Why it’s healthy to think about your own death

Everyone who’s alive now – you, your friends, your family – one day won’t be. It’s an unavoidable fact, and yet we often go to great lengths to avoid acknowledging it. Jules Howard explains why that might be a mistake.

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According to data from the company Statista, just 11 per cent of us consider death in our daily lives. Most of us are clearly busy with the subject of life, perhaps only considering the subject three or four times a year.

We in the West are, in the words of social psychologist Sheldon Solomon, masters of “burying existential anxieties under a mound of French fries”. But that’s understandable, right? Death is horrible. We live. We die. And then it ends. What possible reason could there be for thinking about death more? Plus, French fries are delicious.

According to some scientists, however, there are advantages to thinking about death more. Psychologists, in particular, point to a number of studies that suggest that thinking about death (‘mortality salience’) can raise people’s self-worth, encourage them to be less money-orientated and even make them funnier. Buoyed by research like this there are social movements, such as so-called Death Cafés and the Death Salon collective, that provide space for people to meet and talk openly about death.

In many ways, groups like these mirror Eastern philosophies, which have urged people to consider death and the frailty of human existence, for centuries.

Buddha, for instance, was an advocator of ‘corpse meditation’ where dead bodies are observed in various states of decay. “This body, too,” one text states… “such is its nature, such is its future, such its unavoidable fate.”

And the very notion of ‘yin and yang’ – the dualistic idea of ‘light and dark’ and ‘fire and water’ and ‘life and death’ – appears to inspire in non-Western audiences a greater appreciation of everyday things than in Western audiences.

So, are we in the West thinking about death wrong? I would argue, no. Because there’s no ‘wrong’ way to do it.

But we could certainly do with thinking about it more. Not loads more, just as much as each of us feels is right. In so doing, our perspective on day-to-day events might be imperceptibly improved. After all, to those of us that know that life is impermanent, the French fries have never tasted so good.

Complete Article HERE!

‘I Run a Death Cafe’

By Megan Mooney

I’ve been interested in death my entire life. I was going to be a mortician, and then I took a grief and loss class in college and switched degrees. I’m now a social worker. But I had always wanted to do something on a macro level to help my community around issues of death and dying.

In 2012, I was completing my social work practicum at a hospice and the team leader there wanted me to do some community involvement work. She told me she’d read an article about a “death cookie” group. I talked to my boss and she explained the correct name for the organization was Death Cafe and told me to get in touch with Lizzy Miles, who had started the cafes in the U.S. that year, after reading about them in the U.K.

It happened to be around the same time my uncle had died of cancer; he’d had a horrible death. So I really wanted to create a group where people could come and talk about death and educate each other. After I emailed Lizzy, she called me and we talked for hours.

She helped me get my first death cafe started in February 2013 at a coffee shop in town. The cafes were starting in LA, Atlanta and New York, but I’m in a small town called St. Joseph in Midwest Missouri, so there were none around my area at the time. At my first death cafe and for the five after, I had two women who would drive 7 hours each way to attend. That showed me how much people needed this safe place to talk about death and dying.

We have coffee and cake at each session and my first cake said “Missouri’s First Death Cafe” on it. I laugh about it now because I got so much cr*p for that cake. I went to a big grocery store and told the lady there that I wanted little headstones on the cake. She got mad and told me it was a family business. I had to explain to her what I actually needed the cake for.

But people still thought we were going there to “drink the Kool-Aid” and die. Before my first death cafe a local hairdresser said that an older woman had read a news article about it and was talking about how it was a morbid group getting together to do God knows what. A lot of people still think it’s a morbid group.

Every death cafe is different in terms of who attends and what the attendees talk about, but we all follow the same rules: It’s not a grief or counselling service, we are non-profit, the cafes are held in an accessible, respectful and confidential space and they have no intention of leading people to any conclusion, product or course of action. We also always offer drinks and nourishing cakes! Having food is very important. It is life sustaining and we believe it helps people to feel more open to talking about death.

There were about 20 people at my first death cafe and their ages ranged from 25 to 70. It’s for adults, so 18 and older but I’ll have people of all ages; the oldest attendee I’ve had was 85. But I’ve only ever had one person come who was terminally ill.

When I host, I have four or five people at each table and at the beginning I ask everyone to start with what brought them here to talk about death and dying. That seems to be the only thing I need to ask.

