My partner Amber and I have been together for 17 years. Nine years ago, on International Women's Day, we were legally married by the state of Oregon. A year later we received a refund of our marriage license fee along with notice that our marriage was now NULL and VOID. 

Fortunately, we had already held what we considered our "real wedding" in 2001. Children of divorce who came of age during the flowering of feminism, neither of us had grown up with romanticized notions of a walk down the aisle. We opted out of many of the traditional trappings. No one gave anyone away. Instead of an officiant we had two friends emcee. A dessert potluck replaced the wedding cake. Our sound track was rock & roll (we entered to the Beatles' Magical Mystery Tour). 

In fact, we didn't even call it a wedding. We invited 100 friends and relations to a relationship celebration: "a celebration of our love for each other, how well we work as a team, and the larger community that enriches our lives."  But "relationship celebration" doesn't exactly roll off the tongue; it was our straight friends who kept insisting, "come on, it's your Wedding." 

Love & Commitment
At its heart, our ceremony - outdoors above the Columbia River Gorge, poised midway between two majestic volcanic peaks - couldn't have been more traditional. It was about us pledging our love and commitment in front of our people, asking for their blessings and sharing our joy. I had broached the possibility of a commitment ceremony with Amber fairly early in our courtship. I wasn't exactly asking her to marry me, but I did wonder how she felt about the idea of making a public commitment. Already in my mid-30s, my previous relationships had followed the pattern of attraction, spending all our time together, since we're spending all our time together we might as well move in together... with no real decision points around what we were committing to, no clear threshold of intention crossed or witnessed. 

In her typical straightforward manner, Amber said, "I don't know. Maybe after five years." As she likes to tell it, five years and a day later, I circled back to call the question. By then we had survived a major relationship crisis, lived together in a 19-foot motor home for a year and a half, and travelled together towards my father's final days. 

We decided to formalize and celebrate our commitment on our fifth anniversary, September 22, 2001. Eleven days before my family was due to fly out from Logan, Newark, and Dulles airports, the Twin Towers fell. Everyone urged us to proceed with our plans - we all needed to be together more than ever. Eleven days after the ceremony, my father died. I crossed that threshold wrapped in the sturdy blanket our community had constructed with us, woven of our willingness to be there for one another.

We were lucky that our families and friends blessed our union without hesitation. For many gay and lesbian couples, that approval remains withheld as long as legislatures and electorates deem us separate and unequal. And for others, even more than us, being denied access to the safety net protections provided by legally recognized marriages results in real hardships, especially for those with children, with jobs in the military or federal government, and in states without anti-discrimination laws.

Summer of Love
Thankfully, since the legal version of our marriage was declared null and void, the world has changed fast. Majorities nationwide are now giving the thumbs up to loving, committed couples, even if we happen to be of the same sex. In the past few weeks Minnesota, Delaware, and Rhode Island have brought the number of states with the freedom to marry to 12 (it's a baker's dozen when you add the District of Columbia). 

Now Basic Rights Oregon is launching Oregon United for Marriage, a broad coalition that will make Oregon the first state in the country to repeal a one-man-one-woman constitutional amendment. This weekend they kick off the Summer of Love. It's a grassroots movement preparing to gather the signatures that will put freedom to marry on the ballot. At its core, the movement is about sharing the stories of love and commitment - gay and straight - that will open hearts and change minds. 

As a Celebrant and wedding officiant, it's a joy to work with couples to create personal, meaningful ceremonies that celebrate their commitment. I hope you'll join me in working for the day - sooner, not later - that I can use the words "by the power vested in me by the state of Oregon" at the weddings of all couples. 

When was the last time you spent Memorial Day cleaning then picnicking on the graves of your dearly departed? While the custom may still run strong in some pockets of the country, most everyone I know has little relationship to graveside rituals these days. We live far dispersed from our ancestors, and rising cremation rates mean many folks don't have that "final resting place."

As we head into Memorial Day this year, I want to share a few inspiring memorial tributes that aren't limited to a specific date or place. 

Monday Hearts for Madalene  
This amazing project is a tribute by Page Hodel for her beloved partner who died of ovarian cancer in 2006 at the age of 46. When they were first falling in love, Page began constructing hearts for Madalene, left on her doorstep each Monday. "I wanted her to find a sweet little 'I love you' waiting for her when she went out the door to go to work on Monday morning," Page says. "To start her week with a visual reminder of our beautiful love."

Before Madalene died, Page promised that she would continue making Monday hearts for Madalene for the rest of her life - and so she has. There have been 407 thus far. You can view them all on her web site where you can sign up to get each week's spectacular creation emailed to you.

