How I planned my own green funeral

— Our funeral practices have a high carbon footprint. Becca Warner explores how she could plan her own more environmentally-friendly burial.

By Becca Warner

Not many of us like talking about death. It’s dark, and sad, and prone to throwing us into an existential spiral. But the uncomfortable truth is that, as someone who cares about the environment, I realised I needed to stop ignoring the reality of it. Once we’re gone, our bodies need somewhere to go – and the ways that we typically burn or bury bodies in the West come at a scary environmental cost.

Most people in the UK (where I’m from) are cremated when they die, and burning bodies isn’t good for the planet. The stats make wince-worthy reading. A typical cremation in the UK is gas-powered, and is estimated to produce 126kg (278lb) CO2 equivalent emissions (CO2e) – about the same as driving from Brighton to Edinburgh. In the US, the average is even higher, at 208kg (459lb) CO2e. It’s perhaps not the most carbon-intensive thing we’ll do in our lives – but when the majority of people in many countries opt to go up in smoke when they die, those emissions quickly add up.

What is CO2e?

CO2 equivalent, or CO2e, is the metric used to quantify the emissions from various greenhouse gases on the basis of their capacity to warm the atmosphere – their global warming potential.

Burying a body isn’t much better. In some countries, the grave is lined with concrete, a carbon intensive material, and the body housed in a resource-heavy wood or steel coffin. Highly toxic embalming fluid, such as formaldehyde, is often used, which leaches into the soil alongside heavy metals that harm ecosystems and pollute the water table. And the coffin alone can be responsible for as much as 46kg (101lb) CO2e, depending on the combination of materials used.

I spend my days attempting to tread lightly on the planet – recycling cereal boxes, taking the bus, choosing tofu over steak. The idea that my death will necessitate one final, poisonous act is hard to stomach. I am resolved to find a more sustainable option. (Listen to the Climate Question’s episode exploring whether we can have a climate-friendly death).

In traditional burials, graves are lined with concrete, a carbon-intensive material, and bodies are embalmed in toxic fluids which can leach into the soil (Credit: Getty Images) — In traditional burials, graves are lined with concrete, a carbon-intensive material, and bodies are embalmed in toxic fluids which can leach into the soil

My first port of call is the Natural Death Centre, a charity based in the UK. I pick up the phone and am pleased to find Rosie Inman-Cook on the other end of the line – a chatty, no-nonsense type who is quick to warn me about the dubiousness of many alternative deathcare practices. “There are always companies jumping on the bandwagon, seeing a cash cow, inventing stuff. There’s a lot of coffin producers and funeral packages that will sell you a ‘green thing’ and plant a tree. You have to be careful.”

Her warning brings to mind some “eco urns” I’ve read about. Some are biodegradable, so that buried ashes can be mixed with soil and grow into a tree; others combine ashes with cement so they can form part of an artificial coral reef. These options offer a kind of eco-novelty: what’s a more fitting end for an ocean lover than to rest among the reefs or for a forest fanatic to “transform” into a tree after their death? The only problem is that however sustainable the urn, the ashes deposited in it are the product of carbon-intensive cremation.

So can I avoid my body becoming a billowing cloud of black smoke in the first place?

Inman-Cook’s remit is natural burials. This involves burying a body without any barriers to decomposition – no embalming fluids, no plastic liners or metal caskets. All of this means zero CO2 emissions, according to a recent analysis conducted by UK sustainability certification company Planet Mark. The body is buried in a relatively shallow grave, which might be someone’s garden, or, more often, a natural burial site.

Some natural burial sites allow graves to be marked with stones or other simple markers; others are stricter and don’t allow any markings at all. These are woodlands or other wildlife-rich places, often managed in a way that actively supports conservation. “It’s [about] creating green spaces for wildlife, nice places for people to visit, planting new woodland at the same time – and it’s a positive legacy,” Inman-Cook says.

But what of the not-so-natural materials that make their way into the human body – pharmaceuticals, microplastics, heavy metals? They surely don’t belong in the ground. One solution might come in the form of a coffin made of fungi. The Loop Living Cocoon claims to be the world’s first living coffin. It is made of a native, non-invasive species of mushroom mycelium, which is also used to create insulation panels, packaging and furniture. I speak to its inventor, Bob Hendrikx.

“The best thing that we can do is die in the forest and just lay there,” he says. “But one of the problems we’re facing is soil degradation – the quality of the soil is getting poorer and poorer, especially in funeral sites, because there’s a lot of pollution there. The human body is [also] getting more polluting.” Microplastics, for example, have now been found in human blood.

Natural burials are growing in popularity. It involves burying a body without any barriers to decomposition – no embalming fluids, plastic liners or metal caskets (Credit: Alamy) — Natural burials are growing in popularity. It involves burying a body without any barriers to decomposition – no embalming fluids, plastic liners or metal caskets

Mycelium has the power to increase soil health and absorb heavy metals that would otherwise leach into groundwater. Some fungi species have been found to break down microplastics, and future research could uncover ways to harness this for human burials.

But based on current research, the real impact of today’s mushroom coffins is difficult to know. I ask Rima Trofimovaite, author of Planet Mark’s report, what the likely benefits of a mushroom coffin are. She says that there is limited data on whether human bodies pollute the ground following a natural burial in a shallow grave. But she says that it is likely that most pollutants are “sorted out at the right level with the right organisms” when only a few feet underground, no extra fungi needed. “I think an option like this is still important,” she says. “We know that natural burial is the least emitting, but not everyone likes being wrapped up in a cotton shroud. People might prefer a mushroom coffin because it has a shape.”

However ecologically sound a natural burial – with or without fungi – might be, land remains precious. In cities in particular, green space for natural woodland burials is at a premium. It was this that prompted young architecture student Katrina Spade to investigate what could be done to make burials in cities less wasteful. Her solution is a logical one: to compost the body in a hexagonal steel vessel, reducing it to a nutrient-dense soil that the family can lay onto their garden.

Sustainabilty on a Shoestring

We currently live in an unsustainable world. While the biggest gains in the fight to curb climate change will come from the decisions made by governments and industries, we can all play our part. In Sustainability on a Shoestring, BBC Future explores how each of us can contribute as individuals to reducing carbon emissions by living more sustainably, without breaking the bank.

Spade launched Recompose, the world’s first human composting facility, in Seattle in 2020. Washington was the first US state legalise human composting the same year, and the practice is now legal in seven US states. Other human composting facilities have sprung up in Colorado and Washington.