My dad and aunt came to my first death cafe. My father never talked about death and my aunt hadn’t been able to talk about my uncle’s recent death without crying, so I didn’t know how it would be. But as I was looking around, my dad was laughing with his group and my aunt was laughing with hers. I sat down and heard my aunt talking about my uncle’s death without crying for the first time.

The following week my dad called me and was talking about how you’re not supposed to make any big decisions within the first year of a loss. He then told me he’d learned that from the ladies at his table at the death cafe.

My dad came to every single death cafe I held after that, except one, and he planned his funeral and all his funeral songs. He died three years ago, but his death was easier for me because we’d had all these conversations about it. He talked all the time about how much the death cafe helped him face his own death.

Death cafes run all over the world
Megan Mooney has been running death cafes in St. Joseph, Missouri since 2013.

A theme that often comes up is relationships and death. People will talk about losses they have had and how it impacted them. Everybody has experienced a death in their life and most of them have never really talked about it. I had a lady who came in, she was probably in her late 50s and she was really shaky at the beginning. At the end she came and thanked me and said that she had never been able to talk about death with anybody before because in her family it was a “taboo”.

People also talk about what they want at the end of their life. There can be a superstition that talking about death brings it closer, so people avoid talking about it at all costs. But when you don’t plan for the end of your life it can be harmful to your loved ones, or add to their grief. My dad making plans helped me tremendously and it was cathartic for him too.

While there are sometimes tears, most death cafes are full of people laughing and having a good time. I believe that thinking and talking about death helps us to be our authentic selves. It helps us to take our mask off and not take things for granted. We’re often in such denial about death that we hurry through life and don’t appreciate the people in it. At these cafes, you get together with strangers and you’re talking about an intimate topic that most people can’t even talk about with their family. It brings you closer and helps improve your relationships with people.

At the end of each death cafe I ask attendees what their “Aha!” moment has been and I hand out surveys. One of the questions is: “Did your views on death change as a result of the death cafe?” It’s crazy because almost every time people answer something like: “My views on death didn’t change but my views on life have changed.”

When COVID first hit we decided the death cafes had to be online. But it ended up being a blessing in some ways because it meant we could meet with people in different countries all over the world at the same time. Now we’re back meeting in person, but we do have cafes online too.

Death cafes began in the U.K.
Megan Mooney first started running death cafes in 2013. She has now run 45 death cafes with hundreds of attendees.

I’ve run about 45 death cafes since 2013 and the smallest group I’ve ever had was still 10 people. I’ve also had companies ask me to host death cafes for their staff. I had one life insurance company with 1,500 staff and there was a woman there whose son had died by suicide. When I asked if anyone had any “aha!” moments, she stood up and shared how she felt about her colleagues’ reaction to her since she had returned to work.

Being involved with Death Café has taught me to love with my whole heart and that nothing in life is permanent. I’ve learned how to accept change, which can be hard. And, I’ve realized that relationships matter the most in life: my relationship with my daughter and spending time with her. That used to include my dad too, he was my best friend.

As a leader for Death Café, I have learned tremendous lessons from attendees and our followers on social media. I’ve learned that so many things in life are trivial. I don’t really get upset any more. Our views on death usually inform the way we live. When you start to come to terms with your own mortality, it can push you to really live your life and to be the best version of yourself. If you look at life from the vantage point of death you can see how beautiful it is.

Complete Article HERE!

On the Politics of Death

Global events such as pandemics can momentarily focus attention on a fundamentally overlooked pre-existing human condition: the sheer inequality of how individuals in power decide who lives and who dies.

By: John Troyer

Pandemics make ignoring death harder to do. That doesn’t mean government officials and friends alike won’t symbolically look the other way or reflexively stare harder at their phones during mortality spike events. But the longer any act of ignoring continues, the more obvious the avalanche of death being ignored becomes.

Ignoring something is, of course, different than repressing it. We are acknowledging its existence by ignoring it. We see death. We understand it happens. All of us know people who have died. Everyone reading these words will eventually die.

Which brings me to our current death moment.

The Covid-19 pandemic is but one example from a long list of morbidity and mortality events that momentarily exposed the politics of death for everyone to see. And by everyone, I mean the citizens of every single country on the planet who are suddenly witnessing what those of us who work in death full-time already knew: Our leaders regularly choose to decide who lives and who dies.