Now contained in a book (sales benefit a women's cancer project in the Bay Area), the hearts have connected thousands of people around the world to the expressions of love that are Madalene's legacy.

Loss and the Sweetness of Memory
When Teresa Jordan sat down to watch a movie, she didn't expect to be reminded of her mother, who died nearly 40 years ago. But the film stirred something and inspired her to make a short film of her own for Mother's Day: Perfume, which she describes as "an illustrated moment about loss and the sweetness of memory."

With musical accompaniment by her husband Hal Cannon, this tender little slice of death-in-life provoked personal remembrances among many who viewed it. 

Teresa's film found its way to my in box via my favorite blog, Go Ask Alice...when she's 94.  Writer Andrea Carlisle created this on-line journal as a living memorial to her mother, Alice, who moved across the country to reside in an assisted living facility she has dubbed The Place. Andrea uses the blog "to keep track of some moments with her that I don't ever want to forget". 

The sweetness of memory, indeed, for the loves still with us, and the ones we have lost.

*         *          *
Thank you to Page, Lily, Teresa, Hal, Andrea, and Alice.

This Mother’s Day, I’m paying tribute to… my step-father, and the tribute he recently paid to the two mothers of his children.

Norman met and married my mother after I’d already moved 3,000 miles away for college. He had largely raised his two sons as a single parent, as had my mother with her two girls. My sister shared a few months in the combined households before she too left for college; our new step-brothers, who were a few years younger, experienced the most change, their high school years now influenced by the addition of a step-mother.

Norman has often displayed a sensitivity generally ascribed to females, born from his experience single-parenting his sons. I remember him recounting his discomfort at PTA meetings, bake sales, and the like when the women would exclaim over how wonderful he was to be there, participating, the lone male. He’d say, “Why? It’s no more than you’re all doing.”

Last weekend, Norman received a Mother’s Day appeal from UNICEF. It depicted a mother in Mali and her infant child. Having just driven through the old neighborhood where he and his first wife had first raised their young boys, it put him in a contemplative mood. He made a gift to UNICEF in her honor and wrote her a letter containing his thoughts on their “living legacy” – their grown children, and their shared “commitments to respect, freedom, justice, and community”. He copied their sons.

He then forwarded a copy of the letter to his current wife (my mother), copying me and my sister. In this appended version, he wished my mom “a Memorable Mother's Day.” 

He closed with a full-circle insight – what he described as “an epiphany of sorts” – about his relationships with the two mothers of this combined set of four children. With all the differences and divisions of the past, what formed the common thread were those “commitments to respect, freedom, justice, and community”.

This Mother’s Day I honor everyone who takes the time to put into words the deep respect they have for the mothers in their lives. Thank you, Norman, for remembering well.

If asked to go indoors on a gloriously sunny springtime day to talk about Death, would you expect to describe the experience as fun, exciting, inspirational or enlivening? Those in fact are some of the most common words participants used to describe the first PDX Death Café, held April 28 at the Bijou Café in downtown Portland, Oregon.

The top descriptors volunteered by our 60 participants were: interesting, informative, enlightening, and educational – remarkable given that this event presented absolutely no content. No featured speakers, no presentations, no informational handouts. The format consisted exclusively of sitting with three or four strangers and sharing why they chose to come to a Death Café.  About half of our tables included a host, but many were entirely self-facilitated (following a few general guidelines offered in our opening). Some chose to draw from additional conversation-starters on their tables, and others generated their own flow from topic to topic.

When commenting on the most enjoyable aspect of the event, the majority mentioned some variation on “engaging with the topic openly and easily; connecting to people with different perspectives”:

• “Meeting new people and hearing their stories. Feeling commonality and deep compassion.”
  
• “Talking about death in such a matter-of-fact way was a great way to connect on a touchy topic.”
  
• “The delight of free exchange with strangers so willing to speak openly.”
  
• “Bold exposing of life experiences that are often hidden.”
  
• “Sharing experiences of loss/ mortality with others.”
  
• “The ease of making community amongst strangers.”

Several specifically appreciated the cross-generational aspect of the conversation and “being surprised by people's perspectives/ experiences.”

Other words used by participants included: heart-warming, deep, transgressive, crucial, fascinating, intimate, practical, safe, sweet, useful, and connecting.

100% who completed evaluation forms said they would recommend the Death Café to friends or family. 95% said they would consider attending a future Death Café, 67% strongly agreeing. As another extraordinary measure of how engaged participants were, 94% filled out evaluation forms.

Impact
91% agreed that, “The event had a positive impact on me”; 50% agreed strongly, while 7% were neutral on this measure and one person disagreed.

