What we talk about when we talk about death

The event is held outside a restaurant in the desert air and when I arrive the 20 attendees — 18 women and two men, including me — sit in a circle around candles and notecards based on the themes of Beyond Knowing.

Talk delves into territory often held as taboo in our culture. Sara wants “DNR” (do not resuscitate) tattooed over her heart. Molly wants her body washed and prepared by loved ones.

As with all the Death Cafés, there is no agenda or effort to push the attendees into a particular ideology. Bentz tells me, “While not everyone agrees with one another’s thoughts on death and dying, the café is not a place for debate.” It’s also not a place for grief counseling.

“When someone’s at that white-hot level of grieving, there are places for that, but it’s not the Death Café,” Bentz says.

The discussions tend to be more philosophical, regarding the nature of death, or more practical, as in what to do with the body.

Nina, a young woman in her 20s, has a heart defect. The very thing that keeps her alive, keeps the blood pumping through her body, is a ticking time bomb. Because of her situation, she’s more in tune with the idea of dying. She has a plan in place for when death takes her.

“I know what I want done with me when I’m gone,” Nina says. “I want to return to nature. I want to die outside. I want my loved ones to take me to a spot I’ve picked out in Wyoming where I can be a source of food for bears, badgers and wolverines.”

Taboo

The morning after the death café meeting in Tucson, I’m in the Blue Willow Café talking with Kristine Bentz.

“I went for a walk this morning and saw a lizard this big.” I hold my hands a shoulder width apart.

“That must have been a Gila monster,” she tells me. “That’s a good sign, to see one of those your first time in Tucson.”

A sign, a symbol, I like the sound of that.

We eat breakfast — a feast of fresh fruit, bacon, yogurt and granola.

Bentz says: “ ‘You can see, food is important! Because if you don’t wanna die, eat!’ ” That’s a famous line from the movie “Departures,” (the 2008 Japanese film that won the Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film).

I listen to the advice; I eat; and, just to be sure, I eat some more.

“So, what else do you want to know?”

“Taboo,” I say. “I want to get a grip on why the subject of death is such a taboo in the West.”

“People think if you talk about death, you become closer to death, but that’s not the case at all. If you talk about death, you become more alive.”

Final words

I’m back at the café in St. Joe with Jackie and Mona and Jerry. We’re still talking about death. Mooney has asked us to provide our final thoughts for the night. Mona’s husband stands up from his own table of four, and says to the group: “I have no regrets. I’ve screwed up a lot. But every screw up I’ve made has led me to where I am right now and I wouldn’t change that for anything.”

He sits down. People laugh and clap. I figure I’m off the hook.

“Have you thought about how you want to die?” Mona asks me.

“Well, not so much how, though I want to rule out being ripped apart by wolverines.” I say.

“What have you figured out?” Mona asks.

“I don’t want to go before my parents. Because I don’t think that’s right. It’s not the natural order of things. Parents shouldn’t bury their kids. And, selfishly, I want to see my eight-year-old grow up. I want to see her get her diploma. I want to walk her down the aisle. I want to be there for her when she delivers her first child.”

“That’s not selfish,” Mona says. “That’s normal.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” I say. “And, I guess, to copy your husband’s thoughts, I don’t have regrets. We’re here, at this point in our lives, for a reason. Have you seen “Back to the Future?” If we go back and change anything, y’know, it screws up the whole space-time continuum.

“As long as I can outlive my parents and see my daughter grow up then I guess you’d say, I’m not scared of death and what it has to offer. It is what it is.”

“That’s pretty cool,” Mona says.

“Yeah, but as I’ve said all that, I see the falseness in it, too. I’m talking all Zen-like ‘whatever happens happens,’ but when I’m on the plane tomorrow and we hit turbulence as we get near Denver, I’ll be gripping the armrest or maybe my neighbor’s arm, my heart thumping in my throat while I’m praying and chanting like a Tibetan Monk.”

Mona laughs and is joined by the rest of the table — four people no longer scared to death about death and laughing in its face.

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