TRIGGER WARNING: This poem discusses thoughts about death and is not intended to upset or offend anyone. The Death Café is held monthly in the back of an art shop in town. It’s not at all morbid; it isn’t a grief or support group, just a place to discuss the topic openly and ask questions. It isn’t about religion, or lack of it, It is open to anyone who wishes to know more and, perhaps, has some unanswered questions about death in a practical sense. This is about my first visit there.
I woke up early to a mackerel sky
With rain afoot in the weather’s eye
Thoughts turned to how I wanted to die
You may be puzzled and wondering why
I went to a Death Café with my friend
By writing this, I don’t mean to offend
Each debated how we would like to end
An honest discussion; no need to pretend
I hadn’t been to a Death Café before
I was a bit nervous as I walked in the door
Curious to know what was in store
Eager to learn and keen to know more
Seated inside were six women, four men
I listened intently; made notes with my pen
Wondering whether to go there again
It’s only monthly, so I’ll decide then
I spoke to my children last night; you see
Asked them how they would remember me
I told them I want to be laid by a tree*
Said we should get together, us three
My daughter agreed; she was perfectly fine
My son stayed silent and sipped his wine
We all have to go at some unknown time
But ultimately, the decision’s not mine.
*I’m passionate about trees and nature. I told my children I wanted to be buried close to a tree, preferably an oak. If you’d like to understand more about my passion for trees, you might like to read my post about a conversation between a special Tree and me Tree.
(Photo by Jordan Benton: https://www.pexels.com)
Essentially Ellie 