On the first Sunday afternoon of each month, a cozy table tucked between bookshelves in the back corner of the Bean Fosters coffee shop in Golden becomes a portal to the other side. Agroup of people, some newcomers and some regulars, gather to eat homemade baked goods, drink tea and coffee and talk about the ultimate taboo: death.
Karen Keeran, a death doula and former hospice aide, organizes the Golden Death Cafe. During the December gathering, she let the conversation flow freely, interjecting with comment or insight only occasionally.
“It’s an open forum,” she said. “We’re here to talk about anything related to death and dying.”
The discussion never strayed from mortality, yet there was a lightness and optimism to it. Death Cafe, a loosely affiliated international organization, claims to have no guiding ethos or philosophy, yet its participants are united by at least one shared idea. The belief that death is just another part of life — and we should talk about it a whole lot more.
It’s an idea that is starting to catch on. In Colorado, Death Cafes have proliferated across the Front Range and Western Slope — from Trinidad to Fort Collins. , at the time of writing, there have been 19,701 Death Cafes in 93 countries since the organization was founded in East London in 2011.
The website also includes a manual that guides first-time hosts through the steps to organize a Death Cafe. The manual lists four principles:
Death Cafes are always offered:
• With no intention of leading participants to any conclusion, product or course of action.
• As an open, respectful and confidential space where people can express their views safely.
• On a not for profit basis.
• Alongside refreshing drinks and nourishing food – and cake!
According to Sarah Hitman, a death doula and host of the Lakewood Death Cafe, there are only two rules for the events.
“No agenda and no exchange of money,” she said. “Whenever I mention to people that I host a Death Cafe, they look a little nervous. When I tell them the rules, I literally see their shoulders go down. They’re like, ‘Oh, that doesn’t sound too bad.’”
Starting the conversation
Though it is not a requirement, many Death Cafe regulars have had intimate encounters with death. For Keeran, these encounters came decades before she ever set foot in a Death Cafe. Her sister and mother both passed away when she was young. Her grandmother, who took care of her mother before she died, never talked about it.
“Even though she took care, she never talked about it,” Keeran said. “My grandparents were from the depression era and so completely stoic. We didn’t talk about what was going on inside of us.”
Years later, when Keeran retired from a career in accounting, she found herself thinking more and more about death. At first, it came through studying yoga and Eastern philosophy. Then, on the suggestion of a friend, she became a hospice aide and eventually a death doula — someone who guides people nearing the end of their life through their death.
“I just kind of started my own healing process,” she said.
By the time Keeran started the Golden Death Cafe, she was an expert on the subject. She wanted to create a space for others to open themselves up to the topic like she had.
“Everyone's welcome,” she said. “People can talk about their thoughts, their fears or how they’re digesting — I prefer the word digest over process because it’s not a linear thing.”
The draw of Death Cafes seems to transcend race, gender identity and even age. The attendees at this month's meetings ranged from young adults to elders.
H.N. Silva, a Denver-based nanny Death Cafe regular, appreciates this aspect.
“What I value about Death Cafe is that it’s an intergenerational space,” they said. “And, each Death Cafe has first-timers and people who come all the time.”
Talking about life
Though everyone is welcome at Death Cafe events, the participants are self-selecting. They have to be willing to participate in, or maybe just listen to, a discussion about something that can invoke fear and sorrow.
“Fear is a powerful thing,” Hitman said.
In addition to the Loveland events, Hitman hosts a Death Cafe at a senior center in Aurora. She relayed a story about one of the regulars there.
“She told me that her brother can’t even say, ‘You’re going to the death cafe.’ He says, ‘You’re going to you’re cafe thing.’”
Death Cafe organizers and participants are, understandably, protective of their space. A few declined interviews for this story because they were worried that outsiders might misconstrue the event as less compassionate and more morbid than it really is.
But, Hitman says that the same things that make conversations scary are what make them so valuable.
“It’s death that makes us alive,” she said. “When you snuggle up to it, every so often, it’s a really good reminder of your gratitude and the amazing things you have in your life.”
Many others echoed her sentiment during the Death Cafes in Golden and Loveland this month.
“Death Cafe is about getting comfortable with the uncomfortable,” one attendee said. “We think we have control over our lives, but we have so little control. You have to be able to run with the randomness and not be afraid of it.”
A side effect of being comfortable with death, it seems, is thoughtful logistical planning. Attendees discussed everything from end-of-life celebrations and funerals to how to get a do-not-resuscitate order and where to keep it.
Silva says these conversations are a way to take back some agency around something we, ultimately, can’t control.
“There’s this erroneous belief that if you talk about death, you’re inviting more of it into your life,” they said. “Having these conversations and preparing on a tangible level — things like our last wishes and medical power of attorney — those things are really important and helpful.”
Symbiosis
According to the organization’s guidelines, Death Cafes are a “confidential space” — at least as confidential as one can get in a public cafe, Keeran clarified. Yet, the impact of the events extends beyond the cozy nooks and tables that host them.
Linda Hardage, 73, attended the Golden Death Cafe for the first time this month. She said that the conversation helped her express ideas that she’s been thinking about for a long time.
I’ve been on a search for many years as to how I want to die,” she said. “I would like it if one of the things that I leave behind is for my family to be more comfortable with death and not fear it.”
The details shared at a death cafe stay in the room, but the ideas can be taken outside. In many cases, participants are looking for a safe space to try out conversations that they might later bring to loved ones or family members.
At some point, the discussion inevitably circles back to one particular point — something that all human beings inherently know but often goes unspoken.
“Everybody dies,” Hardage said. "It’s weird to me that it’s such a verboten subject.”
And, each time that the topic of mortality is breached explicitly, someone chimes in with a similar counterpoint.
“In talking about death, we’re talking about life as well,” Silva said. “Death and life have a symbiotic relationship. And, so, in talking about death and grief, we’re actually talking about being with the fullness of life.”