Recompose has so far composted around 300 bodies. The process happens over the course of five to seven weeks. Lying in its specialised vessel, the body is surrounded by wood chips, alfalfa and straw. The air is carefully monitored and controlled, to make it a comfortable home for the microbes that help speed up the body’s decomposition. The remains are eventually removed, having transformed into two wheelbarrows-worth of compost. The bones and teeth – which don’t decompose – are removed, broken down mechanically, and added to the compost. Any implants, pacemakers or artificial joints are recycled whenever possible, says Spade.

With no need for energy-intense burning, human composting has a far smaller carbon footprint than cremation. In a lifecycle assessment conducted by Leiden University and Delft University of Technology, using data provided by Recompose, the climate impact of composting a body was found to be a fraction of that of cremation: 28kg (62lb) of CO2e compared to 208kg (459lb) CO2e in the US. When I ask Spade about the production of methane – a particularly harmful greenhouse gas that is released when organic matter rots – she explains that the vessels are aerated to ensure there’s plenty of oxygen. This prevents the anaerobic process that causes rotting, she says.

Turning a human body into soil also reminds us that “we’re not adjacent to nature, we’re part of nature,” Spade says. This shift in our relationship to the natural world is an environmental benefit that’s hard to quantify but is “critical to the plight of the planet”, she says.

Turning a human body into soil reminds us that "we're not adjacent to nature, we're part of nature," says Katrina Spade, founder of Recompose (Credit: Getty Images) — Turning a human body into soil reminds us that “we’re not adjacent to nature, we’re part of nature,” says Katrina Spade, founder of Recompose

Can anyone be composted? I ask Spade this question as I want to know if I’d “qualify” to meet the same end as a banana peel. The answer is, broadly, yes – but not if I’ve died of Ebola, a prion disease (a rare type of transmissible brain disease), or tuberculosis, as these pathogens have not been shown to be broken down by composting, says Spade.

As she describes the process, it strikes me that clothes would presumably not be welcome in the composting vessel. Instead, the remains are shrouded in linen, and families who choose to hold a ceremony can cover them with organic wood chips, straw, flowers, even shredded love letters.

“In one case, a family brought red bell peppers and purple onions that had just ripened in their loved one’s garden – it was so beautiful,” Spade recalls. The body enters a “threshold vessel”, where the Recompose team takes over. They remove the linen shroud but not the flowers and vegetables. I quietly hope that my family would really go for it here. I picture baskets of pine cones, mounds of mushrooms, maybe some of my beloved house plants.

This is all feeling very earthy – but there is another low-carbon option that centres around a different element: water. “Water cremation” (also known as “aquamation”, “alkaline hydrolysis” or “resomation”) is an alternative to traditional cremation, and was the method of choice for Archbishop Desmond Tutu, who helped end apartheid in South Africa. It is another altogether gentler and cleaner affair than cremation, producing just 20kg (44lb) CO2e. “That’s a big difference,” Trofimovaite says. “You slash massive amounts of emissions with resomation compared to flame cremation.”

Approximately 1,500 litres (330 gallons) of water is mixed with potassium hydroxide, and heated to 150C (302°F). In just four hours, the human body is reduced to sterile liquid. More than 20,000 people have been water cremated over the last 12 years, mostly in the US. The UK’s largest funeral provider, Co-op Funeralcare, recently announced that it will introduce the practice later this year.

The speed of water cremation makes it a great budget option. The Co-op anticipate the cost to be comparable to flame cremation – around £1,200 ($1,500) with basic support but no funeral service. Natural burials can be a similar price, but costs are often much higher, depending on the individual burial site. Composting is a lot more pricey at $7,000 (£5,500) – slightly more than the average standard UK burial, which costs £4,794 ($6,107).

I speak to Sandy Sullivan, founder of Resomation – a company that sells water cremation equipment to funeral homes across North America, Ireland and the UK (and plans to in the Netherlands, New Zealand and Australia in the next year). He is patient when I say I’m picturing the process as a kind of melting, and that I’m not sure how I feel about that.

“This is what you end up with,” he says, holding up a large, clear bag filled with a bright white powder. “This is flour, by the way,” he adds quickly. The point is that the final product is dry, ash-like. The flour is a likeness of what is returned to the family, and it comprises only the bones, which have been mechanically crushed (as they are following flame cremation). The soft tissue of the body is broken down in the water and disappears down the pipes to the water treatment plant.

Flame cremations are among the most carbon-intensive funeral rites (Credit: Getty Images) — Flame cremations are among the most carbon-intensive funeral rites

Sullivan’s bag of flour represents the physical takeaway that is so important to many families. It demonstrates what Julie Rugg, director of the University of York’s Cemetery Research Group in the UK, says is central to so much of our thinking about funeral practices.

“In the face of death, we seek consolation. And it’s been really interesting seeing how there’s been a conflict, in some cases, between what is sustainable and what people find consoling,” she says. Bags of bone ash and compost go some way towards overcoming this by offering us something tangible, an anchor for our grief.

As I consider the various options I’ve learned about – melting, mulching, mycellium – I find my thoughts returning to my first conversation with Inman-Cook. I am taken with the simplicity of natural burial, the absence of any bell, whistle, vessel or chamber. I’m pleased to learn that, based on all she has learned during her scientific analysis, Trofimovaite has reached the same conclusion. “I would try to do it as natural as possible,” she tells me. “Natural burials are the most appealing.” But an unmarked natural burial is a perfect example of the conflict Rugg has identified.

Carbon Count

“Somebody says they love the idea of being buried in this beautiful meadow, but they can’t put anything down on the grave,” she says. Rugg describes “guerilla gardening” taking place at one natural burial site, by a family member intent on surreptitiously marking their loved one’s grave with distinctive clovers. “What we’ve got to arrive at is a system which allows us to feel that our loss is special. We’ve got to think about sustainability at scale that still offers consolation.”

The answer, it seems to me, could lie in reimagining what “special” can mean. As Rugg says, in a typical memorial garden “you can’t move for plaques everywhere. We resist the dead disappearing, and actually we find that less consoling than we might think.”

I come away from the conversation with a clear sense that, assuming I’ve avoided going up in a puff of smoke, one of the most helpful things I can do is to refuse to lay claim to any single patch of land at all. I hope my family could find consolation in the knowledge that I’d be happier becoming one with a whole landscape. Why be a tree when I can become a forest?

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

August 23, 2023

How to take care of trans patients in hospice

By Dallas Ducar and Cathy Campbell

In the United States, more than 1.6 million people identify as transgender. Of these, more than one-fifth are over the age of 65, the vast majority of whom transitioned in the latter part of their lives. Transgender Americans are both living and dying among us: precisely why we health care providers must improve our approaches to ensuring dignified and respectful care for transgender elders, especially at the end of life.

