It was the strangest dinner invitation I had ever received. Death Over Dinner, described as “an intimate dining experience where guests explore life’s transitions through shared stories and meaningful conversations”.
The event is hosted by "death doula" Tan Ming Li from The Life Review. She founded the social enterprise after her parents’ death and aims to normalise conversations around death, dying and legacy.
The idea of talking about death over a meal sounded intriguing and possibly helpful to me, as I had lost my father a year ago. That was how I found myself sharing about my father’s ‘happy funeral’ with strangers I’d just met.
When my father Robin Thng passed away in April 2024, we held a "xi sang" (Mandarin for "happy funeral") for him. This Chinese tradition is typically reserved for those who live beyond 80 years and enjoyed a full life.
At 86, with a loving wife, seven daughters, 12 grandchildren and eight great-grandchildren, my father certainly qualified for a happy funeral. We also believed our jolly father would have enjoyed his unconventional funeral filled with laughter and music, what we dubbed Robin’s Final Party.
Over a seven-course South Indian vegetarian dinner and cocktails at Podi & Poriyal restaurant, I told my dinner mates about how my father was an irrepressible joker. During his wake, family and friends traded funny stories about him.
Because my father liked music, we hired a three-piece band from Singapore Funeral Live Band, who sang his favourite English, Chinese, Cantonese and Hokkien songs. To our surprise, a 31-second video of their rendition of Hong Kong singer Grace Chang’s Wo Yao Ni De Ai went viral and chalked up 631,000 views.
It drew over 200 mixed comments. While some liked the lively atmosphere, many lambasted the singer for “singing so happily that you forgot it’s a funeral” and felt it was inappropriate.
These comments echoed common sentiments about how people think death should be handled. It made me wonder: Why were these internet strangers so uncomfortable with, or even offended by, what happened at another stranger’s funeral? What is considered inappropriate for a funeral? Is it weird and morbid to even talk about death?
The fact is death is not just about you dying. It is also about leaving your grieving family and friends the task of planning a funeral, which is physically, mentally and emotionally draining.
(Photo: The Life Review)
A fellow diner spoke about the logistical nightmare she faced while organising a funeral for a loved one who passed away suddenly. It was made even more complicated as he was a foreigner and she was unfamiliar with his culture’s customs.
Another chimed in that he and his wife wanted to make their funerals fuss-free for their family. They booked and paid – in instalments – for their forever home in a columbarium over a decade ago, when they were only in their forties. I was immediately hit by FOMO. I’m in my forties and I have nothing planned!
Midway through dinner, everyone switched tables so we had a chance to talk to different people. The youngest at my new table, who looked like she is in her twenties, confessed that she had a fear of planning ahead for death. She knew a couple who did so and unfortunately, the husband passed away a few months later.
Depending on one’s perspective, that can be seen as either a spooky, or a well-timed, coincidence. The shock of losing your husband and having to raise young children alone is, of course, heartbreaking. However, the silver lining is the husband’s just-in-time planning helped his grieving widow to manage better during a difficult period.
Among the people I met, we had collectively lost grandparents, parents, siblings, friends and pets. Losing grandparents and parents who lived to a ripe old age, compared to younger relatives and friends who were gone before their time, hits us differently – at least, for me.
My father was diagnosed with colorectal cancer a few years before his demise but due to his age and health condition, he decided not to undergo chemotherapy.
Thankfully, he didn’t suffer any pain over the years and kept his good humour right to the end. Even when he was too weak to speak much, he still cheekily stuck out his tongue at my niece when she visited.
At 86, his demise didn’t come as a surprise.
However, 20 years ago, my family lost my second sister, Sally, to cancer when she was just 39. She left behind a 10-year-old daughter, Debbie.
I knew her condition was deteriorating, so I should have expected it. But right down to the last moment, I was still shocked when she passed. She was so young.
The grief I felt was not just about missing a beloved sister. It was also the heartache of knowing that Debbie would grow up without knowing her mother, and Sally would never get to witness any of Debbie’s milestones, like her prom or wedding.