Now flip that last statement into a question and one can begin to see the genealogical shadow of Queens and Emperors: Who lives and who dies? Thumbs up or thumbs down? These are foundational and urgent questions that confront modern governments with choices to make on any given day but especially so during a pandemic. The early AIDS epidemic remains a tragic illustration of how different governments decided that the queer communities watching gay men die in unprecedented numbers could be ignored until suddenly those same governments were dealing with a pandemic that remains with us today.

Thanatopolitics, or the Politics of Death

Who lives and who dies are clearly not new questions, but global events such as pandemics can momentarily focus attention on a fundamentally overlooked pre-existing human condition: the sheer inequality of how individuals in power answer those questions.

And while it is correct to state that all biological creatures die at a certain point, that dying is hardly universal in how it impacts different communities. What I’m saying may not come as a surprise, but it is important to foreground this information as a way of stating that when discussing death in the modern Western world, we are often discussing the politics of death. Even if people do not realize this distinction when talking about death and dying — and many people, I believe, do not — the ways end-of-life trajectories become discussed focus on the dynamics causing that death to happen. This distinction matters since understanding how a person died — the core causation of the death, especially during a pandemic — is often laden with political questions around access to care, medical ethics, and economic stability.

While death and dead bodies are obviously connected, the politics surrounding each remains unique and should be distinguished from one another.

This death politics can properly be called a thanatopolitics, borrowing thanato for death from the Ancient Greeks and working with both Giorgio Agamben’s and Michel Foucault’s ideas around biopolitics and forms of life.

What this thanatopolitics of who lives and who dies — with a heavy emphasis here on the “dies” bit — is not is the related concept of necropolitics. The latter is a distinct and important idea first suggested by philosopher Achille Mbembe that more accurately describes the politics of dead bodies (the necro in Ancient Greek). The thanato/necro distinction is crucial in everyday circumstances since the politics of death is often described using the necro- prefix — and while death and dead bodies are obviously connected, the politics surrounding each remains unique and should be distinguished from one another. Dead body politics and death politics occupy distinct experiences for the average person, and recognizing the difference between what death is and what a dead body is remains profoundly important for medicine, the law, and everyday decision making in places such as hospices.

In my book “Technologies of the Human Corpse” I devote the entirety of a chapter to discussing precisely these distinctions between the bio, thanato, and necro, since the politics of each remains simultaneously always visible (if you know where to look) and completely hidden. The book manuscript was completed in 2019, before Covid-19, but spends many pages discussing the ways AIDS both impacted and significantly changed how funeral directors handled dead bodies, e.g., personal protective equipment, or PPE, an acronym we’re all sadly familiar with by now.

By discussing the thanatopolitics of the early AIDS epidemic (which is still happening, lest anyone forgets), it is easy to see how the Covid-19 pandemic ticks all the boxes as to what contemporary thanatopolitics relies on: social and economic disadvantages that contribute to higher mortality rates, especially in brown and black communities; hundreds of thousands of people dying entirely preventable deaths in populations that become economically acceptable deaths (e.g., the elderly and disabled); access to life-saving medical treatments that significantly favor wealthy communities and nations, and so on.

Where Covid-19 thanatopolitics morphed into something I had not predicted was when the emergence of what I call virological determinism became the logic that almost every local, national, and global governing body used to lay blame for preexisting societal problems. This is a gloss on technological determinism, the tendency we humans have to blame any “technology” for causing our very human-created problems, and works much the same way. By taking a rapidly-out-of-control pandemic and mixing in contemporary health inequalities and unprepared — and sometimes negligible — political leaders, we in the West ended up in this thanatopolitical quagmire.

I say quagmire, since it is unclear right now if and when any of this will actually be “done” no matter the speed with which people want to move on. But there are lessons to be learned, and in this way, thanatopolitics can be extremely productive and useful.

The politics of death become a way to acknowledge all those who died and what should be done in the future to prevent more needless deaths. One of those key lessons includes governmental leaders both knowing about pre-existing pandemic response plans and then using those plans when responding to a non-stop mass fatality event such as Covid-19. In addition to following the already extant response plans, leaders should continue to update and renew those plans on a regular basis. HIV/AIDS taught the world how quickly a virus could adapt to everything we threw at it. I remain hopeful that we reflect on that lesson in the coming decades.

