Kevin Heyward poses next to his Austin car coffin that he made at the Coffin Club’s workshop
By Ryland JAMES
It’s a task of grave importance, but there’s nothing to stop New Zealanders having a laugh as they work on DIY caskets in the country’s “coffin clubs”.
Elderly club members meet for cups of tea, a bit of banter, and to literally put the final nail in one-of-a-kind coffins that will carry them to their eternal resting place.
Kevin Heyward plans to be sent off in a box resembling a vintage Austin Healey.
Registration plate: DEAD1A.
Kevin Heyward’s Austin car coffin is fully equipped with a mock steering wheel, windscreen, rubber wheels, wooden mudguards, painted-on side doors, and wing mirrors
“My daughter came up with the idea,” the 79-year-old car enthusiast said with a grin, brushing sawdust off his overalls.
It’s fully equipped with a mock steering wheel, windscreen, rubber wheels with metal hub caps, wooden mudguards, a bonnet, painted-on side doors, and wing mirrors.
“The trickiest part was getting the mudguards lined up because of their curve,” Heyward told AFP at the workshop of the Hawke’s Bay Coffin Club in Hastings.
The hefty casket, which can be carried with six wooden handles, even has working headlights. The batteries, naturally, are currently dead.
“It weighs quite a bit and I’m a big man,” he said.
“I have said to my six grandsons they had better start weight-training, because they will be carrying it one day,” Heyward chuckled.
“There is a bit of humour in this car.”
The club is one of four that have sprung up around New Zealand, with the first opening in 2010 in Rotorua on the country’s North Island.
Some clubs boast as many as 800 people on their books, though one admitted “not all of them are above ground”.
At the Hastings club, Jim Thorne, a spritely 75-year-old motorcycle fan, used his skills as a cabinet maker to build a casket painted with a motorbike track. It’s stored in his garage, alongside a collection of motorbikes.
Thorne said most friends “are a little aghast and say ‘why are you doing that?'” when they hear about his coffin-making hobby.
“Apart from the fact that I like the look of mine, it’s my input into my final days.”
– ‘Dying to get a coffin?’ –
“There is a certain mindset in some people that this is almost a taboo subject that they find very, very difficult to talk about,” Thorne said.
“They tend to overcome it. At the end of the day, it’s a reality of life, unfortunately.”
Elderly club members meet for cups of tea, a bit of banter, and to literally put the final nail in one-of-a-kind coffins
He breaks the ice with newcomers by asking: “Are you dying to get a coffin?”
But the club’s atmosphere is far from morbid.
Banter flows during the morning tea break as members chat over scones and hot drinks.
“We’re a bit unique, but we are happy. There are always lots of jokes,” said club secretary Helen Bromley.
Most members are seniors. The club provides a space to open up about death and dying during weekly meetups.
“I think everybody here has accepted that they are going to die, whether they’re decorating their coffin or helping others with theirs,” Bromley said.
“We’re a club that tries to empower people to plan their coffin, to plan what happens if they get sick.”
She said some members want to spare relatives the burden of meeting rising funeral costs. The club will also build and decorate coffins for grieving families.
Coffin Club organiser Helen Bromley works on the lining of a coffin
On average, a funeral in New Zealand costs around NZ$10,000 (US$6,200), according to the national funeral directors association.
Coffin prices range from NZ$1,200 to NZ$4,000.
– ‘Remember Me’ –
For a NZ$30 membership, the Hastings club gives each new member a pressed-wood coffin in one of three designs, ready to be decorated.
The coffins come in four sizes, each costing around NZ$700, extra for paint and a cloth lining.
During a tea break, Bromley announced that a member suffering from cancer was in intensive care after a fall. Her brother had asked the club to finish her coffin as a priority.
The club also builds ash boxes, which they sell to the local crematorium, and small coffins for infants, which they give away.
“The midwives and nurses at Hastings hospital have asked us to not ever, ever stop making the little coffins for them,” Bromley said.
“We donate to whoever. If there’s a miscarriage at home and they want a coffin, we donate.”
Members help knit blankets, teddy bears, pillows and hearts to go in the infants’ coffins.
Committee member Christina Ellison, 75, lost an infant daughter in 1968 and said she was comforted to know the club helps other families grieving the loss of a child.
“The little baby coffins are so beautiful and done with so much care. The knitting that the ladies do is incredible,” she said.
Ellison is moving away soon and plans to take her coffin, which has been painted a blue-grey colour called “Remember Me”.
Today’s topic: How do you talk to your parents about death and finances – without seeming like you are money-hungry?
Daughter wants to avoid repeat hardships after dad’s death
The dilemma: Last year, Melisa Gotto’s father died.
“We did talk about death and sort of what accounts he had and what his desires were for when he passed, but we didn’t really get into the nitty-gritty of it,” said Gotto, of Green, Ohio.
But Gotto said she – and her father, Dave, – were unprepared for all that came with tying up everything from funeral arrangements to his financial affairs.
Melisa Gotto, right, said she was not prepared to handle financial for her dad, Dave Gotto, right, left after his death. Having the uncomfortable conversation about his finances and wishes would have helped, she said.
For instance, her dad had a burial plot in California but died in Nevada. She didn’t know it cost $10,000 and required special health department permission to transport a body over state lines.
Gotto’s parents were divorced. Now, Gotto wants to avoid the headaches and heartache she dealt with after her dad’s death. She has begun talking to her 69-year-old mom, Kim Slingluff, about how Slingluff will afford to live the rest of her life – and how the two of them prepare for her mom’s death.
