You haven’t really lived until you’ve been to a Death Café.

Wait, what? Death Café? What the hell?

You read right. Death Café is a real thing. In fact, it’s quite popular. To quote a local news story, “Death Cafes are the thing.” Popping up all over the country. But what is it? Wikipedia enlightens us: “A Death Café is a scheduled nonprofit get-together for the purpose of talking about death over food and drink, usually tea and cake. (Sounds rather British, doesn’t it? Tea. Crumpets. The plague.) The goal of these nonprofit groups is to educate and help others become more familiar with the end of life.”

Now, I normally wouldn’t jump at the chance to attend something called a Death Café. I mean, it’s not something you’d typically look forward to, like, say, the opening of “Avatar: The Way of Water” at your local cineplex. But this forum was to be facilitated by my friend, former colleague, and masterful presenter Marilyn Gugliucci, Ph.D., a professor and the director of geriatric education and research at the University of New England’s College of Osteopathic Medicine. I had attended her earlier presentation “Communication and Action: Empowerment for End-of-Life Preparation,” and it was a hoot.

OK, it wasn’t like a party or anything, but it was informative, interesting, and, yes, entertaining. Marilyn brings humor and good cheer to all her presentations, whether they’re about the challenges of aging or the realities of death. She’s just an upbeat person with an upbeat message. She also speaks softly and carries a big stick. (Literally. It’s got a gloved hand on one end and she’ll poke you with it to make a point or to wake you up if you’ve dozed off.)

But back to the Death Café, which was held recently at Graves Library in Kennebunkport. About 20 people showed up, most of us – how can I put this? – people of a certain age. I’m approaching 70, and both my parents died at 78. I could hear my biological clock ticking. I’d noticed that in the past few years the themes of aging, death and dying had crept into my writing. I decided it was time to start paying attention.

The other attendees had fascinating stories and perspectives on what would seem a grim topic, but the entire 75-minute discussion never felt like gloom and doom. More like bloom and zoom. Bloom in the sense that everyone was open to learning more, and zoom in the sense that the discussion focused the mind on the importance of preparation.

What was particularly interesting to me was how different some of the attendees’ perspectives were from mine. When asked how we felt about dying, one woman said that she didn’t want to die because she didn’t want to miss anything. Understandable. But I could imagine lying on my deathbed thinking, “Well, this isn’t so great, but at least I won’t have to rake the yard or take out the garbage anymore.”

I also related a story about how I cried more at my cat’s death than at either of my parents’ deaths. I confessed to thinking that something must be seriously wrong with me. But others in the group immediately understood my emotional reaction, noting how we love our pets (and they love us) unconditionally, and our relationships with our parents are, well, complicated. It was worth attending the Death Café to learn I wasn’t some kind of monster.

Marilyn told us about how our attitudes toward death have changed over time, and that after passing through periods when we were much more accepting of death, seeing it as a natural part of life, we were now in the stage of Forbidden Death, where it’s just not cool to kick the bucket. (A term Marilyn says we should never use, along with “passed away” or, worse, “expired,” like a carton of too-old milk.) “No euphemisms, please!”

So, I had a cuppa joe at the Death Café, and left feeling pretty good about this whole end-of-life thing.

Steven Price is a Kennebunkport resident. He can be reached at sprice1953@gmail.com.

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