What trans people hope for in their final moments of life — whether that is months, days, or hours — is no different than what anyone else wishes for. Trans people don’t want to be in pain. Trans people want their decisions to be honored. Trans people want a comfortable environment, to be treated with respect and dignity, and to be in the company of the loved ones they choose. We all want to live our last days authentically.

However, trans patients’ end-of-life journey poses unique challenges, many of which are rooted in their fear of being judged, intentionally or unintentionally humiliated, and excluded from critical care services, including pain relief — things that doctors, nurses, and chaplains sometimes unwittingly contribute to. And while mistreatment of transgender elders in hospice care — whether at home or elsewhere — can take many forms, it almost always stems from a lack of understanding or knowledge about transgender identity and needs, understanding what topics are within- and off-limits, and, in the worst cases, outright bias and discrimination.

We are both nurses. One of us, Dallas, has seen the impact of poor gender-affirming care firsthand and has co-founded a startup nonprofit, Transhealth, to provide, teach, research, and advocate for good gender-affirming care. The other, Cathy, has more than 30 years of experience working in hospice. We both understand that gender-affirming care is simply good health care, and too many are deprived of it, especially when unable to advocate for themselves.

When health care providers mistake patients’ gender or call them by their assigned rather than chosen name, it can be deeply distressing and disrespectful. Choosing a new name is one of the first, most profound public declarations a trans person goes through when first transitioning. Likewise, intentionally keeping one’s birth name amid a gender transition can be a sacred declaration, too. As such, it’s critical that clinicians get patients’ names right from the first meeting and use pronouns that match their patients’ chosen gender identities. Starting with their first interactions, health care workers should introduce their own name and pronouns, leveling the power imbalance, and then ask the individual for their name and pronouns. This is the first step in establishing trust.

Because trans patients’ unique health needs are often misunderstood, accommodations can be lacking, especially within the more specialized hospice setting. What does personalized care look like? It’s when clinicians take the time to affirm and support patients’ daily care rituals that match their gender identities. So a bedridden trans man who hasn’t had “top surgery” might need help binding his chest. A trans woman may need assistance shaving or doing her hair or makeup. Providers should also be supportive of patients’ continued use of hormone therapy, even if it interacts with other medications or diagnoses. One’s social embodiment remains vital even if at the end of life.

Because trans patients sometimes arrive for care in hospice facilities in a stage of advanced need, clinicians caring for trans communities must be extra vigilant as they manage symptoms and offer support and respect. Encountering health care workers who are reticent to care can compound feelings of isolation, discrimination, exclusion, and lack of acceptance. Trans patients might also be held at a distance by fellow hospice patients and their family members. Given that, clinicians must go above and beyond with their trans patients, regularly checking in in all the usual ways (How’s your pain? What do you need? How are you feeling?) as well as ways more specific to their gender identity (Do you have what you need to support your gender identity and gender expression? How is your circle of support being included in your care? Is anything/anyone keeping you from feeling comfortable and like you belong?).

Education is a critical component of delivering gender-affirming hospice care, too. Whether health care systems require it or not, care providers at all levels must take trans-inclusive care courses and training, like the courses offered by GLMA and the Fenway Institute, to fully understand the issues trans patients face. Such learning reinforces behaviors and builds knowledge about what respectful, nonjudgmental, and supportive care looks, sounds, and feels like.

Beyond day-to-day care are social and economic considerations and how they’re affected by a patient’s gender identity. Care providers can ask gentle, open-ended questions to assess whether additional support or resources might be needed: Do you struggle paying for rent, food, utilities, or your medications? Are there any issues with violence at home? These basic questions apply to all individuals, but transgender people are at greater risk for food insecurity, housing insecurity, and safety concerns, so it’s even more important to address them as part of a plan of care.

Conversely, curious questions unrelated to trans patients’ palliative care and well-being are wholly inappropriate. Off-limits are questions like: What was your name before you transitioned? Have you had surgery? What do your family and friends say? Are you a man or a woman? It’s vital that clinicians be aware of the harm these questions can cause.

There are administrative considerations, too. Hospice and palliative care providers often discuss the benefit of advanced directives, which are legal documents that outline the passage of care decision-making responsibilities when the patient is unable. Because transgender patients are sometimes estranged from biological family, these conversations and documents have particular relevance, and health care workers should pursue patients’ wishes while they have the ability to choose who will decide for them at life’s end if not their relatives. Even if a complete legal document isn’t finalized, partial directives are better than no directives at all.

Finally, it’s critical that clinicians not assume that every trans patient’s life has been marked by suffering. Many, many trans men and women have had beautiful, affirmed, supported lives. Clinicians must not assume that all transgender patients are similar. Trans folks must be cared for as individuals first.

Trans elders are part of our communities, both in life and in death. Supporting the overall well-being of trans patients means acknowledging their humanity and affirming their identities as humans first. We, as health care providers and clinicians, must ensure our transgender elders live and die with their dignity intact and their authenticity respected. The quality of our care should reflect our shared humanity, undiminished by our differences.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

August 22, 2023August 21, 2023

“We are a grief illiterate society”

— A psychotherapist on how to navigate loss in an era of excess

Gina Moffa, author of “Moving On Doesn’t Mean Letting Go,” on why grief takes endurance

By Mary Elizabeth Williams

Grief doesn’t always arrive in predictable stages. You can mourn before a person has even died. And you can feel guilty for starting to feel good. Because as licensed psychotherapist Gina Moffa explains, grief can be a real “sneaky jerk.”

As she writes in her new book “Moving On Doesn’t Mean Letting Go: A Modern Guide to Navigating Loss,” whether it’s for a loved one, a relationship, or a job — grief is a complicated and deeply individual experience. “Our histories will teach us how we perceive our loss,” Moffa, who is also a mental health educator and author, explained in a recent conversation via video chat. “The way that we grieve will often echo the way that we cope with hard things in our life.”

Drawing on her research and her own candid experience of loss, Moffa’s book is a balm for anyone who’s ever fumbled through the darkness of grief or felt they were somehow doing it wrong. “We are a grief illiterate country and society,” Moffa says. But we don’t have to be. With self-compassion and an understanding of how and why are brains are making us feel this way, we can weather the pain even if we can’t stop if from coming.

Moffa and I talked about how to grieve for someone we had a complicated relationship with, coping with those unexpected “secondary losses” and why we need to understand that “Grief takes a lot of endurance.”

