My Fantasy Death by Lexie Wolf

I attended a thought-provoking workshop facilitated by Frank Phoenix at this past weekend’s wonderful Death Faire event. The invitation was simple but profound: imagine your own death. We were asked to think about and write down what we would like our dying to look and feel like — the setting, the people, the atmosphere, the experience.

Some participants shared what they wrote. Many described a gentle and beautiful passing — slow enough to say goodbye, surrounded by love. One woman said she’d prefer it to be fast and surprising. There was laughter, tenderness, and deep listening in the room. What could have been heavy felt strangely liberating.

Frank explained that the purpose of this exercise was to normalize talking about death. To take something we all share — the one experience guaranteed to unite every human being — and bring it out of the shadows. We make birth plans, after all; we talk about weddings, retirements, and bucket lists. Why not talk about death with the same care and intention? It’s not morbid. It’s honest. Thinking about death can actually make life feel more vivid, more precious.

This was the overarching theme of Death Faire — to transform fear and avoidance into curiosity and reverence. To explore how we might prepare ourselves and our loved ones for this inevitable passage, not by denying it, but by engaging with it consciously.

Here are the notes I wrote during the workshop about what I’d wish for in my own transition. I’ll likely revisit them from time to time — maybe even talk them through with Bill and my loved ones. I know it’s something of a fantasy, but an illuminating one. Perhaps you’d like to try this exercise too? You’re welcome to share your reflections in the comments.

Here’s what I jotted down in about fifteen minutes during the workshop:

I die at age 100. Still able to enjoy life, to move without pain, still enjoying being in a body for the most part.

After a wonderful family gathering, I start to decline. There are a few days or a week when I am in and out, in no pain, but moving between worlds. There is no fear. I greet those I love beyond the veil. They are eager to welcome me but I need a little more time. I spend some time in the land of the living enjoying music and song, prayers of loved ones, whispered reminiscences as the people I love visit my bedside. I convey good tidings from beyond the veil to those who are living and this is reassuring to them. As I move between worlds, I am able to truly understand that we are one: there is no separation between all of us, only a difference in form. I am able to explain this to those who gather at my bedside so my children and grandchildren and friends will feel much less fear about their own deaths. I am so looking forward to being with my loved ones who have passed. I know that I will feel just as close to those who are still living. Some of them will have the capacity to continue to feel close to me when I have left my body, some will not. But our time on earth is quick, and I know their suffering will be brief. Soon they will join us. As I cross over there is joy and relief because I am ready. I have loved and been loved. I have lived and learned lessons. I feel complete. As I cross my consciousness expands beyond my body. There is now only love.