“It is a very uncomfortable conversation when you start talking about a taboo topic,” said Gotto, CEO of Scandal Co-Active, a boutique public relations and marketing agency. “As a society, we don’t really talk about death, but it’s something that we all will experience. I think it’s something we should all start talking about.”
Gotto’s dad had communicated verbally that she’d be the executor of his estate when he died. But he left no other instructions for her and her brother, such as his medical wishes or details of what exactly to do after his death.
“He was pretty organized and had everything in a safe, but I didn’t know where that was,” she said.
Melisa Gotto, left, said she was not prepared to handle financial affairs for her dad, Dave Gotto, at right, after his death. Having the uncomfortable conversation about his finances and wishes would have helped, she said.
Gotto said her dad also didn’t have enough finances to cover his funeral expenses. And seven months after his death, she’s still trying to get the title for his car.
Gotto says she doesn’t want to seem greedy discussing her mom’s finances or wishes after her death, but she doesn’t want to repeat what happened with her dad.
She has begun telling friends with kids to “do them a huge favor. Get all of this settled before you get older because it’s so important.”
Gotto said she has been approaching the subject with her mom with compassion and empathy. Slingluff has been verbally telling her things, but Gotto knows she needs to get things in writing.
Melisa Gotto, right, is having the uncomfortable conversation about death and finances with her mom, Kim Slingluff, left, to avoid similar hardship she faced after her dad’s death.
Gotto’s advice to others: “Make a list of everything you want to ask them because you don’t want to have to keep revisiting the conversation.
“Try to have some patience and understanding. And then if they don’t want to have those conversations, you have to respect that, too.”
Don’t leave grieving relatives with a mystery to solve
The expert advice: Talking about death and finances is an uncomfortable conversation and one that some of certified financial planner Jan G. Valecka’s clients are more willing to have than others.
Some clients feel “they have to disclose everything: their bank accounts, how much … they have, and that’s where I think it becomes uncomfortable and they feel a little bit vulnerable,” said Valecka of Valecka Wealth Management in Dallas.
“If I had to talk to somebody about estate planning, financial planning, legacy (planning), I would start from the benefit of your loved one. ‘Who would you want to take care of or help if all of a sudden something happened to you? … And it doesn’t have to be dollar signs, it just has to be more of what are your wishes,” said Valecka.
Having that conversation and letting your loved one know where the important documents are can be so helpful after a death, she said.
Valecka’s family had its own experience with this subject. Her husband, Bob, knew that he would be the executor of his uncle’s estate. However, his uncle did not want to discuss details of his death or his financial affairs.
Bob Valecka’s uncle, Joseph Valecka, was found dead the day after Christmas in 2022, with his wife who has dementia next to him unaware that he had died.
Bob and Jan Valecka had to quickly work to gain guardianship of the aunt and tend to the uncle’s estate.
But they had no instructions. They couldn’t find a will or any estate documents. It turned out there had been a will and Power of Attorney and other documents drawn up. They didn’t find them until after they went to court for emergency guardianship of the aunt.
Bob Valecka, left, knew his uncle, Joseph Valecka, wanted him to be executor of his estate after his death. But his uncle left no instructions, including whether there were any estate documents.
The unanswered questions ranged from the significant to the mundane. Had he wanted to be buried or cremated? The uncle and aunt had a lake house. But the Valeckas had no key and didn’t know the security code to get into it, or how to turn on the wells, or if someone plowed the driveway.
“It was a mystery to us,” she said. “It could have been so much easier with planning and an uncomfortable conversation.”
Gotto’s approach to talking to her mom with compassion is a good one, said Valecka.
Some people are just uncomfortable talking about their death, she said. Some clients say it makes death too real.
Approach your loved one with the idea that they are sharing their wishes and helping the people they love after their death, Valecka suggested.
In that conversation, talk about getting a will, health directives and even user names and passwords for digital accounts, she said. Valecka didn’t know she would need a copy of the uncle and aunt’s marriage license to get the aunt on the uncle’s Social Security benefits. Valecka has now added that to her estate documents.
An early and pivotal scene in Greta Gerwig’s “Barbie” finds a rager underway at the Dreamhouse. Dressed in sequins and spangles, Margot Robbie leads the Barbies in a choreographed routine to Dua Lipa’s “Dance the Night.” After they throw their synchronized hands in the air, certain that tomorrow will be “the best day ever,” Robbie pauses, an ecstatic perma-grin on her face, and blurts out, “Do you guys ever think about dying?” Screeeech. The dancing stops; Barbie’s grin falls away. “I don’t know why I just said that,” she stammers. “I’m just dying…to dance!” Everyone cheers, the music resumes and all is right once again in Barbieland.
Minus the disco dancing, the scene is a fairly accurate depiction of how conversations around death tend to go in our society. But there are signs that this may be changing, thanks to a growing “death positive” movement that seeks to normalize the recognition and embrace of the ultimate elephant in the room. The movement’s advance can be measured by the growing popularity of Death Cafes such as the one I joined on a recent Thursday afternoon in the L.A. neighborhood of Los Feliz.
Around 20 of us had gathered for the monthly meeting inside a sanctuary hung with silk Buddha tapestries on the second floor of the Philosophical Research Society. Ranging in age from mid-20s to mid-70s, we knew little about each other beyond our common interest in talking about death and dying. As per Death Café tradition, tea, coffee and cake were served. First-timers quickly learned that the meetups were not grief or bereavement groups by another name.
