Answer here, answer there, answer silently, out loud, conceptually, literally, alone, together, now, or later. Or, simply continue asking the questions. The point is to keep wonder and curiosity alive, and to keep moving in the direction of sitting comfortably in the soft middle-distance of knowing and not knowing.
Last Saturday afternoon I cut an hour-long hole in my regular weekend afternoon routine of outdoor chores and reading in the sun, and padded upstairs for a monthly Zoom gathering called Death Study Circle, led by one of my teachers from Inelda. Apropos of a new-ish TED Talk from the exceptional death doula and educator Alua Arthur that we watched at the top of the hour, Garrett engaged our group in a dialog around how and why our culture is so averse to thinking about death.
It was a good discussion—and a great example of how important it is to move from the simple act of bemoaning a fact to questioning and interrogating and staying curious about that fact.
But/and, throughout the call, all I could really think about was how, for the last few days, everyone I knew was actually very deeply engaged in thinking about death: Sinéad O’Connor’s death. And then yesterday, a second rogue wave hit with the news of Paul Reubens passing, and thoughts of death, dying, and grief were refreshed and raw. And ever-present.
As with the recent deaths of Tina Turner, Joan Didion, and Vivienne Westwood, and more (that list will look different, depending on your generation and interests), social media shares look very different for a few days. We reflect on a person’s inspiration and influence; we reflect on their best looks and greatest hits. We post about cancer and mental health. We post about being there for people when they need us. We post about loving each other in this life, while we can.
And I don’t mean that these culture-wide conversations are relegated to social media, but doesn’t it seem like most if not all conversations start there, and pick up speed there, and have a huge impact on our IRL conversations?
There’s no question that in so many ways we are dangerously separate from our own mortality. There’s no question that many of regard death and grief as freak accidents that happen only to unlucky others. And there’s no question we’re a culture steeped in celebrity culture.
So my questions to you are these:
Is it possible that our obsession with celebrity culture, and our mass mourning of celebrity death, can be a way into—a portal, maybe—a better relationship with death and mourning overall?
Is it possible that through our very online lives and the immersive culture-wide memorials that they facilitate, we’re ~already~ moving toward a better relationship with death and mourning overall? That we’re learning to more candidly share and reflect, out loud and together?
It might be that you’re already cultivating a healthy death awareness. It might be that that’s why you’re here. What do you sense in others—in your community, in your workplace, in your neighborhood, in your family? Are the people you know averse to talking about and thinking about death? Do you have a sense of why that is?
What would happen if you tried using the occasion of a beloved public figure’s death to broach a more personal conversation about death and dying with someone you care about and enjoy a sense of safety with? What could your opening line be? How might you pose just the slightest turn in what’s already on the table? How could Sinéad or Paul be like a portal, like a way into something truly powerful and evocative?
As always, Laura, your questions are poignant. This time I aim to write to them rather than just think about them, as I feel compelled to write as a sort of anti-morbid acknowledgement of the gifts of not only grief, but, indeed my deep gratitude for the socials.