be like to go along. I looked online for more details and it made it clear it wasn’t a grief counselling session but more a chance to have an open discussion about death.
And there would be tea and cake too. How very British.
So I decided to go along. It was a two hour drop-in so I didn’t feel I would have to stay if it wasn’t for me after all.
In a side room in the library that could have been used for staff to enjoy their breaks, it had an unassuming but relaxed feel. The predominantly female group was led by a Council staff member. With no set agenda or pressure to speak, it felt welcoming and supportive.
When I arrived a few minutes after the start time, the discussions were already under way. They broke off to briefly explain how the session would work and it was made clear the format was informal and supportive.
In group settings, I am more of a listener than a talker but when the subject of how we talk about death to children came up, I shared my story of my mum’s death when I was four with the others.
The attendees listened and the discussion led onto the fact there is now much more literature available for families to read when it comes to talking to children about death.
This discussion got me thinking: Having lost a parent at such a young age, it makes you vow to appreciate the privilege of getting older and making the most of life.
Yet it would be disingenuous of me to say I openly welcome the ‘laughter lines’ or the creaking knees. Equally, do I live each day to the full knowing it could be my last? Of course not.
There are days I do little more than the bare minimum to get through. You can’t be tripping the light fantastic week in, week out.
Some days are spent eating peanut butter on toast in your pyjamas with hair that looks like a bird could be nesting in there. That is life. And that is what I want to focus on, even when it is prosaic and pedestrian.
At the Death Cafe, the funeral of a loved one – and knowing their wishes for their final send-off – played a big part in the discussions.
It perhaps goes without saying that we want to make sure it goes well – the music, speakers, flowers. But it was obvious from hearing people speak that morning that those conversations with loved ones were not always easy.
People feel superstitious talking about death and siblings may not always have the same approach when it comes to talking to a parent about their wishes.
Myths and facts about grief and grieving
Myth: The pain will go away faster if you ignore it
Fact: Trying to ignore your pain or keep it from surfacing will only make it worse in the long run. For real healing, it is necessary to face your grief and actively deal with it.
Myth: It’s important to “be strong” in the face of loss.
Fact: Feeling sad, frightened, or lonely is a normal reaction to loss. Crying doesn’t mean you are weak. You don’t need to “protect” your family or friends by putting on a brave front. Showing your true feelings can help them and you.
Myth: If you don’t cry, it means you aren’t sorry about the loss.
Fact: Crying is a normal response to sadness, but it’s not the only one. Those who don’t cry may feel the pain just as deeply as others. They may simply have other ways of showing it.
Myth: Grieving should last about a year.
Fact: There is no specific time frame for grieving. How long it takes differs from person to person.
Myth: Moving on with your life means forgetting about your loss.
Fact: Moving on means you’ve accepted your loss—but that’s not the same as forgetting. You can move on with your life and keep the memory of someone or something you lost as an important part of you. In fact, as we move through life, these memories can become more and more integral to defining the people we are.
So do you – over a cuppa and a biscuit – casually ask a family member what their funeral song would be? I’m still not certain what my songs would be but I have, and am, asking family about theirs.
We’re just not great at talking about death despite it being an inevitability – and this is where Death Cafes are helping. This international movement aims to take the taboo out of talking about death and libraries and community centres across the country are now holding Death Cafes.
I found out from my visit to the Death Cafe that there are open days at the local crematorium. I grant you, it may not have the appeal of a day trip to Alton Towers, but I can see why they open their doors to the public.
It helps dispel the fears and the unknown. And that can only be a good thing. I wouldn’t be against going to one of their open days – it is reassuring that the staff want to be there to support people.
Death Cafes give people the opportunity to talk about all aspects of death and dying. The one I attended was initially put on as a one-off but they are now being held once a month – evidence that there is the desire to meet and talk about death.
What I learnt from the whole experience is that we avoid saying the word ‘dead’. We say someone has ‘passed away’ or is ‘resting in peace’.
We don’t want to talk about death, almost as if we think it will be a curse. But just like how I think we should celebrate being alive, we should also celebrate someone in death.
The Death Cafe movement is playing its part, so if you have the chance to talk to others about death, I would encourage you to go.
More from Metro
Dying is part of life after all.
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