It was during the pandemic that Lui began to explore how Western culture related — and failed to relate — to death.
“It is really just giving people the opportunity to talk about death from whatever perspective they feel is important to them at the moment,” said the event’s founder and facilitator, a 72-year-old artist, transformational psychologist and scholar of comparative religions named Elizabeth Gill Lui.
It was during the pandemic that Lui began to explore how Western culture related — and failed to relate — to death. “You’d think we would find common ground,” she recalled. “Instead, it’s politicized. Because I’m closer to my own death, I felt that I should have been more informed about the issues surrounding death and dying.” Lui took a course on Zoom to become certified as a death doula, or an end-of-life caretaker who provides non-medical assistance and guidance to the dying and those close to them. In September of 2022, she organized her first Death Café at the Philosophical Research Society, a spiritual and cultural center she considers her “intellectual home.” It has met on the third Thursday of the month ever since.
The first-ever Death Café was hosted by Jon Underwood in his London basement in 2011. According to his original guidelines, the meetings must always be not-for-profit and remain fundamentally unstructured. Inviting a guest speaker, selecting a book to discuss, choosing a theme — any such activity disqualifies the event from using the Death Cafe name. The host is obliged only to serve tea, coffee and cake, and open up a conversation.
Because death is not an easy subject to broach, the freeform meetings are designed to help participants find their own way. “If you get people talking about it, they start to find the language,” said Lui. “Everyone has something they can think about and share that needs to be heard.” In this moment in history, when overdoses, suicides, school shootings, climate crises and war are part of the daily discourse, a death discussion might also address societal and environmental devastation.
Caitlin Doughty founded The Order of the Good Death in 2011.
Every meeting brings together newbies and regulars, many of whom are relieved to discover a meaningful social outing devoid of small talk. “From the moment we start talking, it’s authentic,” said Lui. “It gives people the opportunity to touch something that’s at the core of who they are. It’s not about the weather or traffic, or ‘What did you do today?’ I think people are hungry for that.”
On the afternoon I attended, Lui opened the conversation by asking what brought us here. The responses varied from the loss and illness of friends or family members, to the dawning awareness of death by people in their 70s, some of whom were beginning to educate themselves about the right-to-die movement and eco-friendly burial alternatives. Several were end-of-life or grief counselors. A few people admitted they were simply afraid of dying. Whatever our motivations, Lui encouraged us to “befriend death.” When a companion is as constant as death, it is preferable that it be a friend rather than an enemy.
When my turn came, I explained that the death of my beloved dog earlier that year had been part of a personal reckoning around mortality — my own and that of everyone I loved. I admitted that I found the subject difficult to discuss even with close friends. And yet here I was, opening up with a group of strangers. Over the course of two hours, the conversation touched upon the effects of the hallucinogen DMT, Anderson Cooper’s grief podcast, an episode of “Black Mirror” that explored the digital afterlife, and a Getty Villa exhibition about the “Egyptian Book of the Dead.”
Lui’s is just one of a number of Death Cafés that meet in and around Los Angeles. Through the organization’s website you can find information for similar gatherings in San Diego, Santa Barbara and Palm Springs. To date, Death Cafes have been held in 87 countries, from Afghanistan to Zimbabwe, but Lui’s is the only one where you might be served her legendary carrot cake.
Death Cafes are part of what has come to be known as the “death positive” movement. The term can be traced to the work of an L.A. mortician named Caitlin Doughty, who in 2011 founded The Order of the Good Death, an organization that advocates for funeral industry reform and a more openness around death and dying. The pandemic acted as an accelerant for “death positivity,” as millions of people found themselves forced to confront illness and mortality in previously unimaginable ways. Since 2019, membership in the U.S.’s National End of Life Doula Alliance has more than quadrupled, with new training programs being offered across the country to meet demand.
The growing field of end-of-life care is increasingly reflected in popular culture. The title character of Mikki Brammer’s 2023 novel, “The Collected Regrets of Clover,” for example, is a death doula in New York City who attends Death Cafes at the public library and drinks cocktails on the Lower East Side. “The secret to a beautiful death is to live a beautiful life,” Clover’s 87-year-old neighbor Leo tells her as he breathes his last, and more and more resources are consciously intertwining the two. The Brooklyn-based Morbid Anatomy has grown from a blog into an online platform, library and brick-and-mortar space where one can take classes, participate in a “Death Meditation,” and pick up objects like Victorian memento mori and Dia de Los Muertos-related folk art. There’s even a #DeathTok hashtag on TikTok featuring posts with billions of views.
This November, dozens of speakers on subjects such as psychedelic therapy and assisted suicide addressed 600 attendees from the death-and-dying field at the the sixth End Well Symposium in Los Angeles. Professional hospice care has been available for over 50 years — Elizabeth Kübler-Ross’s 1969 book “On Death and Dying,” which introduced the idea of the five stages of death, is a venerated classic — but with the death-positive movement, death is being embraced as a vital part of life, not just the end of it.
The site is a wealth of practical resources and information on death preparedness, end-of-life care, funerals and grief.
Things were different as recently as 2018, when Departing Dearly founder Wendy Mullin found herself researching end-of-life services for her mother. “I realized during the process that there were a lot of things that didn’t make sense,” recalled Mullin, a designer of clothing and interiors. “Why are we putting these lacquered boxes in the ground and embalming people?” she wondered. For the creator of the fashion brand Built by Wendy, known for its rock ‘n’ roll tailoring and coveted guitar straps, the presentation of information was its own form of stylistic hell. “Everything was either religious or ugly. I felt like I was looking at the Zales Jewelers of death information.”
