The best books for re-imagining death, dying, and grief

I am so humbled and grateful for the death professionals of all stripes who help families with the transition of their loved one, whether it’s the hospice care doctors, nurses, and staff who think about the right cues and context or, as explored in this book, the folks re-thinking funerals and burial practices.

I have been to several in the last few years—a home funeral and a green burial stand out in particular—that have really deepened my sense of what we can do better. Reading this book opened up my imagination of what is possible for this crucial community experience. It triggered deep emotions from my personal experience, but in a way that helped me imagine a new path forward. 

Like a lot of people, I am fascinated by “inner vision”: what do people think, feel, and experience in extreme states that they struggle to describe to others?

This book is based on such an approach to the question: a palliative care doctor and team gather the stories of people experiencing visions while undergoing the massive transformation of dying. By re-thinking these deathbed visions not as feverish delusions but as insights into human experience, I was deeply moved on multiple levels. You can sense the dying person’s powerful drive to connect with the past and sometimes with the present, which makes the “hallucinations” quite real emotionally. You can also sense how important sharing the stories is to the loved ones in their grieving process. 

I love books that see ways to bridge domains of experience and understanding normally kept apart, and this book does that brilliantly. I was so touched by the author’s personal story of grief and its relationship to her experience of art in the rural community in which she was raised.

But I also learned immensely about how this talented neuropsychologist channeled that experience into studies that helped me understand the neurological components of grief, including how to diminish their amplitude through thoughtful practice.

For me, it provided a new conceptual framework for “learning to die,” a new sense of the ancient maxim of philosophy. 

I am in absolute awe of this essential American writer. This book made me cry, laugh, and shout in pleasure at the same time. I could hear, taste, and feel myself present in this book of poems, which explore loss and grief, but also tradition and legacy, our connection to the beloved dead through traditions.

Black food, music, and religious traditions are strongly present, but so is Wilco and Gram Parsons’ “Grievous Angel,” and we are immersed in one human’s attempt to sort out his place. Along with Heather Cahoon’s Horsefly Dress, which explores grief in the context of a Montana tribe, this book taught me how to think both beyond and more deeply within my own sense of “legacy.” 

I am so impressed with Caitlin’s work on demystifying funeral practices (The Smoke Gets in Your Eyes) and opening up our eyes to new possibilities through her writing and her Order of the Good Death. With this book, I was so engaged with the sheer variety of the death and funeral practices that she details.

We need this kind of writing: engaging, funny, and grounded while teaching us that we are not as bound as we might think we are. I left this book more resolved than ever that we can die differently, and especially if we can use our imaginations better to explore alternatives. The world is wide and beautiful: this book teaches us that we can see that beauty even in—maybe especially in—death.