Understanding how a person died is often laden with political questions around access to care, medical ethics, and economic stability.

On March 18, 2020, I flew on a plane from the UK (where I normally live) to my hometown in Wisconsin to help my parents with some health issues. I did not know it then, but this was one of the last planes to make that trans-Atlantic flight for many months due to the pandemic.

On the flight, I read an incisive essay by Michael Specter in the New Yorker on the cascading failures of the U.S. health care system. It ends with the following prediction that presciently understood the who-lives-and-who-dies thanatopolitics that defined the past 18 months: “The bigger question is whether we will learn from the fact that this [Covid-19] pandemic will kill many more people than it had to. I’d like to think we would, but, if the past is any guide, this pandemic will end with a bunch of new commissions and ominous reports. As soon as they are printed, they will be forgotten.”

We can choose to ignore death and the thanatopolitics that choice brings for future body counts. But if Covid-19 has demonstrated anything it is that we do so at our own peril.

Complete Article HERE!

How to say the unsayable

— 10 ways to approach a sensitive, daunting conversation

It’s easy to put off tender discussions, but successfully addressing the most emotional subjects always starts with listening

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There’s a conversation you’re avoiding. It feels important, the stakes are high, there are strong feelings involved and you are putting it off: “The time isn’t right”; “I can’t find the words”; “I don’t want to get emotional”.

But delaying doesn’t solve anything and anticipation is often far more uncomfortable than the conversation itself. Getting started might involve some awkward moments, but, after that, the situation is open for discussion and exploration.

Tried and tested approaches can help to smooth the way. Here are 10 useful tips from my experience as a psychotherapist and doctor, developed while working in some of the highest-stakes discussions – the tender conversations taking place as people face the end of life. These principles apply whether you are chatting in person, over the phone or during a video call. You can even use them in text message conversations.

Instead of “difficult” conversations, I call them “tender” – and that attitude can make all the difference.

Invite, don’t insist

Make sure the conversation is a shared endeavour by starting with an invitation, rather than launching straight in. Try something like: “I’ve got something on my mind I’d like to chat about. When would be a good time for you?” or “You seem worried about something and I wondered whether you’d like to talk about it some time?” They may agree to talk there and then. If there’s a delay, check you are not leaving them anxious about the discussion. Inviting the other person allows them to consider and to prepare.

Being prepared also applies if someone catches you off-guard: it’s fine to say, “This is really important and I need some time to think before we have this conversation.”

Pace yourself

Important conversations can go wrong if participants talk themselves to exhaustion. Plan to chat for 10 minutes, or agree to press pause at a particular point, ready to return to the conversation later. Remember, too, that sick or recently bereaved people have limited energy.

When you reach a good stopping point, say something like: “There’s lots to talk about. Shall we leave it there and chat again tomorrow/next week?”

Listen to understand

The most effective discussions are when we listen carefully to the other person and try to understand. Instead of working out what to say next while the other person is speaking, just listen. Have you listened well enough to say it back to them? Check your understanding by repeating what you heard with empathy, starting with something like: “Have I got this right? You feel …”

Repeating their viewpoint back also helps the other person to feel heard and respected. In conversations about disagreement, try to present the most positive aspects of the other person’s view: it helps both of you to find common ground.

Be curious, not opinionated

What is the person you are speaking to telling you that you didn’t know before? How do they see the situation? How are they feeling? Use your curiosity to ask questions about their ideas, hopes and fears. Teenagers, in particular, often feel misunderstood and “talked at” rather than listened-to, but demonstrating genuine curiosity can help them to explore their own experiences.

Don’t be afraid to ask whether a distressed person feels safe: this question can unlock conversations about escalating tensions at home, school or work, fear of (or actual) abuse, thoughts of self-harm, worries about a terminal illness etc. Talking about these fears won’t make them a reality, and it may also encourage someone to access more specialist support.

