Death Café - My personal experience

My experience with the Death Café has been profoundly meaningful. I first became aware of the local chapter about five years ago. At that time, I was curious about attending, but my circumstances weren’t conducive, so I put it in the back of my mind. About a year ago, a friend mentioned it again. After talking it over, I decided to go, and it turned out to be a positive experience.

I’m reminded of a quote by Amy Grant, who said that anyone who has lived long enough has a bittersweet experience with the advent of each Christmas. What she meant is that each Christmas brings wonderful memories, but also an awareness of loss. The Death Café is a place where you can share and explore those memories of loss in a safe and supportive environment. I found that just by listening, I felt comforted. Hearing others express their feelings and memories made me realize that I’m not alone.

The two people who facilitate our local Death Café do a great job of gently establishing a supportive environment. They review the guidelines, which emphasize that we are there to be supportive, not to fix anything or anybody. We are encouraged to listen and provide space, and, if so moved, share our own experiences. Just the recitation of these guidelines makes you feel good about being there. There’s something reassuring about a structured meeting that removes the pressure to make small talk, as one might feel in a strictly social setting like a party or business luncheon.

Our hosts, Diane and Bob, make everyone feel welcome and acknowledged. We go around the room, introduce ourselves, and perhaps share why we are there, but there is no pressure or expectation to say the right thing or anything at all. Diane sets your mind at ease by saying that any loss in your life is legitimate—whether it’s a spouse, friend, family member, or pet, whether it’s due to death or divorce. Whatever is on your mind and in your heart, this is a safe place to share it. What is said here stays here—not as an oath, but as a general understanding of respect and consideration for everyone’s privacy. When it’s my turn, I feel comfortable sharing, even if it’s as simple as expressing how glad I am that this group exists and how happy I am to be there.

One of the things about sharing grief is that it can move you to tears, bring a sense of relief, or even laughter. Sometimes I arrive with one thing on my mind, or nothing at all, but after listening to others, I am reminded, prompted, and suddenly I am sharing—feeling deeper emotions than I realized were there. There’s something very cathartic about speaking your thoughts and feelings.

On one occasion, I talked about my father, who passed away 25 years ago. We had a tenuous relationship, and it’s hard to explain exactly. I know he loved me, but he also had expectations, and as a result, I often felt challenged and somewhat inadequate. We were frequently at odds. I’m thankful that in my later years, probably in my 50s, I made an effort to get to know my dad better, which was a very good thing. When he passed suddenly, I didn’t feel like I had missed the opportunity to reconnect. During his final hours in the hospital, I prayed, “Dear Lord, what more can I say or do?” Essentially, there was nothing. So, I said the Lord’s Prayer, and shortly thereafter, I felt my father’s breath leave him.

My first reaction was to act like an adult, to speak to the hospital staff in a formal, factual way: “I believe my father has passed away.” I tried not to show any emotion; I wanted to demonstrate that I could handle it. And I did handle it then. But in the Death Café, I found myself openly crying among virtual strangers. That’s part of the beauty of the Death Café—you’re not talking to family or friends, but there is something very liberating and supportive about being among others who share similar experiences. There’s a communal understanding and support, much of it without words.

When my turn is over, I sit quietly and recover. As I’ve mentioned before, it’s like there’s an appetite for grief, and by spending those few minutes feeding that grief and allowing it to be what it is, you feel satiated. You have your moment, and then you move on. You don’t need to spend hours, but those few minutes of sharing in the Café allow you the freedom to move forward. Without the Death Café, you might carry that burden of grief alone, often without even realizing it.

I am deeply grateful to Bob and Diane for the blessings I’ve received by participating in the Death Café.

**Trinity Presbyterian Church**

- 4th Thursday @ 4PM  

- **CONTACT:**  

  - (828) 699-1218 (church cell)  

  - (828) 692-6114 (office)  

- **Office hours:**  

  - Mon-Thu, 9:00-4:00  

  - Friday by appointment  

- **Address:**  

  - 900 Blythe Street  

  - Hendersonville, NC 28791  

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