Finding no website that spoke to her aesthetically, Mullin began thinking about the need for something new. “Goop — but for death. Instead of lifestyle, what about deathstyle?” she said with a chuckle. In 2019, Mullin started developing a deck and talking to people about the project. When COVID hit, the idea of monetizing a site lost its appeal, and she turned down a couple of potential investors before deciding to build the site as a public offering in her own “punk rock” style.
The main image on the Departing Dearly homepage is a person stage diving into a crowd. It’s an analogy for “the process of dying,” said Mullin. “It’s like jumping into the unknown. You’re hoping someone is gonna catch you. You’re trusting other people to help you.”
The site is a wealth of practical resources and information on death preparedness, end-of-life care, funerals and grief. It also explores how death shows up in art and pop culture, from a classic film like 1965’s “The Loved One” to a virtual reality near-death experience called Virtual Awakening. Recent posts on the Departing Dearly Instagram account feature the show “Succession,” the climate activist group Extinction Rebellion, and the 97-year-old artist Betye Saar, whose large-scale commissioned work “Drifting Toward Twilight” recently opened at The Huntington in Pasadena.
Like Lui, Mullin became certified as a death doula during the pandemic as a way to deepen her relationship with death and dying. The training helped her initiate meaningful conversations with older relatives and allowed her to get more comfortable with her own mortality. Fundamental to her understanding was Ernest Becker’s 1973 book, “Denial of Death,” which posits that our society’s competitive drives toward status and success are elaborate distractions, as Mullin described it, “so we don’t have to stop and look at the fact that we’re gonna die.” (She also links our phone addictions to “death anxiety.”)
“I think it’s literally being ‘woke,’” she said of the decision to face death. “We’re waking up to our own lives.”
Last month, I found myself at the Philosophical Research Society again, this time for a Living Funeral Ceremony. Essentially a guided mortality meditation, this ritual was created and led by Emily Cross, a musician and death doula who runs the Steady Waves Center for Contemplation, an end-of-life space in Dorset, England. Cross had traveled to the U.S. to host several ceremonies on the West Coast; this one was organized with the group Floating, which facilitates events related to music and healing.Although ceremonies at Cross’s center can involve lying in a woven willow coffin, for this one we sat and lay on yoga mats.
I found unexpected solace in the idea that my spirit could exist as a ray of light or the sound of a bell, struck just once but reverberating through eternity.
Cross created the Living Funeral Ceremony after hearing about the South Korean tradition of mock funerals, which were developed to curb the country’s high suicide rates. “The purpose of this ceremony,” she said, while moving softly through the room as we contemplated our own image, “is to enrich your life by bringing death into immediate and clear view.” There were some tears shed as we were guided to say goodbye to everything we knew and loved. Before each mat was placed a clipboard with a single sheet of paper, on which we were to write our last words. Then, Cross began a deep, guided visualization of letting go of our physical bodies as we covered ourselves with a funereal shroud. After some time inhabiting this fugue-like state, we were guided back by her voice.
I will admit that my own “final” words included regrets and unresolved emotions. I am not one of those people who could die happily tomorrow, satisfied that my purpose has been fulfilled. Yet I was surprised to discover that, when contemplating what I might “leave behind” after death, the idea of worldly accomplishments barely registered. My mind wasn’t trained on legacy or immortality, but on love and energy. I found unexpected solace in the idea that my spirit could exist as a ray of light or the sound of a bell, struck just once but reverberating through eternity.
After we came back to “life” and shared our experiences, I felt grateful and glad to get to live another day — and to have time to work on those regrets. When the time does arrive, I hope to have cultivated Lui’s fearlessness. “I want to experience death,” she told us with a smile. “I’m convinced it’s going to be interesting.”
Gavin Blomeley was lucky his mother was incredibly organised before she died. She left a note that included the passcode to her phone and access to all her online passwords.
“I can’t even begin to imagine how difficult this could have gotten not having these passwords or knowing this note with all of her passwords existed,” Blomeley says.
“In the note, my mum had an alphabetised, formula-based logic to all her passwords including banking, pensions, social media – everything.”
Untangling the web of someone’s online life after they die creates additional stress on top of grief and funeral planning, and it is getting increasingly complicated as more and more daily tasks are carried out online. There are bank accounts, email accounts, online bills and streaming subscriptions, as well as various social media accounts to consider.
There is no one-stop-shop or single method to memorialise or delete accounts. Some companies, including Google, are now deleting accounts after two years of inactivity but there is no consistency across platforms.
“Facebook, in some ways, is probably actually pretty progressive and a leader in this space,” says Bjorn Nansen, a digital media researcher in the “death tech” team at the University of Melbourne.
“Over time, they’ve developed their policies; you can nominate a legacy contact, so that when you pass away that person … can follow your wishes, and either close your account or memorialise it.”
Nansen says other platforms don’t have the same policy.
“You just have to follow the same old workarounds, which is, you leave your passwords to somebody and your wishes as to what you want to be done with the accounts and content. Often, you’re breaching the terms of service.”
He says it is getting more complicated with the advent of two-factor authentication using biometrics to ensure that only the account holder can access the account.
Nansen says online companies should make the process easier but increasingly people are including directives in their will and this is likely to increase over time as baby boomers die.