This conversation has been edited and condensed for clarity.

You start by talking about this idea of letting go, which is often ingrained in our concept of what grief is supposed to look like. What are these mindsets that we can get ourselves into when we’re faced with loss — and how can we reframe them in a way that is more healing and constructive?

I think we are a grief illiterate country and society. We are just not in a place where we’re adept at losing in any in any part of our definition of the word. We’re also really bad at emotions. In the book, I even say that I was really bad at it. I wouldn’t know what to say when people are going through a loss. And you learn by getting it wrong.

“When they’re no longer in that place and no longer in that time, we have to figure out how to keep the attachment. That’s so hard for people that they shut down.”

From the standpoint of the brain, we really actually aren’t equipped at knowing how to continue the bonds. We’re attached to something or someone or an animal that’s significant to us. In our brains, we have an idea that it’s predictable, that they’re in this place at this time. This is how our attachment is defined. When they’re no longer in that place and no longer in that time, we have to figure out how to keep the attachment. That’s so hard for people that they shut down and they don’t know how to deal with the emotions that come up.

Grief is not linear. There are anniversaries, there are things that bring it back up again, and the circle comes around. How do we prepare ourselves for that? And how can we be more sensitive to other people about that as well?

We’re talking about all of the triggers and awakenings that come up that are unpredictable. It’s really hard to prevent that from happening. It’s understanding that it will happen — and how to react in turn. I talk a lot about self compassion. I talk a lot about reaching out to people and about understanding what our triggers are. But we can’t understand them until we have them and they throw us off base. From there, the best way to do it is not necessarily prevention, but getting really clear about what those things could be ahead of time.

“The body will tell us when something is coming up before our brain will register it.”

We come face to face with these things, they can smack us dead in the middle of a street. The body will tell us when something is coming up before our brain will register it. I’ve had an anniversary of my mother’s death. I almost forgot about it, because I’m in the middle of like launching a book. I’m sitting there, and I’m like, “But what is this feeling?” Then I inevitably see something on the calendar and realize that something is coming up for her.

A lot of it is very biological. So I don’t think we can prevent grief, we can just be compassionate with ourselves when it comes up and be as in tune with our body as we possibly can be, because grief lives there. And once we know something will hit us in a certain way, we can do whatever we can to then prepare.

Grief rarely walks alone. You talk also about the side effects of grief, including anticipatory grief and secondary grief, where you miss certain rituals, or you miss the house. It is a unique thing that a lot of us who’ve lost parents or who’ve lost friends to disease have experienced. Talk to me about what those what those other kinds of side partners of grief are that you may be blindsided by.

With all due respect to Elisabeth Kübler-Ross and the five stages of grief, I think it does make it seem like it’s very clean. You have these five stages and then you’re done. One of the big misunderstandings is that we miss all of the layers and all of the things that come along with a primary loss.

“Everyone has these little threads that lead us back right back to our losses. It’s about the relationship and the bond.”

If we’re talking about losing a parent to an illness, I may have taken some time off work to help care for my mother. Now I’ve lost that sense of meaning that I had. I may no longer have perhaps the money that I had and I have to rearrange where I live, so then I lose my livelihood and my home. Maybe I woke up and had coffee with my spouse every day and we did it in a certain way. Everyone has these little threads that lead us back right back to our losses. It’s about the relationship and the bond.

Most of the time, the secondary losses or attachments don’t come up right away. That’s the sneaky jerk that grief can be. You don’t really think about it until much later, after the funeral and after you’ve paid things off and after you’ve called the credit card bills or the lawyers. It’s when you sit and you think, “I’m just making this coffee by myself now.” It’s both tangible and intangible — and so innumerable. It comes up over the years. I didn’t realize I lost the only person who would call me at midnight on my birthday and think of me in these specific ways.

So many people are ashamed to talk about these additional losses, because they don’t seem important. But a lot of the time, they really help define the intensity of that grief and that loss. It’s really important that we acknowledge as much as we can to the people around us, because each one of those layers holds so much meaning for us.

You talk in the book distinguishing trauma from grief. Explain to me why they’re important for us to get clarity on, within those spectrums.

You can have grief without a trauma. You can’t have trauma without grief, because there’s so much loss inherent within a trauma, especially safety. The most common and probably the biggest part that relates them is the nervous system.

“Our histories will teach us how we perceive our loss.”

Our histories will teach us how we perceive our loss. If your nervous system, which is a smoke alarm, is always looking for danger, if you’ve already had trauma or neglect or abuse in your life, instances where you haven’t felt safe either in your body or your environment, you’re going to then perceive whatever comes next as more traumatic than it is, as per your nervous system.

It’s really tricky, because it is so individual that you really can’t make a blanket statement that all grief is traumatic. But initially we have this attachment that is predictable in time and space. That fresh, brief moment is always going to be a little bit traumatic for somebody, because what was there is no longer there. And our brains have to work at trying to figure out what to do with that attachment. Over time, we do figure out what to do with it. It does take work and it takes active grieving. But for a lot of people who don’t cope well with change, or who already have a history of trauma or anxiety or mental illness, they’re going to have a much harder time and it will be categorized as traumatic.

It’s really individual, and no one can say whether or not somebody is going through a trauma or having a traumatic loss unless they get to know them, and they’re safe in order to share that and what their history is.

This whole book also touches on the duality and the complexity of grief. I loved Jenette McCurdy’s book, because she showed you can grieve for someone who hurt you. You can grieve for a marriage that was bad. Talk to me about how those feelings and emotions play with each other, because it can be very confusing to the person experiencing it.

We are a western society that mostly deals in black and white [extremes.] It’s this or it’s that. Dialectical Behavioral Therapy can teach you to hold both realities at once. That’s why I always say DBT should be in schools. We need to learn very, very young that we can feel all sorts of things at one time.

It’s because of that sense that we always think in black and white that people don’t know how to wrap their head around the idea that somebody can be relieved that their loved one isn’t suffering — and also miss the hell out of them. It is especially more common for people who have had troubled relationships with somebody they’ve lost. A lot of it is so nuanced. It’s, “I really will miss the idea that this could have been better, or that I could have had a different experience with this person.” That is where the deeper grief lies. It’s in those little moments of “What if?”

We look at a western society, and when somebody dies, we put them on this pedestal and only look at them through this joyous, beautiful way. And then you’re like, “Hey, I thought like her dad was an abusive alcoholic. Now he was the best dad.”

