The idea of eating cake, drinking tea, and talking about death is new for me. But I am warming up to the notion. A Death Cafe is a chance to give voice to our wishes and fears, and listen to those of our neighbors. Last week I gathered with twenty such people, who are wriggling into the inevitability of our own departure. In the circle was a woman I walk with each week, the man who hikes with Benjamin on weekends, some cousins, friends I meet many mornings at the bakery, a couple we have been in a marriage group with for thirty months. All of us are in the queue. 

A doctor told the group that in his experience most of the families facing end of life choices have not expressed their wishes to one another. By the time they are whisked in an ambulance it is too late. 

Hence the cake. 

There was a pile of papers for us to take home and commit to answers. Do we want heroic measures? Are we interested in organ donation? What does quality of life look like? 

One couple took the suggestion and ran with it. They went to a bed and breakfast overnight to answer these questions honestly. They called it an Out of This World Summit. Which sounds much more appealing than more morbid options. 

 I think they still had cake.