write up words of love and enlightenment from a participant, printed with permission, of course.
A write up of the Rockland Maine Death Cafe!
By plindquist
Muffins and Tea at the Death Cafe by
> Jory Squibb
>
> I'm heading out to Michigan to spend time
> with my mother. She's almost 99 and I'm
> sure to hear her tell me every day, "Jory, I'm so tired of
> this. I just want to get 'out of here' ". When I
> first began to hear this mantra a few years ago, my
> engineer's mind tried to figure out how I could specifically
> respond to this apparently heart-felt plea from one I dearly
> love.
> I thought of getting some sort of 'final
> pill' from Oregon, where such assistance might be
> legal. I also talked with my mother about
> ceasing to eat, as I remember Scott Nearing did when he had
> reached a similar age. My many sisters
> however made it abundantly clear that I was getting out of
> line. So I began to settle down on the subject, and to
> resume being one--generally passive--member of our
> large and diverse family. Perhaps my job is
> simply to listen to my mother, I thought; to love her,
> and to flow along with a unique and mysterious end-of-life
> drama which I cannot control or influence.
> When I saw that a "Death Cafe" was to be held
> in Rockland, I immediately put it on my
> calendar. Perhaps this type of event, born
> in England, and held recently in two local towns, would move
> my process along. As I passed the grey,
> tombstone-shaped placard outside the library, I felt a
> spooky fear. Wasn't there something more
> pressing on my calendar, this beautiful summer evening?
> Inside was a circle of about 30 people, almost
> entirely strangers. Our convener, Peter
> Lindquist, with little ado, launched us into an hour-long
> circumnavigation of that circle. The stories, fears,
> anticipations poured out with little hesitation. Each
> one let us examine more closely a piece of the puzzle that
> every human must assemble or avoid. What a gold
> mine! I've recently been trying to perfect a foreign
> language I speak well, and this 'death language' had a
> similar fascination and frustration. Many
> people gathered here were quite fluent.
> One woman, though she felt there was no
> definitive 'operater's manual' for the support of a dying
> person, had encountered the "crossings.net" community.
> Their support had allowed her to gently and respectfully
> transform her caring process. I wondered if my
> large and stiff Episcopalian family--who plan to call in the
> professionals at the very instant of death--could ever shift
> in this direction. Yet I envied this
> woman's empowerment and the completeness of her grieving
> process. Another in the circle, a man, was fearful of
> the bodily changes which might follow physical death.
> How embarrassing they might be. I'm sure
> this concern, this unknown, lies behind many of our
> decisions.
> Sitting next to me was a bright, well-groomed,
> fortyish woman, who, when her turn came, began
> talking with total aplomb about her terminal diagnosis and
> upcoming death. She was clear, strong, and
> shifted easily between occasional cheerfulness and speaking
> through a mist of strong feeling. I kept doing a
> double-take. This strange fluency was shaking my
> social conventions. Yet like a moth to a
> flame, I felt pulled into her orbit. I
> wanted just these qualities.
> After a break for refreshments, we again
> spoke in turn, this time planning our own
> funerals. We discovered how some of us were
> comforted by traditional forms, while a majority favored
> more spontaneity, and even unedited storytelling. We
> hungered for catharsis: some sort of quiet shift toward
> acceptance. I discovered that, contrary to
> my professed indifference, I actually had lots of thoughts
> and feelings about funerals. As before, through
> sharing we were developing ease and fluency amid a minefield
> of social taboos.
> After some goodbys, while leaving
> the building, I passed the same tombstone on my way to
> the car. This time there was no
> spookiness. I had braved the Death Cafe,
> and I was keen to come again.
>