I think it’s because people couldn’t accept if somebody was like, “My dad was actually not the greatest, but he did the best he could and I’ll grieve for the dad I never had and never could be, or the person I am now. I grieve because I wish I could have been somebody who had a better relationship.” It really always boils down to, what if we could be taught to hold two opposing belief systems at the same time? And what if we allowed other people to do the same?

You talk about the fact that your needs are going to fluctuate and there are going to be days when you really need people around you and others when you need to be by yourself. Doing that kind of checking in with yourself regularly is hard, because we don’t give ourselves a lot of space to do that. How can we cultivate that in the face of a loss?

A lot of times we don’t know what we need. One minute, I want solitude, the next minute I want to be surrounded by people because I’m completely lonely. Sometimes it’s about slowing our world down. Sometimes it really just boils down to taking a breath, putting your hand on your heart, saying, “What do I need?” Maybe it’s a glass of water. Maybe it’s I need to actually like get away from my computer screen for a minute and look out the window. Maybe I need to call somebody and say, “I’m having a hard day and I don’t know why.” I don’t think there’s any shame in adjusting our expectations of ourselves and also leaning into what our rhythms are.

“what if we could be taught to hold two opposing belief systems at the same time? And what if we allowed other people to do the same?”

That is why I talk about grieving rhythms. It’s about leaning into the moments that everything can shift, because the way that we grieve will often echo the way that we cope with hard things in our life. Do we run away from them? Do we come to them head on? Do we keep things busy and moving? Or do we lean straight into that pain and get dark and emo? Are we people who isolate when things are hard? Are we people who reach out to others?

It’s very multilayered in terms of understanding what we need and being able to communicate those needs. When we don’t know what it is we need, let’s shrink our world and just take care of our bodies, because that’s the first thing that’s going to go and grief takes a lot of endurance.

I want to ask about this somewhat newly introduced idea of long term grief. It is tricky because we don’t want to set timelines for ourselves, but we also don’t want to pathologize grief. Are there some certain signs that can signal, maybe I need more help, or maybe I need to be looking at the grief as part of a bigger picture?

The key words associated with that would be relief and intensity. A lot of people are able to still have relief while they’re grieving. That may mean that their support system is there, they’re able to go to an event and let in joy or at least a laugh or two, they’re able to go back to work and even if it doesn’t feel good, are able to focus at times on things. The intensity will shift and wax and wane.

Whereas if somebody is really getting themselves into a place where it would be a diagnosis of prolonged grief disorder, or getting stuck in their grief, it would be about the idea that there’s just no relief for them. They’re constantly in a state of vacillating between reality and the “What if?” and the sense of guilt, which keeps them in rumination. When that’s the way that it is, the reality of the loss is not accepted. There’s a sense that that intensity will never go away, the relief will never come. They become very isolated from their peers and their support system. That is where it’s a good time to be in therapy if you’re not already. That would be the time I would say, all hands on deck.

Grief really does take a very long time. The other side of that is people can feel guilty when they start to let some of their grief go, when begin to another relationship or forget something that used to tether them to the person who was gone. Part of the grieving experience is giving yourself permission to not be grieving and to feel happiness again.

That is the biggest thing people talk about, especially after time passes. There’s that fear of memories fading, or that life is coming in bigger than the loss itself. One of the things about grief is it has science and mystery in it. It’s hard to figure out how we bring these attachments with us. We just know that we need to and we want to, and that it will look different all the time in how we bring that person with us.

I think about the Andrew Garfield interview where he’s like, grief is love — grief is all of this love with no place to go. But it does have a place to go, and we get to create the place within ourselves and in our lives and our own rituals and how we continue that bond. It’s going to be really individual and that’s where the mystery lies. So I don’t have an amazing answer for you on this, outside of saying that we go on, because we must.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

August 21, 2023August 20, 2023

More obituaries acknowledge suicide as openness on mental health grows

Deborah Blum holds a photo of her child, Esther Iris, who died by suicide in 2021. When it came time to write the death notice, Blum was open and specific about the mental health struggles that led to her child’s death.

By Debby Waldman

When Deborah and Warren Blum’s 16-year-old died by suicide in November 2021, they went into shock. For two days, the grief-stricken Los Angeles couple didn’t sleep.

But when it came time to write a death notice, Deborah Blum was clearheaded: In a heartfelt tribute to her smart, funny, popular child, who had recently come out as nonbinary, she was open and specific about the mental health struggles that led to Esther Iris’s death.

“Esther’s whole thing was that people should know and talk about mental health and it shouldn’t be a secret,” Deborah Blum told KFF Health News. “The least I could do was to be honest and tell people. I think being embarrassed just makes it worse.”

Deborah Blum in the bedroom of her teen child, Esther Iris.

While it was once unheard-of to mention suicide as a cause of death in news obituaries and paid death notices, that has been changing, especially in the past 10 years, said Dan Reidenberg, a psychologist and managing director of the National Council for Suicide Prevention.

High-profile suicides — such as those of comic actor Robin Williams in 2014, fashion designer Kate Spade in 2018 and dancer Stephen “tWitch” Boss in 2022 — have helped reduce the stigma surrounding suicide loss. So has advertising for depression and anxiety medications, which has helped normalize that mental illnesses are health conditions.

The covid-19 pandemic also drew attention to the prevalence of mental health challenges.

“The stigma is changing,” Reidenberg said. “There is still some, but it’s less than it used to be, and that’s increasing people’s willingness to include it in an obituary.”

A card Esther Iris made for their dad, Warren Blum.

While there’s no right or wrong way to write death announcements, mental health and grief experts said the reluctance to acknowledge suicide has implications beyond the confines of a public notice. The stigma attached to the word affects everything from how people grieve to how people help prevent others from ending their own lives.

Research shows that talking about suicide can help reduce suicidal thoughts, but studies have also found that spikes in suicide rates can follow news reports about someone dying that way — a phenomenon known as “suicide contagion.” The latter is an argument people make for not acknowledging suicide in obituaries and death notices.

Reidenberg said, however, the subject can be addressed responsibly.

That includes telling a balanced story, similar to what Deborah Blum did, acknowledging Esther Iris’s accomplishments as well as their struggles. It means leaving out details about the method or location of the death, and not glorifying the deceased in a way that might encourage vulnerable readers to think dying by suicide is a good way to get attention.

A surfboard in memory of Esther Iris, with notes from their community written on it, is outside the Blum home in Los Angeles.

“We don’t ever want to normalize suicide, but we don’t want to normalize that people can’t have a conversation about suicide,” Reidenberg said.

Having that conversation is an important part of the grieving process, said Holly Prigerson, a professor of sociology in medicine at Weill Cornell Medical College in New York and an expert on prolonged grief disorder.

