On a snowy Sunday, they gathered to talk about death.
It wasn’t a funeral or church group. There was no memorial celebrating someone’s life.
It was a death cafe, held at the MLK Center.
The cafe part was a spread of strawberries, cookies and cheese accompanied by bottles of Icelandic water. The death part was conversation.
The group started with a prompt about Malcom X. Their meeting was Feb. 22, the day after the 61st anniversary of the human rights leader’s assasination.
“I tell you, I’m a man who believes that I died 20 years ago and I live like a man who is dead already,” read a printed quote. “I have no fear whatsoever of anybody or anything.”
They discussed Malcom X’s words. “I think he was in alignment with what his purpose was and challenging the beliefs of the time,” said Sonya Broadnax, 53. “He was unapologetic. That resonates when I think about my life, I want to be on a mission with my values.”
Valerie DeWeese, 71, agreed. “Over time, I’ve noticed I’ve let my filter go about what people think I should do and how I should act,” the resident of Historic Meridian Park said. “That’s why I look at death as freedom.”
The conversation opened up from there. They discussed parents who refuse to retire; grandfathers with cancer too stubborn to die on a doctor’s timeline; and all the ways people avoid thinking about the end of life.
The meeting is one of at least 10 death cafes hosted in Indianapolis in the past decade. They’re meant to increase discussion about death — often a taboo topic — and help people “make the most of their (finite) lives.”
That’s according to DeathCafe.com, a website from a British son and mother who started the U.K.’s first death cafe in 2011. They were inspired by Swiss sociologist Bernard Crettaz, who spent his life studying death.
The website has loose guidelines for people wanting to start their own death cafe: the groups have to be nonprofits and ensure confidentiality; people should not be swayed to one conclusion or another about death; and there must be food.
Brittany Montgomery, 39, follows all of them.
The eastsider hosted the February death cafe. She is an end-of-life doula — a person who supports people and their loved ones through the dying process. That can look like planning funerals, organizing belongings and helping people face “RUGS”: regrets, unfinished business, grief and shame.
“My job is to be a calming presence,” Montgomery said, “and help those transitioning come to terms with the end of their lives.”
She started hosting her death cafe in April 2025 to talk about these issues in the community.
“People don’t want to face their mortality,” Montgomery said. “I would like to normalize it because it is something we all have in common.”
‘It’s not small talk’
What brings someone to a death cafe?
“I was intrigued by the name,” said Simeon Fowler, a 28-year-old from the west side.
“Because it’s not small talk,” said Ethan Graff, 27.
“Because it’s taboo,” said Kathryn Coccia, also from the west side. “And I worked in hospice.”
The 36-year-old remembers their first experience with death, long before it was a regular part of going to work.
“My grandfather was in hospice when I was 3,” Coccia said. “We sang songs together. He gave me dolls and we ate a lot of Italian food.”
The experience, they said, taught them that death doesn’t have to be scary: “It’s as common as it is extraordinary.”
In hospice, they worked as a music therapist, playing guitar and singing for people at the end. The most requested songs included “Amazing Grace” and “My Way” by Frank Sinatra. Once, someone wanted “Forget You” by CeeLo Green.
Coccia likes attending death cafes to talk about these experiences. They aren’t sure about the existence of an after-life, but the word “Optimism” is tattooed across their fingers.
“There are a lot of different ways people think about death,” Coccia said. “My choice is to let the mystery be.”
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Mirror Indy reporter Mary Claire Molloy covers health. Reach her at 317-721-7648 or email maryclaire.molloy@mirrorindy.org. Follow her on X @mcmolloy7.
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