I went to a death cafe at a music festival...

Does talking about dying make it any easier?

We are all covered in a light grey dust. It’s been coating me for days, kicked up from the dry Earth by half a million hedonists, the odd shower or river swim providing little respite as, within half an hour , the dust has settled itself in all our nooks and crannies once more.

It’s only now, as I sit in this circle of 15 strangers, on a pebbled beach, that I consider how much this daily dust looks like ash. That we appear to be coated in the remnants of our loved ones. What a dark thought to appear, just as a drum begins to thud, as a man laughs, beer tinnie in hand, novelty hat upon his head. I understand why - when the woman leading today’s discussion tries to recruit more people to join in – some literally run away from her. This is a festival. A place to escape the harshness of our daily lives. Why would we want to talk about death?

As that’s what this is – a Death Café. A now global movement where people gather – in community halls, coffee shops and  - in my case – at 2.30pm on an island in Budapest, as part of the six-day music festival Sziget. On the website they state that a Death Café is a place to ‘’eat cake, drink tea and discuss death.” The objective being to “increase awareness of death with a view to help people make the most of their finite lives.” I’ve always been intrigued by them, particularly one at a festival like this where no one will necessarily be seeking such an experience out, but driven by curiosity, a gap in their schedule or indeed just the need to sit down for a bit (comfortable seating at this festival is incredibly rare) might find themselves within one.

We begin by choosing as a group a topic to discuss, and settle upon the different traditions, rituals and feelings each of our culture’s has surrounding death. As we’re a diverse group – a mix of Hungarians, Germans, Israelis, Mexicans and those, like me, from the UK.  Mexico, of course, is known for its Day Of The Dead celebration but, I must confess, I’ve only really been aware of the painted ornate skulls in bright colours rather than what the day entails. (side note: I would like to write more about the different death traditions around the world in another letter, but now is not the time as I’m coping with dodgy hotel WiFi and a slightly post-festival frazzled brain so please forgive me of any inaccuracies.) So I found it fascinating to hear, from a couple who both worked as doctors in Mexico, of how they view death as a celebration, that on that particular day (November 2nd if I recall correctly) they cook the favourite dish of their loved one, and party as if that person is with them on the night.

 It was this openness their culture has to death that led us, as a group, to discuss how in many places (the UK definitely being one of them) we brush death – and indeed – grieving away, packaging it with money and politics as an impolite dinner party topics. How we praise people following loss for being “strong” and how that idea of strength involves plastering on a smile, choking down tears and presenting a façade that hides our reality – that we are crumbling inside. We all agreed that this closes off people from being able to seek the support they need, that it can leave people from feeling as if they have failed somehow for not “moving on” in a way that’s polite, hurried and expected. “It’s pretty fucked up” someone said, and everyone nodded, hopeful that one day – and perhaps with more discussions like these – that could change for future generations.

Another man, from Israel, shared details of Shiva, the week-long mourning periods in Judaism, where family and friends gather to share their mourning and accept the comfort of others. He discussed how it helped him feel closer to his friends, how it allowed him space to be open about how he really felt. This led me to speak up (something I’d felt nervous to do) and ask (as the Death Café really encourages asking questions, and coming up with our own discussion points rather than it being ‘led’ in a strict way) whether others thought they’d have benefitted from a longer funeral period. As, to me, the idea sounds horrendous! When I’ve been at funerals for loved ones I’ve always felt an immense pressure to be seen in a certain way, to present a ‘brave’ face for others. I found them exhausting, and little to do with celebrating the person I loved and lost. Which, of course, circles back to our closed and fearful attitudes to discussing death and what grieving truly does to a person.

Afterwards (the discussion was an hour) I was inspired to head back to my rag tag group of friends and chat to them about their thoughts on the subject. I can be part of the change, I thought. I can have deep and meaningful discussions about death and make the world a more open and accepting place… Yes, even when everyone is on their fourth beer of the day. And even when all we really want to do is discuss how terrible Justin Bieber’s set was the night before. I will move us onto MUCH MORE SERIOUS AND IMPORTANT MATTERS. We can’t be light and frothy all the time! It does us no good.

Can you guess how it went?

 I enjoyed hearing from my friend Gary about his upbringing in Ireland, where (it seems) they’re a lot more open to discuss death and its inevitability. But then, as is often the way, we got side tracked and began giggling about one of the many random in-jokes we’d created. We then went off in search of some pasta, discussing the silliest moments from the night before.

At first, I felt slightly defeated with myself – these are my best friends, I want to discuss the serious stuff, for us all to become less afraid of death, for grief and death to be a much more pressing topic of conversation (after all, I have launched a damn newsletter about it.) But then I remembered something one of the Death Café participants said at the beginning of the discussion – “we need to consider the reality of our own deaths, so we can truly appreciate how we live.” And there’s nothing I enjoy or appreciate more than being utterly absurd with those I love. So while I do believe we need to be more open and honest about death and grief, that doesn’t necessarily have to involve earnestly talking about it all the time. And actually, reading the Death Café’s mission statement today, a few days after my experience, I realize they don’t want that either. They want us to appreciate life.

As sometimes, being open about the reality of death, can simply mean grabbing your friend’s hand and squeezing it while you both sing badly to an Abba tribute band. Knowing that were they, or you, to die tomorrow you’d, one day, be able to relish in these moments of pure joy. Being close to death has only ever made me love more fiercely. I’m grateful for that.

So, with that, I’m wrapping up today’s work and newsletter and am off to slide down a questionably built, Bob The Builder yellow water slide, with my gloriously ridiculous friends.

What do you think? Have you been to a Death Café? Would you? And sorry for this post being late and probably badly spelled! I’ve been… living!