“Part of adjusting to the loss of someone is coming up with a story of what happened and why,” she said. “To the extent that you can’t be honest and acknowledge what happened if it’s a death due to suicide, that will complicate, if not impede, your ability to fully and accurately process your loss.”

People close to the deceased often know when a death was by suicide, Reidenberg said, particularly in the case of young people.

“Being honest can lead to information and awareness, whereas if we keep it shrouded in this big mystery it doesn’t help,” he added.

A study about caregiver depression that Prigerson recently conducted identified avoidance as an impediment to healing from grief.

“Not acknowledging how someone died, denying the cause of death, avoiding the reality of what happened is a significant barrier to being able to adjust to what happened and to move forward,” she said.

Researchers are increasingly seeing bereavement as a social process, Prigerson said, and as social beings, people look to others for comfort and solace. That’s another reason the stigma attached to suicide is harmful: It keeps people from opening up.

“The stigma is based on the perception that others will judge you as being an inadequate parent, or not having done enough,” Prigerson said. “This whole thing with obituaries is all about others — it’s about how people are going to read what happened and think less of you.”

Stigma, shame and embarrassment are among the reasons grieving family members have traditionally avoided acknowledging suicide in obituaries and death notices. It’s also why, if they do, they may be more likely to address it indirectly, either by describing the death as “sudden and unexpected” or by soliciting donations for mental health programs.

Economics can factor in — sometimes people are secretive because of life insurance plans that exclude payouts for suicides. Sometimes they’re trying to protect reputations, theirs as well as those of the deceased, particularly in religious communities where suicide is considered a sin.

Avoiding the word suicide doesn’t necessarily mean someone is in denial. In the days after a loss, which is when most obituaries and death announcements are written, it’s often profoundly difficult to face the truth, especially in the case of suicide, said Doreen Marshall, a psychologist and former vice president at the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention.

Even when people can admit the truth to themselves, they might have trouble expressing it to others, said Joanne Harpel, a suicide bereavement expert in New York who works with mourners through her business, Coping After Suicide.

In the support groups she runs, she said, people vary in how open they are willing to be. For example, in the group for mothers who have lost a child to suicide, everyone acknowledges that reality — after all, that’s why they’re there — but they don’t all do so the same way.

“Some of them will refer to ‘when this happened’ or ‘before all this,’” Harpel said, cautioning against holding all mourners to the same standard. “They’re not pretending it was something else, but using the word ‘suicide’ is so confronting and so painful that even in the safest context it’s very, very hard for them to say it out loud.”

If you or someone you know needs help, visit 988lifeline.org or call or text the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline at 988.<

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

August 20, 2023August 19, 2023

A friend at the end

— Volunteers ensure dying patients don’t face death alone

In 2005, Trinity Health started No One Dies Alone, a program where volunteers visit patients who are nearing death, standing by their bedside as they approach death. Volunteers accompany patients by holding their hands, read to them, play music or talk about life, and death, with the patients. The program was on hiatus during the COVID pandemic, but rebooted this past September.

Trinity Health’s palliative care program ‘No One Dies Alone’ sends volunteers to be with patients in final hours, give families respite

By Daniel Meloy

Dying is a personal — and often difficult — thing to discuss.

From choosing hospice care and drafting wills to an entire continuum of end-of-life care, there are many views about what’s best.

But there’s one thing most people can agree on: no one wants to die alone.

And thanks to a group of volunteers through Trinity Health, no one has to.

In 2005, a team of people at the Catholic health care system started No One Dies Alone, a palliative care program that assigns volunteers to be present with patients who are nearing death, standing by their bedside when family and friends can’t be present.

“No One Dies Alone is a comfort companion program for those patients who don’t have family or whose family can’t be present at the bedside 24/7,” said Barbara Stephen, bereavement specialist in the volunteer department at Trinity Health Oakland and Trinity Health Livonia. “Whether family and friends are out of state, or can’t get in right away, or are in need of respite care, we provide volunteers who can be there if needed. We’re a friend who looks for any kind of distress and keeps them company.”

Lisa Marie Blanek, a No One Dies Alone volunteer, reads a book bedside of a patient. The No One Dies Alone program has volunteer read to terminally-ill patients, play music or just hold hands with people as they near death. The program ensures no patient at Trinity Health’s Livonia and Pontiac hospitals dies without anyone else in the room.

The program started after Trinity Health’s Palliative Care Program did a study on end-of-life care around the country, noting 50% of patients die in a hospital, and of those, about 10-12% die alone, without family and friends at their side.

Through No One Dies Alone, volunteers keep patients company in their final days, doing everything from reading to patients, holding their hand, or calling a nurse if a patient is in discomfort.

“We are there to be at the bedside,” Stephen told Detroit Catholic. “We do a lot of hand-holding. We don’t do nursing care, but what we do is a lot of talking, prayers if they want, and just being that second set of eyes. If we see some distressing signs, like pain or a need for medical care, we call the nurse. We get a wet washcloth if they are running a fever, or Chapstick when their lips are chapped. We’re there to be that friend by the bedside, keeping an eye on them, letting them know they are not alone.”

No One Dies Alone took a hiatus during the COVID-19 pandemic, when volunteers weren’t permitted in hospitals.

The program rebooted last September, operating out of Trinity Health’s Oakland (Pontiac) and Livonia locations, with 38 volunteers at Oakland and 29 in Livonia.

No One Dies Alone volunteers typically operate on three-hour shifts and receive a brief report about the patient, including a person’s family situation, interests and condition. Volunteers often build a rapport with the patient’s family, stepping in to allow family members to get a bite to eat or a change of clothes at home.

Susan Abentrod practices tucking a patient in at the Trinity Health Oakland Hospital in Pontiac. No One Dies Alone volunteers are there to fill in the gaps for family and friends who can’t be with patients nearing death 24/7 and for doctors and nurses who are managing multiple patients at a time.

“The volunteer who is coming in to (watch over) the person who is dying often is not able to talk to the patient, but they do talk with family, who are grateful they are there,” said Kelly Herron, visit coordinator for No One Dies Alone. “They appreciate that someone is stepping into the space for their family, knowing their loved one is being watched over.”

Volunteers are not meant to act as medical personnel or hospice workers. Their work is more a ministry of presence, Herron said.

“As a volunteer, our role is limited because we are there to hold a space,” Herron said. “It’s about showing up and being a companion, being willing to talk about the things they want to talk about. It’s about being a friend and putting them first, not being afraid to listen to them talk about what they are feeling as they near the end.”