“We’re entering a period that’s been referred to as ‘peak death’. The baby boomer bubble means there’s going to be a high volume of deaths and it’s always going to be the next generation that’s going to have to deal with it … it will make awareness of the issue wider and may help bring around change.”
Standards Australia says about 60% of Australian adults have made a will but not all of those have accounted for their digital legacy.
The nongovernment standards body is part of a group of organisations from 35 countries proposing core principles and guidelines for how organisations should manage the process when a relative or executor requests access to an account of someone who has died.
Adam Stingemore, general manager of engagement and communications at Standards Australia, says that means developing a common set of definitions that companies can then build into terms of service.
“The worst time to be dealing with a challenge like this is if you know someone in your family has died, and there’s a feud between parties,” he says. “What we want to do is get ahead of that on these different types of platforms. There’s common sets of questions and people can make choices about what happens to their data and assets.”
Nansen says another factor is the privacy of the person who has died, and whether they want personal messages and content to be seen by family members or deleted.
“There’s complexity and nuance,” he says. “You might have emails, you might have messages, you might have photos, you might have videos that for a whole range of reasons you might want deleted or not want certain people to see.
“If you really want to be thorough, it’s not just providing access and instructions to a digital executor; it might be quite detailed instructions about different platforms and different content.”
Blomeley says his best advice is to ensure power of attorney is arranged beforehand, and access to accounts included as part of a regulated will.<
He says the process of shutting down his mother’s accounts was time-consuming, despite having all the passwords. It took several weeks to sort out, through the grief of losing his mother.
“Thankfully, we were all in a position where we were able to take time off work … but I can imagine this being much more complicated for certain individuals, based on varying circumstances.”
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— End-of-life cancer patients in a therapy group in Canada used psilocybin to reduce their fears. It helped some find peace.
Valorie Masuda, left, Gail Peekeekoot, center, and Barb Fehlau participate in a grounding ceremony for staff members at Roots to Thrive, a wellness center in Nanaimo, British Columbia, in August.
By Meryl Davids Landau
When Brian Meyer received a Stage 4 prostate cancer diagnosis three years ago at age 62, he was determined to make the most of his remaining years. He immediately retired from a decades-long career in the grocery business and took every opportunity to hike, camp and — his all-time favorite — fish for salmon. Brian and his wife, Cheryl, regularly visited their two grown children and three grandsons and spent time with their many friends.
But it was sometimes hard to keep his mind off his pain and the reality that life was nearing an end. “It tugs at the heart all the time,” Meyer, from Vancouver Island, British Columbia, said in August. A calm person by nature, he found his anxiety skyrocketing.
By November, though, despite a new, highly aggressive liver cancer that shrank his prognosis to months or weeks, Meyer felt calm much of the time. The prime reason: a 25-milligram dose of the psychedelic drug psilocybin he had taken several months earlier, due to a Canadian program being watched elsewhere for the emotional benefits it may offer people nearing death.
In mid-August, Meyer and nine other people with terminal cancers had gathered in two rooms, and there, lying on plush floor mats with blankets covering their bodies, their eyes covered by sleeping masks and music piped in over headphones, they swallowed the psilocybin capsules. The consciousness-altering drug, administered by the nonprofit Vancouver Island wellness center Roots to Thrive, set Meyer and the others on a six-hour journey of fantastical images and thoughts. The hope was that this “trip” would lead to lasting improvements in mood and lessen their angst around death. It was accompanied by weeks of Zoom group therapy sessions before and after, along with an in-person gathering the evening before for a medical clearance and the opportunity for participants and their spouses to meet in person.
Canadian health-care providers have been able to offer this otherwise illegal drug since 2022 when the country’s national health-care system began a special access program for certain patients with serious or life-threatening diseases. To date, 168 Canadians have been authorized to receive the drug under the program. Similar access is not available in the United States, because a terminal patient’s right to try experimental therapies excludes psychedelics, which are banned by the Controlled Substances Act. Oregon and Colorado are in the early stages of allowing psilocybin-assisted psychotherapy due to ballot initiatives passed in the states, but people who receive the drug there could be charged with a crime under the federal law.
Clinical trials assessing psychedelics for various mental health concerns tend to administer them to patients individually. But Roots to Thrive prefers to do it in groups. “The group process in psychedelic-assisted therapy allows for a shared experience that helps people realize they are not alone in experiencing difficult emotions, symptoms or challenging life circumstances,” said Pam Kryskow, the center’s medical director.
By the time Meyer swallowed the psilocybin capsule, he felt comfortable with his cohort. Some, like Christine “Cat” Parlee, 53, who has Stage 4 melanoma that has spread to her lungs and throat, had become friends. At a restaurant where Parlee, her husband, Cory, and Cheryl gathered before the in-person meeting, Brian and Cat shared their hope that the drug experience would be joyful and that it would subsequently enhance their peace of mind.
The day after taking the psychedelic, however, sprawled on a couch in the resort room Brian and Cheryl had rented for the week, Meyer couldn’t conceal his disappointment. Although he didn’t have a negative trip, two of the other participants were overwhelmed by the drug’s intense effects and spent the hours yelling for it to stop. This repeatedly pulled Meyer away from the intriguing images filling his mind, including sword-fighting in a medieval castle yard and cooking elaborate meals of lobster and lamb in a massive industrial kitchen.
His mental journey was also interrupted by having to urinate regularly, a symptom of his prostate cancer, although he was struck by the intense spiritual connection he felt with one of the facilitators, registered nurse Gail Peekeekoot, as she touched his hands to guide him to the restroom. “It was like she was me, I was her. We were one together,” he marveled.