I have never cried at a wedding, but when my brother-in-law Cliff walked Debbie down the aisle, looking so beautiful in her wedding gown, I couldn’t stop ugly-crying. Sally would have been the happiest, proudest mother-of-the-bride.
At Death Over Dinner, when I talked about losing my sister, I felt I was still grieving harder for her than for my aged father, even though his death was much more recent.
Even when we can ‘plan’ when we can put down a sick pet, this ‘expected’ death doesn’t make it easier. The paw parents among us shared about the dilemma we face.
Well-meaning friends tell us, “You should let them go! Don’t prolong the suffering!” Yes, we know their death is imminent. We are often judged for choosing to let them pass away naturally. When we eventually lose them, there is no such thing as being given compassionate leave even though they are most definitely family.
Then there are the unexpected deaths. We talked about the shock of losing people to accidents and even suicide. At my table, two of us had gone through that pain. When the barrage of questions hits from concerned friends, how do you even explain why your loved one had chosen to take his or her own life?
However, grieving is still grieving. And grieving is hard, no matter if it is expected or not, or if it is for family, friends or a pet.
Throughout the 2.5-hour session, Tan and her facilitators offered useful guiding questions. Perhaps because every single person had come prepared to talk about death, conversation flowed easily.
One of the most memorable moments was when Tan handed out little slips of paper. We were told to write about a fear, regret or guilt regarding death. Then, we took turns to burn the paper, releasing our feelings along with it.
Participants at the Death Over Dinner event writing their thoughts about death on paper, which was then burnt as a form of release. (Photo: The Life Review)
The atmosphere wasn’t all doom and gloom. Amid the serious moments, I heard some laughter across the room. Perhaps, like me, someone else was recounting a funny memory of their loved one.
When I left Death Over Dinner, I felt a camaraderie with my fellow participants. Having a platform like this where like-minded people can freely discuss death is very liberating and cathartic. I’m also inspired to start thinking about my own end-of-life plans.
I came, I heard, I shared, I learned. Yes, I decided, Death Over Dinner has been helpful. I was all ready to write about my experience.
However, for months after the event in March,
The writer’s irrepressible father, Robin, would happily pull cheeky poses for photos – his cheerful spirit inspired his daughters to hold a happy funeral for him. (Photo: Stella Thng)
My father’s first death anniversary happened just days before Good Friday this year. Every year, I plan a Sisters & Parents date on that public holiday. This would be our first Good Friday without our father.
While discussing my plans with a sister, I was shocked when my eyes welled up with tears. We were at a family gathering and I tried hard to hide my sobs from the rest of the family, but I couldn’t stop the tears from flowing.
For the first time after my father’s death, I finally cried. I had been so caught up in celebrating my father’s life, I forgot – or perhaps wilfully refused – to mourn his death.
We may have given him a happy funeral, but that doesn’t mean I am not allowed to grieve – and it took me a whole year to realise this.
The writer (left) with her parents on a trip to Ipoh in June 2022. (Photo: Stella Thng)
My most profound conversation at Death Over Dinner was with a participant who candidly shared that she doesn’t intend to have a funeral.
She is a singleton who lives with a brother with special needs, and they have lost both their parents. She doesn’t want to burden her brother with the headache of organising one.
“Whenever I meet my friends, I jokingly tell them to cherish me and our time together as it might be our last meeting, since I won’t have a funeral. They all think I’m morbid for thinking so far ahead. I’m glad we have this platform to meet other people who, like me, feel comfortable talking about death,” she said.
While I definitely intend to have a funeral in future, I learned a profound truth from her that day.
Yes, please cherish me while I’m here, not when I’m gone.
For more information about Death Over Dinner and other events organised by The Life Review, visit The Life Review. Proceeds support end-of-life literacy for caregivers.
CNA Women is a section on CNA Lifestyle that seeks to inform, empower and inspire the modern woman. If you have women-related news, issues and ideas to share with us, email CNAWomen [at] mediacorp.com.sg.
Continue reading...