Sometimes, volunteers can even fulfill special requests, such as having terminal patients see their pets one last time.

“A lot of patients have pets at home, and when we ask them if they have a wish, often they regret they’ll never see their dog or cat again, so we bring the pets in — as long as they are updated on their shots — so they can be with their owner,” Stephen said.

Sometimes, volunteers are a shoulder for family members struggling with the loss of their loved ones, Stephen added.

“We had a young mom who was dying, and she had a 7-year-old daughter, and the dad didn’t know how to tell the daughter,” Stephen said. “(The mother and daughter) shared a birthday, and we knew the mom wasn’t going to make it to the next birthday. We asked what they usually do for their birthday, and the dad said they always have a tea party. So we got the mom out of her hospital gown, had some nice pajamas for her, and got the daughter dressed up. My husband went to Costco to get balloons, and we had a tea party. We took pictures, not only for the daughter to remember, but for the mom to hang onto that memory. It’s not easy losing your mother at 7, but it was a lovely time.”

Barbara Stephen, bereavement specialist in the volunteer department at Trinity Health Oakland and Trinity Health Livonia, leads the No One Dies Alone program. She leads a team of volunteers who read to patients nearing death, get them an extra blanket if they need on, play their favorite music on the stereo and are just their for patients who are nearing death. The program is one of presence and accompaniment, Stephen said, just being there for those nearing the end of life.

Most visits are more low-key, but the idea is the same: being with people in their hour of need.

Herron recalls her own experience of being with her own mother when she died, adding it was a comfort to both of them to know she wasn’t alone. It was Herron’s time as a No One Dies Alone volunteer that prepared her for her mother’s death, she said.

“When my mom died, I was sitting there with her,” Herron said. “Everyone thought she probably would die soon. It was the middle of the night, everyone went to sleep, and I remember holding my mom’s hand, saying, ‘I’m going to go to sleep. You go to sleep too, and I’ll talk to you in the morning. But I’m right here.’ I was just pulling my hand back to demonstrate that I was falling asleep, but I didn’t close my eyes. I just looked at her, and she opened her eyes and look at me before she died.

“To me, that’s why we do this,” Herron added. “If at any point, someone is going to open their eyes or squeeze their hand, it’s so comforting that someone is there — that they are not forgotten, that they are not alone, and that it matters to someone as you are making that transition.”

Barbara Stephen, bereavement specialist in the volunteer department at Trinity Health Oakland and Trinity Health Livonia, poses for a photo with No One Dies Alone volunteers, Chuck Pokriefka, Lisa Marie Blanek, Susan Abentrod and Joe Fugitt.

While No One Dies Alone is a comfort to the dying and their families, it’s also an added benefit to hospital medical care staff, who appreciate having an extra set of eyes and ears in the room.

“Our nurses are so compassionate, and they just want to be there. They don’t want anybody to be alone when it is the end of someone’s life, but they have a patient load,” Stephen said. “So when they see us, they are so excited. When our volunteers come in, the nurses ask if they can get us a cup of coffee, or if we need anything. They take really good care of us, because they appreciate there is always someone there with their patients.”

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

August 19, 2023January 21, 2024

Digital Afterlife

— Preparing for the Psychological Impact of Virtual Selves and Memories

“Life after death is real in this digital era.”

By Roshni Chandnani

Welcome to the age of the digital afterlife, when the lines between the real and virtual worlds blur, giving rise to the notion of virtual identities and memories. As technology advances, the concept of digital immortality becomes more apparent, compelling us to investigate the psychological consequences of existing beyond our physical life. This article delves into our emotional commitment to our virtual selves, how we cope with grief and loss in the digital domain, and the ethical concerns surrounding digital immortality.

Virtual Immortality: A New Existential Paradigm

Consider a world in which our mind exceeds the confines of our physical body. We can attain virtual immortality in the domain of the digital afterlife, allowing our ideas, memories, and personalities to live on after death. This virtual life is made possible by breakthrough artificial intelligence and virtual reality technologies that digitally replicate our essence. However, the idea of immortality brings with it significant ethical quandaries that call into question our notion of life, death, and what it is to be human.

The Psychological Consequences of Digital Afterlife

The concept of surviving in a digital form raises concerns about the emotional commitment we establish to our virtual identities and memories. We form profound emotional connections with these representations as we devote time and attention to creating our digital identities. When faced with digital loss, such as the deactivation of a virtual self or the erasure of digital memories, we feel a distinct sort of grieving that necessitates the development of new coping strategies.

The Role of Technology in Memory Preservation

Artificial intelligence and virtual reality advancements have enabled the creation of lifelike virtual representations of ourselves as well as the digital preservation of cherished memories. These technologies not only allow us to review our prior experiences, but they also allow future generations to engage with their predecessors’ digital legacies. However, the advantages of digitally storing memories are accompanied by possible downsides, such as the change or manipulation of these memories.

Embracing Digital Estate Planning

The notion of estate planning has expanded beyond physical assets to embrace digital assets in the age of the digital afterlife. Proper digital estate planning entails organizing and managing one’s virtual identities, social media profiles, and digital memories in order to ensure their smooth transfer to trusted others after our death. By taking control of our digital legacy, we can make a significant difference in the lives of those we care about.

Security and Privacy Concerns

As we spend more of ourselves in the digital environment, the need to protect our virtual selves and memories becomes increasingly important. Concerns about privacy and security develop as a result of the possibility of unauthorized access to sensitive data and the danger of identity theft. To prevent exploitation and misuse of our virtual existence, we must strike a balance between sharing our digital lives and preserving our digital identities.

Support Groups and Virtual Therapies

Virtual worlds are becoming significant instruments in therapeutic and emotional support, not merely as a form of entertainment. Virtual treatments give a secure area for people to examine their emotions and tackle unsolved concerns. Furthermore, virtual support groups provide consolation and solace to people who have experienced digital loss by allowing them to connect with others who understand their specific challenges.

Ethical and Legal Considerations

As the notion of a digital afterlife gets traction, it becomes critical to build updated legal frameworks to address concerns such as digital estate planning, virtual self-inheritance, and digital memory ownership. Furthermore, ethical issues necessitate a more in-depth examination of how we handle the digital afterlife responsibly while honoring individuals’ preferences and liberty in both life and death.

Cultural Views on Digital Afterlife

The digital afterlife also calls into question our traditional assumptions about life after death. Various civilizations have different ideas about what happens to the soul once the physical body dies. We are witnessing a development of spiritual practices that integrate traditions with the digital era as technology and spirituality meet. Accepting these cultural ideas offers up new doors for spiritual development and understanding.