The Death Café is not intended to change people’s views or even to make them more comfortable with the idea of death. Consistent with evaluations done by US Café pioneer Lizzy Miles, we found that many participants did not cite big changes as the strongest measure of their experience. While 52% did agree, “I feel more comfortable talking about death and dying now” (27% strongly agreeing), 35% were neutral on this statement, and 12% disagreed – several commenting that they came in comfortable with the topic. Only 28% reported a change in their perspective on death and dying.

What 87% of participants did report was: “It was helpful for me to meet people with different viewpoints”; 55% strongly agreed with this statement.

Format
100% reported feeling “comfortable sharing my thoughts and feelings about death.” 96% found the structure “conducive to conversation, with 66% strongly agreeing and one person disagreeing. 96% affirmed that they did not feel pressured to talk, with the other 4% neutral on this question.

Facilitation and facilitators scored only high marks, with 98% agreeing they created a safe environment for discussion, were caring, and treated people with respect (a few people were neutral on these questions). People described the facilitators as superb, great, well-organized, easy and fun, comfortable; “excellent caretakers of the space”.

We received five comments from people at tables without facilitators who reported that the conversation sometimes got dominated or sidetracked (one said it was “slightly highjacked by a funeral professional”). Another three said they didn’t miss having a facilitator at their table, saying the opening question (Why did you come?) “facilitated itself” and that the “conversation flowed very well.”

Six people mentioned wanting more time. Two wished for the chance to rotate tables part-way through. While a strong majority favor sticking with an open conversational format, several offered suggestions for focal topics.

The space received generally favorable response, with 85% rating the environment appropriate for the event (54% strongly so) with others finding the noise level too high or the parking meters a hassle.

Who Came?
An astonishing 100 people expressed interest in attending, with 72 confirming before we closed registration – this with zero advertising or local news media coverage. Our no-show rate was only 16%.

Of the 86% who chose to indicate their gender, 21% were male and 79% female. By age:

• The largest cluster were 65-74 (30%)
  
• One person was between 18-24 and one was 75-84
  
• The rest were evenly distributed: 22% were 25-34 and 22% were 55-64
  
• 11% were 35-44 and another 11% were 45-54 

In a show of hands during our introduction, roughly two-thirds said they worked in a professional or volunteer capacity with grief, death, or dying. Several reported afterwards how welcome they found the opportunity to “let their hair down” and share their own personal experiences and beliefs rather than their employers’ or clients’.

How did you hear about Death Café? 

• 53% from friends, a host or a teacher
  
• 35% on Facebook
  
• 12% via national coverage on NPR, USA Today, MSNBC, or Huffington Post
  

When asked, “How would you describe your faith/ religion/ belief system?” one person wrote simply “I wouldn’t.” 
Of the 80% who chose to answer this question

• 28% said “spiritual”
  
• Eastern practices were referenced by 13%, from “Unitarian/ Buddhist” to “Buddhist/ Taoist” to “Zen” to “open with a spiritual/ Buddhist bent” and “non-practicing Buddhist” 
  
• 8% used words like “exploring,” “open-minded,” “undecided,” “unknown”; and several said “secular,” “agnostic” or “atheist”
  
• 8% named pagan or native spirituality practices
  
• Two listed religious science/ new thought
  
• Two used the words “mixture” and “eclectic”; the rest illustrated this with their own particular blend: “raised a Jew but became a witch at 30 while maintaining a cultural identity as a Jew,” “interfaith Catholic,” “naturalist/hopeful,” “Catholic who loves stained glass and prayers to saints,” “Urantia Book,” “Christian/questioning,” and “universal”. 
  

What’s Next?
Along with many of my founding cohosts, I am excited about organizing more PDX Death Cafés! We’re looking at late June, late September, and early December. I’m also happy to coordinate with those of you who are interested in organizing your own Death Café – in your own neighborhood, for your own network, at a greater frequency, etc. If you’d like to help shape upcoming PDX Death Cafés (date, venue, format, etc.) or connect around organizing your own, message me or watch for a survey link I’ll post on the PDX Death Cafe Facebook page.

As For Me
Organizing the PDX Death Café was one of the absolute highlights of my 25+ years as a community organizer and professional facilitator. Now that I’ve crossed into the latter half of my own life and become a Life-Cycle Celebrant providing ceremonial support around the end of life, I’m hungry for connections with others willing to look this topic squarely in the face. That hunger, clearly, is shared. We all need community, especially around loss and mortality. Seeing so many people willing open their hearts and minds to each other and the great mysteries of life and death, was a profoundly moving experience. I am grateful to all who gave themselves to it.

Special thanks to global movement leader Jon Underwood (www.deathcafe.com) and my mentors Lizzy Miles of Columbus Death Café and Kristine Bentz of Tucson Death Café.