For a drink, strangers grieving or intrigued by death meet to discuss the end of life. A way to free speech on a subject that is both intimate and universal.
“Is this here, the aperitif of death?” Céline, in her sixties, slipped between the tables of the bar to reach the corner away from the noise, where twelve strangers were already seated. The latecomer pulls up a chair, encouraged by the kind looks of her friends for the evening. In this lively brasserie in the center of Guérande (Loire-Atlantique), they are there to toast life while talking about death, a few days before All Saints' Day. Most don't know each other, but all have already dealt with the Grim Reaper.
There are those who come to talk about their mourning, like Micheline, 51, who lost her husband last year, or Nathalie, orphaned by her father since she was 10 years old. There are those who ask questions, like Elysabeth, 83 years old, who has “not afraid of death”but worries about what she will leave to her loved ones. There is also Jean-Louis, 72, who says he had two near-death experiences in his childhood, “an upheaval”. Or Céline and Marc, retirees and volunteers in an association which supports people at the end of their lives.
They are brought together thanks to Happy End, an association which organizes these meetings throughout France. Its founder, Sarah Dumont, was inspired by Swiss cafés mortals before launching these aperitifs in 2018, “to reconcile ourselves with the word 'death' which we tend to banish from our lives”she explains. Each meeting is led by an ambassador from the association and a grief specialist. “in order to guarantee a safe and secure environment”.
The mischievous Elysabeth, brushed and made-up, immediately calls out to Sarah, the 35-year-old expert who supervises the aperitif of the day. Why did you choose to get involved in this universe, not entirely fun, at such a young age? “I worked in nursing homes, where death is extremely taboo. I saw that everyone suffered from it. I wanted to help free this voice”says the young woman.
A desire shared by all the participants, aged 50 to 83. Micheline, for example, no longer finds an attentive ear among those close to her: “I feel that people are fed up. I feel like I have exhausted my circle of friends with whom to discuss this subject. So I would like to exchange with those who have experienced the same thing as me, to talk about it more easily.”
“After six months, people told me: ‘It’s okay, stop crying, stop thinking about it’. Well no, I’m still in it.”
Michelineduring a deadly aperitif
Maëlla, also a widow for a year, bounces back: “I know that. 'It's going to be okay,' my mother told me when my husband left. No, it's not okay!” His neighbor at the table, Soizic, caresses his arm. Nods and strained ears invite him to continue. “I talk about him every day you know, because he is with me all the time”smiles Maëlla. “We are not dead as long as there is someone who thinks of us!”exclaims Elysabeth, inspired by a quote from the poet Emile Henriot.
For Nathalie too, the death of her father is a bit like it was yesterday. “At the time, we didn’t take much care of children”remembers the one who grew up in the 1960s. “Ultimately, it’s a mourning that I only grieve at 64. And it’s a lifelong journey to learn to live with it.” She says she turned to the nursing profession, a choice “maybe” related to this test: “I loved accompanying people in death, I felt like I was getting closer to my dad.”
There can be embarrassment when we talk about our dead, but also our own death. “We are not prepared for this future passage”believes Jean-Louis. Nathalie shrugs her shoulders: “My mother may be 92 years old, but she still doesn't want to talk about it. She must think it will upset her.” Since the recent death of her sister, Elysabeth is the last of her siblings: “You don't have to wait until the day of the funeral. I have a family reunion coming up, well, I'm going to tell them: 'Now, I'm going to piss you off, but I'm going to tell you about my death.' I want them to see it in a natural way.”
Dan rolls his eyes: “But why so much modesty?” “We are more and more in a society of happiness, so we have difficulty with vulnerabilities in generalSarah steps forward. And before, we lived with the elderly in our family, so we saw them age. Now, loved ones are sometimes far away.” Marc frowns: “It’s more that we don’t want to accept that death is inevitable.” He tells the story of his daughter-in-law, who died of illness at the age of 25. “When she was dying, she told me: 'I'm fine, I'm going to leave.' There, you learn a hell of a lesson in love and life.”assures the sixty-year-old.
To talk more about it, why not make death more alive? Dan cites as an example the funeral of Agnès Lassalle, a professor in Saint-Jean-de-Luz, stabbed by one of her students in 2023. “His companion had danced in front of the church, it was magnificent!she remembers, even if it wasn't understood by everyone.”
“And why can’t we have a celebration for the end of life?”
Soizicduring a deadly aperitif
Céline tells the story of her father, who gave a “extraordinary party” when he knew he was going to die: “The people he loved were able to say goodbye to him.” Conversely, Micheline's husband only wanted to see her and her son when leaving, “to leave a positive image to all those close to you”. “So it depends on the people”she slips with a smile.
Ideas flow, advice is exchanged and laughter now drowns out the music escaping from the sound system. They could go on talking for hours, but the boss is about to draw the curtain. In a final round of discussion, Catherine assures him: “Our discussions allowed me to realize that we had to talk about death, not hesitate to prepare for death…” “And think about champagne!”says Marc, provoking the hilarity of his comrades, bon vivants.