Give unwelcome news gradually

Rather than causing shock by blurting out news that is unexpected, begin by giving the background or (often better) by asking the other person to tell “the story so far”. For example, you could say: “I want to talk about Mum’s health. Tell me how you think she’s been recently … ”. That initial recap creates a space where the new, unwelcome information is less unexpected. Now you can add the bad news, beginning with: “I’m sorry to tell you … ”

Even if you are to blame in some way for the unwelcome news – such as in a breakup, for example – a stepwise approach to confessing bad behaviour or even ending a relationship gives the other person an opportunity to anticipate the information and manage their response to it.

Avoid talking yourselves to exhaustion.
Avoid talking yourselves to exhaustion.

Sit with distress without trying to ‘make it better’

It’s not a bad thing if strong emotions are expressed during a difficult discussion: don’t try to close them down by offering reassurance or advice. Be a quiet companion to those in distress; if they cry or rage, or fall helplessly silent, stay present and validate what they feel. Useful phrases include: “It’s OK to feel like this”, “I’m sorry this is so upsetting” or “I’m glad you can talk about this with me”.

A condolence visit may involve listening to sorrows and “what-ifs”. A sick relative may want to discuss end-of-life wishes or regrets. Your attention is far more helpful than platitudes. Respect the fact that some things cannot be made better.

Don’t interrupt the silence

Silence is often where we do our thinking. We can support someone without interrupting their flow of thoughts by saying simple phrases that show we are maintaining attention: “Take your time”; “I’m not in a hurry”; “This needs some thought”. This is especially helpful when you can’t see each other – for example, during a phone call.

Respecting silence can be a challenge if there are several people in the conversation. You may need to be explicit, saying: “Let’s give each other time to think” or “I think we need a moment of quiet now”.

Support, don’t ‘fix’

We can disempower people by taking over – but if the solution was easy, they would have solved their difficulty by now. Instead of proposing ways to fix a problem, ask instead what solutions they have considered or what they would advise someone else in their situation to do. It’s surprising how often a person feeling completely stuck can tell you the great advice they would give a friend in the same position.

End on a positive note

Giving a time warning is helpful if you know one or other of you needs to finish the discussion soon. “Thank you” is a good note to finish on: even in a disagreement, giving thanks for their honesty and time shows appreciation and respect. Your disagreement need not become a ruptured relationship.

Look after yourself

If you are left feeling unsettled by a conversation, remember to treat yourself kindly. Some people take five minutes to walk outdoors or to focus on their breathing. These “mindful moments” help us to recentre ourselves. Confidential debriefing with someone else can also be a helpful practice.

Don’t pick up the other person’s burden: the solution is for them to find, but compassionate conversation can help others to process their experiences. That is often help enough.

Complete Article HERE!

When It Comes to End-of-Life, Some Are Taking Matters Into Their Own Hands

It’s called the VSED option — the refusal to eat or drink. The goal is to hasten death and it’s perfectly legal.

By Kevyn Burger

Some patients diagnosed with terminal illnesses or chronic progressive diseases find the prospect of a long decline, great suffering or significant deterioration to be intolerable.

For those with the desire to hasten their own death, one option is to refuse to swallow food or sip liquids. The practice, known as “voluntarily stopping eating and drinking,” or VSED, typically results in death within 10 days to two weeks.

“People have been dying this way since time began. It’s a natural way of dying, but people should know they can’t do this by themselves. They need to be attended by those who are knowledgeable about symptom management who can help them have the least bad death possible,” said Judith Schwarz, the clinical director of End of Life Choices New York.

A registered nurse with a Ph.D., Schwarz has written and lectured widely on the practice and advised hundreds of people who have chosen and followed through with the VSED option.

Now she has collaborated with a palliative care doctor, a bioethicist and a law professor specializing in end-of-life issues to co-edit a comprehensive, first-of-its-kind book on the subject.

First-of-Its Kind Book on VSED

Published this month by Oxford University Press, “Voluntarily Stopping Eating and Drinking, A Compassionate, Widely-Available Option for Hastening Death” takes a multi-disciplinary approach to explain both the practical complexities and ethical conundrums of the process to patients, their families and the medical clinicians who care for them.

“People who choose this and are successful are strong willed, they like to be in charge. Those qualities are useful for this process.”

Hastening death via VSED is not an impulsive decision. Schwarz describes the people she advises about how to die this way as “well informed and determined,” embarking on the process after securing aid from experienced guides.

