At the Death Cafe in New York (credit to Death Cafe NYC)

I’ve never been close to death. Though I’ve written about palliative care in China during which I visited palliative care centers and talked to end-of-life patients, I’ve never been to a funeral or experienced the loss of closed ones.

Or I have.

I was fifteen when I learnt about the loss of my brother, who passed away from a car accident when he was fifteen, two years before I was born. I remember the shock I felt when I confronted my parents about this tragedy they had concealed from me for so many years. How could they and everyone else never talk about it?

And here I am, sharing this to three strangers over couscous at a Moroccan restaurant in Manhattan. It is an event called Death Cafe, which is a social franchise that encourages people to address the topic of life and death over tea and food. Founded in 2011, there has been more than 6,500 Death Cafes in 56 countries.

Death is a long-standing taboo in many societies. In China, everyone tiptoes around it because talking about death is believed to bring bad luck. In my family, it is an even stronger taboo. To my parents, it is a baggage too distressing to share when I was a teenager. To me, it feels like the last thing a good daughter should bring up lest it reopens the wound.

Modelled after cafe philosophiques, Death Cafe is not a grief support group or end-of-life planning session. Rather, it is an event that aims to increase awareness of death and to help people make the most of their (finite) lives. During every meetup, participants are split into small groups of four or five and speak openly about life and death facilitated by the hosts. I first heard about it while researching for my article a few years ago, and while in New York, I searched for the event and found a few active offshoots. The one I attended in Manhattan occurs monthly and needs to RVSP on Meetup. It is usually hosted Nancy Gershman, a memory artist who creates pictures of memories for healing, legacy and celebration, and Chad Lewis, a death doula who provides holistic care for patients and families at the end of life. There is also a Death Cafe held at the historic Greenwood Cemetery in Brooklyn every month.

The gathering on a Monday evening was everything but grief. Our lentil tapenade was fresh, and the ambience was jovial. Participants came from all walks of life. Sitting next to me was Kim, an integrated therapist who works at a nursing home for terminally-ill patients. “There is an overall aversion to death in our society, and as a mother of two, I don’t really have a space to talk about it,” she said.

Other than Kim who touches death on a daily basis, all participants at my table came to learn more about death. There was also Angel, who is a frequent to the event. “My wife said what when I told her where I was going, but I felt it was good conversation so I keep coming,” he said.

Todd, a lawyer during the day and a comedian at night, hoped to think more deeply about death. “I have experienced losses. My parents all passed away suddenly, and there was also a woman who jumped off the building in my complex recently. But I can empathize with her as I had a hip replacement a few years ago, and I got to the point so miserable that for the first time, I thought I didn’t want life enough,” he confessed.

As the trust and sharing flowed, we spoke about burial, assisted dying, asked each other about how we want to die and debated about would we want to know our “expiration date”.

It seemed that for all four of us, we would not want to have pain when we die. “I prefer dying during my sleep,” Kim said.

“I would want love and comfort, maybe I will throw a party,” Todd laughed.

No one needs to die in pain, though in many cases, doctors push for cures at the cost of the quality of life.

Kim said her patients are increasingly choosing to die at home than hospitals. “Moreover, doctors might not know how to communicate about deaths with families. A good death needs holistic care,” she said.

Other than comfort, she added that for her, there is the worry of unfinished business, which refers to incomplete, unexpressed or unresolved relationship issues with the deceased.

The whole table nodded.

Indeed, while it feels a bit odd to dwell on such a heavy matter at my age, since learning about this brother I’ve never met, I can’t help thinking about the inevitable and its implications for my parents. I have had nightmares about death, and what overwhelmed me during my “last moments” was not the fear of death but the guilt and panic for dying before my loved ones, unprepared. How are they gonna cope with it, again? Have I done what I could to love them?

On the other hand, I know that both my brother and parents would want me to live my best life while I can, especially given their experience with the ephemerality of it.

When we think more about death, we are actually thinking about life. From favorite scents that make us feel grounded (top is eucalyptus) to speed-dating for older adults, we jumped around topics about how to maximize our life.

At the end of the event, as I am from a very different age group from everyone else at the table, I brought up my fear about not going to be able to make it to my parents’ final moments because I am so far away.

“Part of growing up is about accepting what you can’t. You can facetime or call them, even your voice can be a great relief to them. You always do what you can,” Todd told me.

“And sometimes, you wouldn’t want to or simply shouldn’t be there,” Kim said. She shared about her grandfather, who temporarily stopped breathing when they got closer to his bed at the last stage of his journey, so they left the room, till he finished his last breath.

As the evening wrapped off, I left feeling liberatingly light-hearted. There were no profound realizations, but small epiphanies.

Death is not the antithesis to life, but the complement of it.