The Effect on Social Dynamics and Relationships

As our virtual personas grow more and more ingrained in our lives, they unavoidably have an impact on our relationships and social interactions. Nurturing relationships with our virtual selves, participating in virtual groups, and establishing connections in the digital domain all influence how we interact and relate with people. It also calls into question the sincerity and depth of these connections when contrasted to face-to-face conversations.

Grief and Healing in the Digital Age

“The people you shared those times with, the times you lived through; nothing brings it all back to life like an old mix tape.” It is more effective than genuine brain tissue at storing memories. Every mix tape has a tale to tell. When you put them all together, they may tell the tale of a life.”

Grieving takes on a new level in the domain of the digital afterlife. When faced with the loss of a virtual self or a loved one’s digital memories, individuals suffer a distinct sort of sorrow that necessitates creative ways of healing and closure. Virtual monuments and digital places for memory provide comfort to people looking for ways to respect and love their virtual relationships.

Mindfulness and Digital Detoxification

Living in an era where the digital afterlife is a reality necessitates balancing our physical and virtual selves. Mindfulness and digital cleansing assist us to be present and avoid getting excessively tied to our digital selves. We may maintain a healthy relationship with technology and focus on developing significant real-life experiences by withdrawing from the virtual world on a regular basis.

Identity and Self-Concept Development

The emergence of virtual selves calls into question established ideas about identity and self-concept. Individuals have the option to explore different facets of themselves in the digital afterlife, adopting a more fluid and dynamic sense of who they are. This identity growth opens the door to deeper self-acceptance and an appreciation of human complexity.

Preservation of Educational and Historical Values

The digital afterlife expands educational and historical preservation opportunities. Virtual selves may be used as dynamic and engaging instructional tools, allowing students to connect in a profoundly immersive way with historical personalities and events. Furthermore, digitally archiving historical personalities and their memories guarantees that their contributions to society are never forgotten, establishing a stronger feeling of connection with the past.

Future Planning: Embracing Change

As technology advances, so will the notion of a digital afterlife. In order to prepare for the future, we must welcome change with an open mind, cultivate continual debate, and explore the potential of the digital environment. We can design a future where virtual selves and memories improve our lives without overshadowing the beauty of the actual world if we approach the digital afterlife properly and ethically.

Final Thoughts

The digital afterlife represents a fascinating and difficult frontier of human existence, testing our understanding of identity, relationships, and the essence of life and death. As technology advances, the psychological influence of virtual selves and memories will only become more prominent. However, with mindfulness, empathy, and intentional preparation, we can traverse the digital domain with wisdom and compassion, ensuring that the virtual world supports rather than overpowers the depth of our real-life experiences.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

August 18, 2023August 17, 2023

Why death matters

— Reframing life in terms of death reveals some of the biggest philosophical problems with how we think about living systems.

By Adam Frank

Definitions of life are notoriously hard to pin down. Is a fire alive? It has a kind of metabolism, and in a sense it reproduces by spreading. Is a crystal alive? It certainly grows. What about a virus, which can reproduce and mutate, but only if it can find a living cell to use as a host?

Scientific definitions of life tend to focus on things like reproduction, metabolism, heredity, and evolution. But there is another, more basic property of life that has profound consequences for its study, and which I want to explore today: the capacity to die. While this may seem obvious, reframing life in terms of death reveals some of the biggest philosophical and scientific problems with the way we think about living systems.

You are more than your DNA

Focusing on the biomolecular mechanisms of life has yielded remarkable insights into what happens inside cells. However, this emphasis over the last 70 years on molecules such as deoxyribonucleic acid has produced a kind of myopia that can lead researchers to blind themselves to a critical insight. Life is not just molecules. It cannot be reduced to the interactions of a set of molecular actors. Instead, life is really about organization. This is why, alongside the emphasis on biochemistry, there has always been a focus on life as an organism. An organism is a whole that is also wholly invested in its interactions with the environment. Biomolecules would never take on the activities they play in the cell were it not for the higher levels of organization the cell makes possible.

And this is where death comes in.

Biologists Humberto Maturana and Francisco Varela developed the concept of autopoiesis in the 1970s and 1980s to describe the essential character of life as an organism. Autopoiesis means “self-producing.” The term, which Maturana and Varela coined, refers to a kind of strange loop that occurs in living systems whereby the processes and products needed for an organism to survive must be created by the processes and products needed for the organism to survive. The classic example is the cell membrane, whose presence is required to create the very compounds that maintain it.

Over the next year I will be writing more about autopoiesis, as it forms part of a new research program on life and information funded by the Templeton Institute. The key point for today is to understand that one thing Maturana and Varela wanted to focus on with autopoiesis was its intrinsic capacity to end. To be an autopoietic system is to constantly face death.

To be alive is always to live in a “precarious condition,” as Varela called it. You, me, a butterfly, a single-celled organism — all life must constantly be at work to produce and maintain itself. Life can never take a rest from the internal activities it must carry out to do that. And this self-production and self-maintenance must work on a remarkable array of scales. At the molecular level, the ribosomes that drive life’s nano-machinery must never halt. At the cellular level, the membrane can never stop its work of monitoring and adjusting the flux of compounds into the cell. At the system level in more complex life, the various components of a plant or animal must always be synchronized and synchronizing.

Or else, what?

We know the answer to that question, for it drives so much of our higher animal psychology: or else, we die. The organism is always and forever bound to its state of precariousness, and eventually that precariousness must win. It always wins. To be alive is to be able to die.

Life is not a blender

This emphasis on death as the definition of life serves many roles and will be useful for many purposes. On a purely scientific level, it can help us understand which features of organisms and their organization to focus on. This is important for the Templeton project I am beginning, because it sharpens our focus on how information can serve to keep an organism viable, i.e. self-maintaining.

On a philosophical level, the focus on death reveals a key problem with reductionist descriptions of life that rely on what is called the machine metaphor. For reductionists, life is nothing but a set of molecular mechanisms. We are therefore nothing but biochemical machines. This is a fundamental mistake, because while a machine can be switched off, there can be no “off” button for life. Even seeds that remain dormant for years are not “off” like my blender is off when I am not using it. Life is not a machine.

Finally, understanding life as what can die has a personal or even spiritual valence. It gives the lie to the strange transhumanist, techno-religious fantasy about conquering death. While I am all for extending my life if I can, I would never think to avoid its end. Instead, what I long for is the fullest experience I can muster out of this strange trip. Then when death does come, I will greet it like the old friend it has always been.

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