“They understand that they need family and caregiver support, twenty-four/seven care at the end from people who understand why they made this decision,” she said. “They need access to palliative or hospice oversight. Medications must be available to the patient to aggressively treat symptoms of pain.”

Co-author and palliative care physician Dr Timothy Quill, of Rochester, N.Y., finds that many of his patients who have pursued VSED shared a personality type.

What a VSED Patient Can Expect

“Of what I call the last-resort options, VSED is the mostly widely available and the least widely described,” he said. “People who choose this and are successful are strong willed, they like to be in charge. Those qualities are useful for this process. They are on the sicker end of the spectrum and want an option to speed things up. They are prepared for the end of their life.”

The new book offers case studies that detail what a patient who chooses VSED can expect in the dying process

Book cover of, Voluntarily Stopping Eating and Drinking. Next Avenue, VSED, end of life

“At first they’re up and around and it’s a time for family to come together, for saying goodbye. They gradually get weaker, the world starts getting smaller and they become less responsive,” said Quill. “As they get dehydrated, their blood pressure drops and that causes organ failure.”

After the first day of no food or liquids, hunger tends to ease, but thirst becomes overwhelming. But even the use of ice chips or hourly sips can prolong the process. So, an oral care strategy that includes swishing and spitting, swabbing and using mists that don’t rehydrate the patient must be planned.

Schwarz notes that most VSED patients experience agitation, delirium and/or hallucinations in the 24 hours before death.

“Everyone has a period of this, and they need anti-anxiety meds and strong tranquilizers to medically manage symptoms so that the delirium is not intrusive, frightening or awful,” said Schwarz. “At this time, family can be present, holding the patient’s hand or playing the music they like. I say, ‘Don’t disturb them, as they are on their journey leaving this world.’ I can assure them that their loved one is not suffering. At the end, they stop breathing and their heart stops.”

Complete Article HERE!

How to help your child deal with the death of a loved one

“The best thing you can do is be present and empathic.”

BY

When I lost my father suddenly to a fatal heart attack four years ago, the pain of loss and subsequent grief were overwhelming. At the time, my husband and I had two little girls (ages 5 and 2), who were very attached to their PopPop Geno, and in many ways, they were my path through grief.

I had to quickly figure out how I was going to walk them through the grieving process while trying to navigate my own emotions. Loss is an inevitable part of life, and the intense sorrow that accompanies the loss of a loved one through death or separation is a normal response. These feelings can be overwhelming and confusing for children who don’t quite understand death.

In preparing children for death, it’s important to be honest, explicit and as concrete as possible without providing too much information. After a loss, avoid saying well-meaning euphemisms for death such as, “he’s gone to sleep forever,” or telling a young child that someone, “…was very sick and died,” which can stoke fear of going to sleep or getting sick for children who are very literal in their thinking. It’s best to have conversations that are simple, honest and developmentally appropriate.

Here are four ways to help children deal with death:

1. Have patience.

Children younger than 8 years old don’t typically understand the permanence of death unless they’ve experienced it first-hand. Even when they’ve acknowledged, “So, Grandpa isn’t coming back?” they may ask days or months later when they will see their loved one again. Our brains are designed to protect us. Research shows that young children will only process loss in small chunks of time. Parents often misunderstand this as them being done with the grieving process or not really understanding what’s happening. Although children grieve for short blocks of time, these can occur over very long periods of months or even years depending on the age of the child. It is important to be patient, answer questions as they arise, and pay attention to behavioral cues. Consistency and establishing a routine is the key to making sure your child feels secure during this period of uncertainty.

2. Develop a narrative.

Often, feelings of change or abandonment can surface depending on how close the friend or family member was to the child. Having a story about that person to hold on to allows them more time to fully process the loss as their capacity to better understand death also develops.

Having a narrative also helps kids understand they didn’t do anything wrong and that they weren’t the reason the person left.

In my case, we opted to talk about good memories and how much their grandfather loved them. Now, they will often do something they are proud of and say, “PopPop would have loved to be here for that!” It continues to let him be present and for my kids to stay in a relationship with him. Remember that if you don’t help your children develop a narrative, they will develop their own.

As you develop a story with them, make sure you share your own feelings as well. It’s hard for a child to understand unexpected emotions, but having a caregiver model feelings can be powerful. Children learn well when they have a vocabulary for these feelings and a model for behaviors that are appropriate expressions of grief. Seeing a parent cry can be scary for them but that experience provides a learning opportunity and therapy for you, too. So, sharing that you are okay but sad right now might help children normalize their own feelings.

