George R. Kelder Jr., CFSP, CEO/Executive Director
I recently was invited to take part in a funeral-related version of Ted Talks called Dead Talk. The following is a summary of my contribution to a full day dedicated to perspectives on death, legacy and human experience.
How many times have you heard someone say, “If I die…”? Maybe you’ve said it yourself. It’s one of those phrases we toss around like we’re hedging our bets, as if death is some kind of coin toss rather than a guarantee. But here’s the truth: death isn’t an if. It’s a when.
And yet, we dance around the topic like it’s a room with no lights. We whisper about people who’ve “passed away” instead of saying they died. We avoid the word like it has sharp edges. Even among funeral directors–I’ve been one for 45 years–we aren’t always the best at facing our own mortality. We talk about their funerals, not ours.
So why do we do this? Why are we so reluctant to talk about something that is, frankly, going to happen to every single one of us?
The answer, I think, lies in fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear of upsetting others. Fear that by talking about death, we might somehow bring it closer. We live under the illusion that there’s always more time, more chances to say what needs to be said, to plan, to prepare. But if you’ve ever experienced the death of someone suddenly, you know how cruel that illusion can be.
I often ask people, “Have you ever thought about your final wishes?” Many say yes. But when I follow up with, “Have you shared them with anyone?”, the room gets quiet. That silence speaks volumes.
Here’s the thing: not talking about death doesn’t keep it away. But talking about it? That’s powerful. That’s where peace begins.
Imagine for a moment that someone you love dies and suddenly you’re responsible for making all the funeral arrangements. Do you know what they would have wanted? Burial or cremation? A church service or a backyard gathering? Would you feel confident making those decisions?
Now flip it. Imagine someone else is in that position for you. Do they know what you want? Would they get it right? Would they feel guilt or uncertainty about the choices they make?
The burden we leave behind when we don’t have these conversations is heavy, and it’s completely avoidable.
Some people assume their spouse or eldest child will make the decisions. But legally, that’s not always how it works. And even if someone can make decisions for you, do they know what you want? That’s where a little planning–and a conversation or two–can make all the difference.
I know it can feel awkward to bring this up. But you’d be amazed how powerful it is to simply say, “I don’t want to leave you guessing one day. Can we talk about what I want when that time comes?”
That simple question opens a door. And what’s on the other side of that door is relief. Relief for you, knowing you’ve expressed your wishes. Relief for your next of kin, knowing they’re honoring them.
Years ago, I helped my father fulfill one of his last wishes–a trip to Ireland. That journey wasn’t just about honoring his heritage. It was about connection, memory and the deep sense of calm that comes from doing what mattered before it was too late. Knowing he was sick and hospice was in our future, we planned his funeral without planning everything. It was imperfect yet beautiful, and it taught me a lot about the gift of preparation.
So, here’s what I’d like to leave you with: Think of one thing you’d want those closest to you to know. Maybe it’s how you want to be remembered. Maybe it’s your choice between burial or cremation. Maybe it’s just where the important documents are.
Write them down. Talk to at least one person about it this week. Meet with a funeral director–or two–and ask questions. Because this isn’t about death. It’s about well-being. It’s about clarity. It’s about not leaving people you care about in the dark.
When we accept that it’s not if but when, we give ourselves and those around us a profound gift: peace of mind.
Start the conversation, talk with your family, meet with a funeral director and be comforted by the light it brings.