The event is hosted by "death doula" Tan Ming Li from The Life Review. She founded the social enterprise after her parents’ death and aims to normalise conversations around death, dying and legacy.
The idea of talking about death over a meal sounded intriguing and possibly helpful to me, as I had lost my father a year ago. That was how I found myself sharing about my father’s ‘happy funeral’ with strangers I’d just met.
When my father Robin Thng passed away in April 2024, we held a "xi sang" (Mandarin for "happy funeral") for him. This Chinese tradition is typically reserved for those who live beyond 80 years and enjoyed a full life.
At 86, with a loving wife, seven daughters, 12 grandchildren and eight great-grandchildren, my father certainly qualified for a happy funeral. We also believed our jolly father would have enjoyed his unconventional funeral filled with laughter and music, what we dubbed Robin’s Final Party.
Over a seven-course South Indian vegetarian dinner and cocktails at Podi & Poriyal restaurant, I told my dinner mates about how my father was an irrepressible joker. During his wake, family and friends traded funny stories about him.
Because my father liked music, we hired a three-piece band from Singapore Funeral Live Band, who sang his favourite English, Chinese, Cantonese and Hokkien songs. To our surprise, a 31-second video of their rendition of Hong Kong singer Grace Chang’s Wo Yao Ni De Ai went viral and chalked up 631,000 views.
It drew over 200 mixed comments. While some liked the lively atmosphere, many lambasted the singer for “singing so happily that you forgot it’s a funeral” and felt it was inappropriate.
These comments echoed common sentiments about how people think death should be handled. It made me wonder: Why were these internet strangers so uncomfortable with, or even offended by, what happened at another stranger’s funeral? What is considered inappropriate for a funeral? Is it weird and morbid to even talk about death?
TALKING ABOUT DEATH: PRAGMATIC OR MORBID?
The fact is death is not just about you dying. It is also about leaving your grieving family and friends the task of planning a funeral, which is physically, mentally and emotionally draining.
(Photo: The Life Review)
A fellow diner spoke about the logistical nightmare she faced while organising a funeral for a loved one who passed away suddenly. It was made even more complicated as he was a foreigner and she was unfamiliar with his culture’s customs.
Another chimed in that he and his wife wanted to make their funerals fuss-free for their family. They booked and paid – in instalments – for their forever home in a columbarium over a decade ago, when they were only in their forties. I was immediately hit by FOMO. I’m in my forties and I have nothing planned!
Midway through dinner, everyone switched tables so we had a chance to talk to different people. The youngest at my new table, who looked like she is in her twenties, confessed that she had a fear of planning ahead for death. She knew a couple who did so and unfortunately, the husband passed away a few months later.
Depending on one’s perspective, that can be seen as either a spooky, or a well-timed, coincidence. The shock of losing your husband and having to raise young children alone is, of course, heartbreaking. However, the silver lining is the husband’s just-in-time planning helped his grieving widow to manage better during a difficult period.
IS GRIEVING EASIER WHEN A DEATH IS MORE "EXPECTED"?
Among the people I met, we had collectively lost grandparents, parents, siblings, friends and pets. Losing grandparents and parents who lived to a ripe old age, compared to younger relatives and friends who were gone before their time, hits us differently – at least, for me.
My father was diagnosed with colorectal cancer a few years before his demise but due to his age and health condition, he decided not to undergo chemotherapy.
Thankfully, he didn’t suffer any pain over the years and kept his good humour right to the end. Even when he was too weak to speak much, he still cheekily stuck out his tongue at my niece when she visited.
At 86, his demise didn’t come as a surprise.
However, 20 years ago, my family lost my second sister, Sally, to cancer when she was just 39. She left behind a 10-year-old daughter, Debbie.
I knew her condition was deteriorating, so I should have expected it. But right down to the last moment, I was still shocked when she passed. She was so young.
The grief I felt was not just about missing a beloved sister. It was also the heartache of knowing that Debbie would grow up without knowing her mother, and Sally would never get to witness any of Debbie’s milestones, like her prom or wedding.