3. Create a totem.

Children are such concrete thinkers, meaning they have trouble with abstract concepts, so having a tangible object, such as a picture, item of clothing or even a game or figurine from that person can help ease the transition in their absence.

By allowing a child to transfer significance to a lovey connected to a person they lost, they can also grieve in their own time. Creating a scrapbook with memories and pictures can be a powerful way to process loss together in an experiential way. Try making a game of hunting for meaningful items, pictures and items that represent good times.

4. Give children the chance to say goodbye.

You may decide not to expose your child to the funeral and that’s okay. However, it’s important to let them find a way to help them say their own goodbye. Funeral rituals can provide closure for family members and allow us to grieve in community. Consider having a small family memorial that allows your child to tell their passed loved one about their favorite memory, what they loved about them and what they might miss. At any age, this can be cathartic. If you decide to take your child to the funeral, make sure you prepare them ahead of time that a lot of people will be sad but they are there because they all loved the person who passed.

Above all, respect that your child is handling intense emotions the best way they can. If you don’t have the perfect words, just reflect back what you are hearing your child say. The best thing parents can do is be present and empathic.

Complete Article HERE!

Four things you might not know about your digital afterlife

What happens to your data after you die?

By

1 Your digital footprint will one day become your digital remains

If a complete stranger were granted access to every scrap of recorded information about you that exists in the world, would they be able to stand up at your funeral and deliver a personal, moving eulogy that captured the essence of you? Thanks to the modern digital world, the likely answer is yes.

If you’re not active on social media, you might think that you’d be leaving behind very little in the way of a meaningful or personally telling digital legacy. Social media, however, are merely the tip of the little toe when it comes to our digital footprints. Anyone who has access to your devices and accounts after you die – including all the material you never intended to share – could tell quite a lot about you.

Formerly ephemeral communications are now comprehensively stored in searchable, time- and date-stamped emails and message threads. Once untrackable movements are logged by our smartphones, smartwatches, and facial recognition technologies in public spaces. Internet of Things (IoT) devices like video doorbells and virtual assistants are filling our homes.

And our internal desires, thoughts, and feelings can be discerned by innumerable others through our search histories, websites we’ve visited, and the documents and photos we store in cloud accounts and our data-storage devices.

Little wonder that the algorithms seem to know us better than we know ourselves – in this hyperconnected and electronically surveilled world, we are constantly feeding them our data.

A 2019 survey found that 1 in 4 people in the UK want all of these data to be removed from the internet when they die, but no legal or practical mechanisms exist for this to occur. There is no magical switch that is thrown, no virtual worms that traverse the internet nibbling away all traces of us when we die.

Physical death does not equal digital death. Our personal data is simply too voluminous, spread too far and wide throughout the digital world, and too under the control of innumerable third parties to simply call it back home to ‘bury’ it.

2 Social media are becoming digital cemeteries

Dedicated digital cemeteries do exist, the oldest being The World Wide Cemetery, founded in 1995, where people can still visit online graves and leave virtual flowers and tributes. Memorial gardens are dotted around the virtual world Second Life.

Many funeral homes now offer online condolence books, and some physical cemeteries even feature graves with digital components such as video screens or QR codes affixed to traditional headstones. Scores of digital legacy companies appear regularly, often going out of business shortly thereafter.

None of these digital cemeteries can hold a memorial candle, though, to the platforms that never intended to become online places of rest in the first place: sites like Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter.

Facebook has been memorialising profiles in one form or another since the Virginia Tech massacre in 2007, after which users pleaded with the site not to delete profiles that had become memorials for the lost.

Scholars at the Oxford Internet Institute have estimated that the number of deceased users on Facebook could be as high as 4.9 billion by 2100. The dead are also mounting up on Instagram, which also memorialises profiles, and Twitter may follow suit. In November 2019, Twitter cancelled an imminent inactive-account cull in response to an outcry from bereaved people who feared the loss of their deceased loved ones’ Twitter feeds.

Social media companies may be actively trying to work out what to do about the data of the deceased on their servers, but dead people’s information is all over the internet, across all sorts of websites and apps. Many – perhaps even most – of the entities that manage our data are not planning well for the end from the beginning, so information can stick around online for an indeterminate period of time.