Psychedelic journeys don’t always proceed as people anticipate, leaving some feeling dissatisfied immediately after, said Barb Fehlau, a palliative care practitioner on Vancouver Island and the medical facilitator in the room, who herself has pancreatic cancer. Regardless of the experience while the drug is active, though, psychological healing often follows, she said.
That was the case for Meyer. In addition to his enhanced calmness, he remarked in November that taking the drug seemed to have deepened the connection he felt toward the friends and family who had streamed into his and Cheryl’s home following his worsened prognosis. “I have a way more sensitive outlook. I feel more love toward people,” Brian relayed at the time. Three weeks later, in a hospital surrounded by more than a dozen family members, Brian died. “He remained calm, peaceful and joyful” to the end, Cheryl said.
Should psychedelics ever be legalized as medicine — the first, methylenedioxy-methamphetamine, or MDMA, to treat post-traumatic stress disorder was submitted to the U.S. Food and Drug Administration in December by the MAPS Public Benefit Corporation (now called Lykos Therapeutics) — people who might benefit most are those who have a terminal diagnosis, said Anthony Bossis, a clinical assistant professor of psychiatry at New York University.
Psychedelics do not alter the course of the person’s disease, but they can help make the remaining time more meaningful, Bossis said. He is co-author of a 2016 study of 29 cancer patients that found that a single dose of psilocybin significantly reduced depression and anxiety and “led to decreases in cancer-related demoralization and hopelessness, improved spiritual wellbeing, and increased quality of life,” the study reported.
Feeling a sense of connection to something larger than themselves, akin to what Meyer experienced with Peekeekoot, may be especially important, the study found. “After this experience, people often say, ‘I realized I’m not just my cancer. I’m not just this body. I’m something more enduring.’ This is a real gift,” Bossis said.
How psychedelics might change a person’s outlook is under investigation. One study with mice this past summer by Johns Hopkins University researchers found that the drugs reopen “critical learning periods” in the brain for months after their use. Mice studies don’t translate exactly to humans, but this finding suggests that psychedelics may cause people to be especially receptive to new ideas and ways of being.
Still, the research on psilocybin for those at the end of their lives is in the early stage, and whether the drug might prove harmful for some isn’t yet known. Roots to Thrive’s unpublished research surveying 20 people from its prior three psilocybin group sessions found many felt more positive, peaceful, lighter and less stressed. But four felt little to no change.
Cat Parlee, who participated with Meyer in the August session, had taken psilocybin two prior times at Roots to Thrive in the previous 18 months. While some people experience lasting transformation after taking the drug once, Parlee found that after six months her fears and anxiety would return.
Reclining on a comfortable hammock chair on their home’s back patio the day after Parlee’s August session, her husband, Cory, says the two have come to view the psyche as if it were a cookie with pieces bitten off around the edges. “The psychedelics help Cat find the missing pieces that make her more whole,” Cory reflected. “Psychedelics help you answer questions you may not know or give yourself permission to ask.”
Cat Parlee agreed. “Every time I’ve walked out of psychedelic medicine session, I feel like I’ve left weight behind — weight I’ve consciously decided I’m not going to carry anymore,” she said. This included the negative emotions she had felt toward her deceased mother and the people who badgered her to try the cancer “cures” they read about online. “A lot of energy was wasted on a lot of anger, a lot of sadness and a lot of guilt. I realized I don’t have time to waste on that anymore,” she said.
While many people might benefit from addressing psychological issues that impede their lives, the urge to confront such demons often intensifies when a person is given a few months or years to live, according to Shannon Dames, the founder of Roots to Thrive. Most of us operate under the illusion that we have time to change these things, Dames said. “When you’re at a place when you don’t have that perception of time, there’s a calling that’s really potent.”
About a month before his death, Meyer credited the psychedelic with reducing the discomfort he felt about dying. “I don’t want to say I’m excited, but I am very curious now,” he said. He realized the mushrooms had taken him to an unknown, altered world; death would do the same.
In Parlee’s case, her fear “was that there is nothing — just emptiness — after you’re dead.” During her second psilocybin trip, she watched herself swim in brightly lit, vivid waters amid an intense feeling of love. She was soothed by the sense that experience may be similar to the afterlife.
Since her August session, Parlee has also increasingly found pleasure in standing up for her needs, rather than always worrying about other people as she had previously done. “There’s one thing I want to do before I leave this world: It’s to know that I spent my last few years happy. One thing I can say right now is I don’t have any real regrets,” she said.
Then she took a deep breath and smiled. “I don’t know if I would have ever gotten to that place without this psilocybin journey.”
American culture is extraordinarily goal-oriented. This January, pause and notice the messages and expectations that are motivating you. Everyone creates goals regarding all aspects of life. In a single day, we set a vast number of goals to accomplish.
Adults have daily, monthly, or yearly goals for their job which may not be in alignment with their additional career goals. Athletes have intense levels of goal achievement and mindset work. Others may have spiritual or emotional goals. You might also have social, educational or even comfort goals, for instance, you want to purchase your own car or house or you want to start a family or gain independence. This list of goals can go on ad infinitum, but you have gotten the point by now and I’m beginning to feel overwhelmed by just listing possible goals.
Thus, I began polling people about their goals. I recently had a conversation with an acquaintance who stated their goal for 2024 was to add days to their family vacation. And then I sat there waiting in silence until it became uncomfortable, and I realized that was all they were going to say. I found myself in awe. I did not know what to say or how to respond as my mind whirled out of control with the list of goals I had set just because it’s TODAY and tomorrow isn’t promised!
