Hosts of “death cafes” are reporting a global surge in demand for honest conversation about “the nitty-gritty of dying”, and say the coronavirus pandemic has made frank discussion about our mortality more necessary than ever. “In these difficult times, as death comes closer, it’s very important to have a forum to talk about our fears and anxieties,” says Sue Barsky Reid, a psychotherapist who chaired the UK’s first death cafe in 2011 and now coordinates, with her daughter Jools, the international movement that has established more than 10,000 similar meetings in 70 countries over the past decade. She adds that hosts around the world have quickly moved events online as interest grows in the social franchise, which brings together strangers in an accessible, respectful and confidential space to reflect both on the finite nature of life and also how they might best plan for its ending. Nicole Stanfield, organiser of the Taunton, Somerset, death cafe, held two online events over a recent weekend and welcomed virtual visitors from across England as well as one from France: “It was amazing to see the geographical spread. I’ve been surprised by the amount of interest, but people are looking for answers. We’re only going to see more death during this pandemic, so people are suddenly thinking about living wills, advanced care discussions and funeral planning.” Hosts in the US describe a similar online effect, despite the physical restrictions of lockdown. “People are being forced to face their own mortality every waking moment,” reports Megan Sipe-Mooney, who organises cafes in Missouri. “There’s a huge need right now and I’m getting lots of requests on our Facebook page. I’ve been training other hosts in how to host virtual death cafes and make sure tea, coffee and cake is still present.” The reference to cake is not flippant: proper refreshments are fundamental to the relaxed and often upbeat atmosphere that death cafes aim for, and which marks them out from a more traditional counselling or educational setting. Death cafes have become a global phenomenon, spreading across Europe, North America and Australasia since Jon Underwood held his first one in September 2011 at his home in Hackney, east London, chaired by his mother Sue. Underwood – a web developer and Buddhist who died suddenly in 2017 – had been inspired by the Swiss sociologist Bernard Crettaz, whose stated mission was to liberate death from an atmosphere of “tyrannical secrecy”. Conversations have become far more practical since the outbreak, explains Aly Dickinson, a death cafe host based in Exeter. “People are realising that deaths during this pandemic won’t be what they might have envisaged, or thought of as a so-called ‘good death’ – gently slipping away, surrounded by family and friends. So the conversations are about how death from Covid might look now – for example, people may decide they do not want to be hospitalised and receive invasive medical interventions or face restricted visiting from loved ones.” Dickinson has been involved with half a dozen cafes since the pandemic began, in her role as secretary of End of Life Doula UK, a membership organisation for death doulas, who provide non-medical support to those with a terminal diagnosis. “They want to discuss the nitty-gritty, like: will I be able to get out to register the death, could we have a wake remotely, how do we share grief and memories when we’re apart? People are wanting hard facts and information about what dying of Covid-19 is actually like. Maybe there’s not quite so much laughter, as the mood is more serious.” With cafes also planned in Australia, Canada, Japan, Denmark and beyond throughout April, some hosts suggest that the gradual embrace of online meetings will allow death cafes to extend their support even further. “We’ve talked in the past about how nobody wants to discuss death and dying”, Dickinson adds, “and suddenly that conversation is right in front of us, in the media and also our own families and communities. So at the death cafes that have taken place since the pandemic, the biggest change is that people are talking about death in a here-and-now way, rather than as something distant.”