We should never assume, however, that online is forever. Disappearance of online data is inevitable through deliberate culls, accidental data loss, and companies going bust.

3 People are struggling to make plans for their digital legacies

It’s not only organisations that are flummoxed by what to do about digital legacies. It’s us, the people who are accumulating them. Less than half of adults in the UK have made a traditional will, and far fewer have considered what will happen to their digital one.

In the Digital Legacy Association’s 2017 Digital Death Survey, 83 per cent of respondents had made no plans at all for their digital legacies. A handful of people – 15.2 per cent – had made their wishes known for their Facebook accounts using the Legacy Contact feature. Legacy Contact allows you to appoint a trusted person to manage your memorialised account after you die, and you can also stipulate if you want the account deleted.

Whether instructions left on Legacy Contact or any other online platform would hold up in UK courts, however, is another matter. As in many realms of modern life, this is an area where laws and regulations are not keeping pace with technology. GDPR and the UK’s Data Protection Act 2018 don’t comment on what should happen to the digitally stored information of the dead, who are no longer entitled to data protection.

Service providers are understandably reluctant to hand over account contents or access to next of kin, especially when that’s likely to compromise other (living) people’s privacy.

Laws governing wills and probate don’t help much either when it comes to digital material. To bequeath something to someone in the UK it has to be tangible or valuable, and your social media profiles might not be judged to be either. In addition, you can’t pass on what you don’t actually own in the first place.

You do not own your social media profiles. Even if you’d like to, you cannot pass on an iTunes or Kindle library, since you have only purchased a license to watch, listen or read while you’re alive. The vast majority of your online accounts and their contents are non-transferable: one account, one user.

It may be a while before coherent, enforceable systems are instituted to govern what should happen to the data of the deceased. Until then, the companies to whom we entrust our data when we’re alive largely decide what happens to it upon death and who can access it.

In this legal and regulatory void, we can only make arrangements as best we can. For sentimental and practical material that might be valuable to our loved ones, we need to leave behind instructions for how to access it or – even better – back it up in secure but accessible formats that are not under the control of online service providers. In the not-too-distant future, digital estate planning may be a career all its own, or at least a necessary component of an existing profession.

4 It is impossible to predict how digital legacies will be meaningful to the bereaved

Our expectations that ‘normal’ grief will follow predictable, orderly stages is encouraged by our algorithmic environment. If you type ‘stages of…’ into a search engine, that engine will likely suggestion completion with ‘grief’. If you type ‘grief’, the engine will likely suggest ‘stages of’.

Despite what you and the algorithms might think, however, bereavement is actually incredibly, spectacularly idiosyncratic. Just as every relationship we have in life is unique, each bereavement is particular too. Despite dominating the popular discourse for the latter half of the 20th Century, Elisabeth Kubler-Ross’ famous grief stages – which were actually based upon qualitative research done with dying people, not bereaved people – boast little empirical support.

Across cultures and millennia, people have continued bonds with their dead in various ways, and we cannot predict what digital artifacts will be important in helping a bereaved person feel a thread of connection to those gone before.

For every person that relies upon a memorialised Facebook profile in their grief, there will be another that wishes it would just disappear. A preserved Twitter profile might be an absolute lifeline to friends, but the family might want it removed, perhaps imagining it’s not important to anyone. There is no rule book for what should and should not be important to someone in grief.

An astonishing and unpredictable variety of digital artifacts have been reported to me as being sentimentally significant to bereaved people. The digital recording of her husband’s heartbeat, stored in iTunes on a widow’s phone. The way that a woman’s brother organised and named his files on his laptop, giving her a window into how he thought and reasoned. A spam email from a woman’s deceased friend whose account was hacked – even though she knew it came from a hacker, she didn’t want to erase it, because it was his name in her inbox. A mother’s search history on her laptop, revealing to her daughter what she was thinking about in the last days of her life.

And finally, Google Street View, haunted by those who are no longer at that address. There is dad, watering the front lawn. There is a fondly remembered pet, peeking out the window of the house. There is grandma, sitting on the porch where she always did, waiting for the school bus to bring her grandchildren home. Even Google Earth is full of ghosts.

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