I have never cried at a wedding, but when my brother-in-law Cliff walked Debbie down the aisle, looking so beautiful in her wedding gown, I couldn’t stop ugly-crying. Sally would have been the happiest, proudest mother-of-the-bride.
At Death Over Dinner, when I talked about losing my sister, I felt I was still grieving harder for her than for my aged father, even though his death was much more recent.
Even when we can ‘plan’ when we can put down a sick pet, this ‘expected’ death doesn’t make it easier. The paw parents among us shared about the dilemma we face.
Well-meaning friends tell us, “You should let them go! Don’t prolong the suffering!” Yes, we know their death is imminent. We are often judged for choosing to let them pass away naturally. When we eventually lose them, there is no such thing as being given compassionate leave even though they are most definitely family.
Then there are the unexpected deaths. We talked about the shock of losing people to accidents and even suicide. At my table, two of us had gone through that pain. When the barrage of questions hits from concerned friends, how do you even explain why your loved one had chosen to take his or her own life?
However, grieving is still grieving. And grieving is hard, no matter if it is expected or not, or if it is for family, friends or a pet.
DID TALKING ABOUT DEATH HELP ME?
Throughout the 2.5-hour session, Tan and her facilitators offered useful guiding questions. Perhaps because every single person had come prepared to talk about death, conversation flowed easily.
One of the most memorable moments was when Tan handed out little slips of paper. We were told to write about a fear, regret or guilt regarding death. Then, we took turns to burn the paper, releasing our feelings along with it.
Participants at the Death Over Dinner event writing their thoughts about death on paper, which was then burnt as a form of release. (Photo: The Life Review)
The atmosphere wasn’t all doom and gloom. Amid the serious moments, I heard some laughter across the room. Perhaps, like me, someone else was recounting a funny memory of their loved one.
When I left Death Over Dinner, I felt a camaraderie with my fellow participants. Having a platform like this where like-minded people can freely discuss death is very liberating and cathartic. I’m also inspired to start thinking about my own end-of-life plans.
I came, I heard, I shared, I learned. Yes, I decided, Death Over Dinner has been helpful. I was all ready to write about my experience.
However, for months after the event in March,
The writer’s irrepressible father, Robin, would happily pull cheeky poses for photos – his cheerful spirit inspired his daughters to hold a happy funeral for him. (Photo: Stella Thng)
My father’s first death anniversary happened just days before Good Friday this year. Every year, I plan a Sisters & Parents date on that public holiday. This would be our first Good Friday without our father.
While discussing my plans with a sister, I was shocked when my eyes welled up with tears. We were at a family gathering and I tried hard to hide my sobs from the rest of the family, but I couldn’t stop the tears from flowing.
For the first time after my father’s death, I finally cried. I had been so caught up in celebrating my father’s life, I forgot – or perhaps wilfully refused – to mourn his death.
We may have given him a happy funeral, but that doesn’t mean I am not allowed to grieve – and it took me a whole year to realise this.
The writer (left) with her parents on a trip to Ipoh in June 2022. (Photo: Stella Thng)
CHERISH ME WHILE I’M HERE, NOT WHEN I’M GONE
My most profound conversation at Death Over Dinner was with a participant who candidly shared that she doesn’t intend to have a funeral.
She is a singleton who lives with a brother with special needs, and they have lost both their parents. She doesn’t want to burden her brother with the headache of organising one.
“Whenever I meet my friends, I jokingly tell them to cherish me and our time together as it might be our last meeting, since I won’t have a funeral. They all think I’m morbid for thinking so far ahead. I’m glad we have this platform to meet other people who, like me, feel comfortable talking about death,” she said.
While I definitely intend to have a funeral in future, I learned a profound truth from her that day.
Yes, please cherish me while I’m here, not when I’m gone.
For more information about Death Over Dinner and other events organised by The Life Review, visit The Life Review. Proceeds support end-of-life literacy for caregivers.
CNA Women is a section on CNA Lifestyle that seeks to inform, empower and inspire the modern woman. If you have women-related news, issues and ideas to share with us, email CNAWomen [at] mediacorp.com.sg.
Continue reading...