We Talked About Death, and It Brought Us Closer to Life

Last week marked the spring equinox for those of us in the northern hemisphere.

Equinoxes are turning points that have been celebrated across time, when seasons shift from winter to spring and from summer to fall. 

These moments highlight the interconnected cycles of life, reminding us that endings, death, and letting go are vital for new beginnings and transformation.

Each gives meaning to the other. Life doesn’t move in straight lines, but rather in circles, cycles, and spirals.

On the eve of the equinox, I hosted a Death Over Dinner gathering at my house and found myself stepping directly into that space of holding both.

The invitation to my 8 guests was to come together for conversation about something most of us spend our lives avoiding.

It wasn’t heavy in the way you might imagine. There was laughter, curiosity, and pauses that felt contemplative rather than uncomfortable.

I was moved by the sharings, and also who was at the table- a group of dear friends… and my son.

He wasn’t there as my child whom I was guiding; he was there as an adult—offering his own thoughts, questions, and reflections about life, death, and what it all means to him.

To witness him in that space, to listen, not as a mother with answers, but as a human alongside another human, both with more questions than answers, was a beautiful experience. 

As the evening unfolded, something became clear: 

When we make space to talk about death, we become more connected to life.

People shared fears, lingering grief, questions with no clear answers, hopes for how they want to live, what they feel called to resolve, and how they want to be remembered.

There was a collective willingness to be with what is real. And in that space, I think we all softened a little bit.

There is something deeply medicinal about being seen and sharing both our lives and our grief with others. Different opinions, questions, and beliefs, but no judgment, no turning away. 

We are not often given that kind of space. But when we are, it changes us.

The equinox reminds me that light and dark exist in balance. One is not without the other.

As we move into this season of emergence, I find myself asking:
What am I willing to feel, so that what emerges is real and true?

If you’ve never had an open-hearted conversation about death in this way, I invite you to consider it as a doorway to deeper connection—with yourself and with the people you love.

If we allow ourselves to touch the truth of impermanence, even briefly…we might find ourselves more awake to the beauty, fragility, and preciousness of being alive right now.

One thing that we all share is that we will die, and at some point, we will likely experience the death of someone we love. 

Despite this shared future, death can be hard to talk about and is often treated as a taboo subject rather than a natural, inevitable, and meaningful part of life. 

I’m interested in shifting that, and the dining room table feels like a good place to start.