My mind thought of my weightlifting, cardio, yoga, nutrition and meditation goals, the stack of books I plan to read, the podcast episodes and blog articles I want to do, the networking organizations and business researching, and any new certifications I think will benefit myself or my staff. Every year I want to see an increase in business profits. This breaks down to clients, social media and marketing goals, community outreach, pro-bono work.
As a member of my religion’s clergy, I have personal spiritual preparation and educational goals. Then there are relationships, family, and travel goals. And, underlying it all, my goal is to just handle what I’ve got scheduled and NOT take on any other GOALS!!!
I realized making New Year’s Goals is passe when I attended a business networking group recently, the host asked, “For those of you that are still into it, raise your hand if you’ve set goals for 2024?” Only about a third of the people raised their hand.
As a 2023 volunteer service goal, I committed to hosting monthly, virtual, Death Cafe meetings. For more information go to DeathCafe, According to the Death Cafe rules for these meetings, the only requirement is not to have a plan or agenda and to simply to hold space for the conversation. These are often sacred and sincere moments where people are vulnerable and share their thoughts and experiences. That required a personal commitment to do so. I see goals as personal commitments for growth, if you are not growing and learning you are stagnating.
One of my yoga certifications is in Brain Longevity Therapy Training. One of the tenets to a healthy aging brain is to keep it active. Activities like learning new skills, reading, socializing, movement work like balance and exercise all affect the brain. The brain and body need to be challenged to keep them working at optimal levels. However, growth is often a process that occurs even during dying and all the way through death. I often look at death, not only as transition but as an initiation. Death is an unknown and it takes preparation to face it in peace. Physician-assisted suicide, or “medical aid in dying”, is legal in eleven jurisdictions, the Commonwealth of Virginia is not one of them. As a Death Doula, I have been bedside with several people as they were actively dying. Some are aware and some are not, while all these deaths were medically regarded as peaceful. I do not know that they would classify as a “good death” if it were my own.
Holding space for Death is a growth experience. My ultimate goal is to have a good death and all my other goals reflect that. No, I am not actively dying, I am actively living. I am acutely aware of the fact that tomorrow is not promised and that gives the simplest of moments a glamor that most people do not see.
For example, walking my very elderly dog is its own growth experience in mindfulness. We walk slowly and methodically. Her eyes are not as clear now and it is obvious she has become mostly deaf. She avoids stairs or steep hills. She demands pets from any stranger and wants to sniff any friendly dog. She takes long pauses to sniff thoroughly between bushes and under benches. I have time to notice the clarity of the stars above and watch the diamonds of frost begin to form as we stand silently on the abandoned sidewalks in the winter darkness. The sweeping mantle of cold (or possibly arthritic joints) makes her knees tremble slightly.
We slowly walk along, allowing her to go as far as she wants and where she wants, until she spontaneously turns around and heads back. Some days she stands in the doorway to our apartment looking through as if she has forgotten where she is, cautious about entering. Other days, as she sleeps long and deeply, I will hear her whimper and look over to see her feet moving slightly, clearly dreaming of running and playing with other dogs or her humans. I know time is growing shorter for her, but we will face that together. I do not ever want her to feel alone or unloved. We can never accurately predict when a natural death will occur, so you must be ready all the time. Ushering a pet is much like a person. We sit and just be with each other. Sometimes I talk but other times it is just not needed. She just wants someone to be present and touch her. So much is conveyed through touch.
Time seems to shrink for elders. One activity, like a medical appointment or meeting a friend for coffee, can be exhausting. You think you have all the time in the world to accomplish the things you want but knowing Death can come at any time can make the experiences of life taste even more sweet. I do not like to repeat experiences, travel to the same places or even eat in the same restaurants because I might miss an opportunity! When I die, I want to know I lived my life to its fullest and took every opportunity to suck the life out of every single minute. This requires commitment, planning and setting goals.
Take a minute to consider if you knew you only had one year left to live. How would you live differently? What would take importance? Do you have the cash? Make it happen. Set those goals! Say the things that need to be said! Do the things you need to do! Heal the things that need attention! Let go of the past and be present! It’s time to outgrow your comfortable life and move into the adventure of living fully so that when Death arrives you are ready to take that journey with her without hesitation or regret weighing you down.
P.S. I offer a virtual Death Cafe meeting every month, for more information google “Death Cafe of Southside Virginia” or look us up on DeathCafe.com
The Digital Departed: How We Face Death, Commemorate Life, and Chase Virtual ImmortalityTimothy Recuber NYU Press (2023)
Many of us will have turned to the Internet to grieve and remember the dead — by posting messages on the Facebook walls of departed friends, for instance. Yet, we should give more thought to how the dead and dying themselves exert agency over their online presence, argues US sociologist Timothy Recuber in The Digital Departed.
In his expansive scholarly analysis, Recuber examines more than 2,000 digital texts, from blog posts by those who are terminally ill to online suicide notes and pre-prepared messages designed to be e-mailed to loved ones after someone has died. As he notes, “the digital data in this book are sad, to be sure, and they have often brought me to tears as I collected and analyzed them”. Yet, they are well worth delving into.
Recuber brings a fresh lens to studies of death culture by focusing on the feelings and intentions of the people who are dying, rather than those of the mourners. For example, he finds that a person’s sense of self can be altered through blogging about their illness. Writing freely helps people to come to terms with their deaths by making their suffering “legible and understandable”. Reflections on family and friends also reveal a sense of self-transformation. Indeed, many bloggers “attested to the positive value of the experience of a terminal illness, for the way it brought them closer to loved ones and especially for the wisdom it generated.”
This theme of self-transformation, which Recuber refers to as ‘digital reenchantment’, continues throughout the book. This terminology relates to the work of German sociologist Max Weber, who, at the turn of the twentieth century, argued that humans’ increasing ability to understand the world through science was robbing life of magic and mystery — a process he called disenchantment. When the dead seem to be resurrected through digital media, Recuber argues, they regain that mystery.
Recuber explores how X (formerly Twitter) hashtags can act as a form of collective online rememberance. He focuses on photos and stories shared in posts that use two hashtags, sparked by violent deaths of Black people in the United States: #IfIDieInPoliceCustody, in response to Sandra Bland’s death in prison in Waller County, Texas, in July 2015, and #IfTheyGunnedMeDown, which remembers Michael Brown, who was shot by police in Ferguson, Missouri, in August 2014. The “thousands of individual micro-narratives” posted in these threads, Recuber writes, amount to a “collectively composed story affirming the value of all Black lives and legacies”. They are memorials for the lives that have already been lost and for those that might be in future.
The author considers the perspectives of the individuals whose deaths inspired each hashtag. For example, 28-year-old Bland was imprisoned after being arrested for a driving offence. Friends and family questioned the police’s assertion that Bland had committed suicide, and #IfIDieInPoliceCustody was tweeted 16,500 times in its first week, as the result of the online attention that the case gained. What would Bland and Brown think of this coverage, Recuber asks? They might have been proud of this legacy, but they had no say in it. In a sense they are “doubly victimized”, he suggests, losing not only their lives but also “the agency to define themselves and the ways they’d like to be remembered”.
In the book’s most intriguing section, Recuber turns to transhumanism — the idea that, some time in the future, advanced technologies yet to be imagined could enable digital records of the human mind to be uploaded to the Internet. A person’s consciousness could then ‘live’ online forever.
Recuber interviews four men who lead companies that are helping people to preserve digital aspects of themselves or that are otherwise concerned with transhumanism. Bruce Duncan runs the Lifenaut project, part of the non-profit Terasem Movement Foundation, based in Bristol, Vermont, which allows users to create a digital archive of their reflections, photos and genetic code for future researchers to study. Eric Klien is the president and founder of the Lifeboat Foundation, a non-governmental organization based in Reno, Nevada, which is devoted to overcoming catastrophic and existential risks to humans, including from misuse of technologies. Robert McIntyre is the chief executive of Nectome, based in San Francisco, California, which works on techniques for embalming brains for future information retrieval. And Randal Koene is the chief scientific officer of the Carboncopies Foundation, based in San Francisco, a research organization that works on whole-brain emulation — a “neuroprosthetic system that is able to serve the same function as the brain”.
Artificial-intelligence firms are working to develop digital replicas of the dead.
According to Recuber, none could give a clear explanation for how mind uploading would work. That’s not surprising — neuroscientists are divided on whether it is even possible. But each interviewee had faith that it would become a possibility. Koene wonders whether uploaded minds might find a home in some kind of robotic body. Duncan and McIntyre imagine a disembodied human consciousness able to travel through space and visit other planets or stars.
Yet, Recuber was troubled to find that these men said very little about the social and ethical questions raised by mind uploading. Building a ‘superior’ type of human has a “whiff of eugenics” about it, he writes. The whole process would be expensive, perhaps creating a future division in social classes, with only the rich able to afford it. Duncan and Koene pointed out that this might not be true in the future — the prices of technologies, such as smartphones and data-storage units, tend to fall quite quickly.
Recuber does find people raising ethical concerns on the online discussion platform Reddit, where he examined more than 900 posts about transhumanism. One user was appalled that “the richest and most comfortable people in history spent their money and resources trying to live forever on the backs of their descendants”. But philosophical debates are much more popular, such as whether the uploaded disembodied mind would be equivalent to or superior to one’s own.
Transhumanism, Recuber notes, is working towards a very different type of online legacy from those discussed elsewhere in his book; it is focused not on strengthening ties with humanity but on cutting them. This idea of moving beyond mortal biological limits — gaining immortality through science and technology — is an old dream in a new guise. For religious people, the immortal substance is the soul; for transhumanists, it is the mind.
It is in these critiques of transhumanism that Recuber is at his sociological best. His astute comments exemplify a second theme of The Digital Departed — that inequalities that persist in the physical world are mirrored in peoples’ online lives. He cautions the public about narratives that promote technological progress as necessarily good. Despite the rhetoric of liberation through technological progress, we all must remain wary. There are no guarantees that mind uploading will be properly regulated, or benefit those in need. Mortal problems such as food and water shortages and human violence, as well as the lack of housing and health care, have greater priority in my view.
It is a shame, however, that the book ignores feminist perspectives on transhumanism. These contend that ideas of the soul or mind in philosophy have historically operated as a gender hierarchy — men and the masculine are considered primordial, whereas women and the feminine are treated as secondary, linked to the body and the mortal realm. Transhumanism will not benefit women or gender-diverse people unless it engages with its own inherited systems of thought and narrative.
Nonetheless, The Digital Departed is a valuable book that presents many moving stories about the way that our digital life foreshadows our biological departure. The author’s engagement with classical and modern sociological theory will be appreciated by scholars and appeal to readers of all stripes.
