The Deading Planner

The prickly remnants of my Boulder Canyon Sea Salt and Cracked Pepper chips cascade onto my hoodie as I grab for the remote and crank up the TV volume.

“…that Cathy Miller has more than made her peace with. She calls herself the ‘Deading Planner’—a title she describes as being a modern twist on our long-held cultural ideas about death and the undertaker. Her morgue isn’t for the faint of heart; it’s for those who want to go out with a real bang.

“We met with Cathy at her place of business to talk with her about the way our outlook on life and death is changing, and the impact she’s had on what many call the ‘Celebration of Life’ movement across the nation.

“Your perspective on life and death is somewhat unique—“

“I mean, I wouldn’t say that’s the case anymore. Lots of people feel the way I do and I’m glad to see things are changing.”

“I suppose that’s a fair assessment. What was it all those years ago that drew you to this idea of choosing your own death date?”

“It sounds so morbid when you put it like that!”

The woman seated across from the interviewer—Cathy Miller, I guess—has a laugh like a waterfall, gushing with invisible empathy.

“I just remembered thinking about death a lot when I was young. My father died pretty suddenly from cancer when I was a girl and as a young adult, I worried a lot about retirement. I loved working but I graduated from college at the height of America’s Great Recession and had a ton of student loans—thank god those aren’t structured the way they used to be.

“I just remembered worrying about whether or not I’d be able to afford to live into old age. And I started thinking about people who spend years laying out what they want their funerals to be like—the music that’s to be played, the people who should speak, what should be served at lunch and all that—and I thought, ‘Man, what a waste!’ These people are planning these big parties to celebrate their lives and they’re not going to even be there to enjoy them. And why shouldn’t they be? Why can’t we decide for ourselves when we’re ready to be ‘done’ and move to the next life—or whatever is on the other side of this one?”

“Lots of people accuse you of wanting to play God. How do you feel about that?”

Cathy smiles like she’s just won the lottery.

“I find it hilarious that people want to accuse me of that. No one—not even god with a lowercase ‘g’—is making any decisions about when we come and when we go. I believe that we should all be allowed and able to die with dignity at a time of our choosing. Why should we be forced to watch and feel our bodies withering away? Who really wants to experience the pain of turning 130 when your biological machine literally doesn’t work as intended anymore?

“It’s not for everyone, and that’s okay. No one is forcing anyone to choose their last moments on Earth. But we’re overpopulated, we’re living longer than ever before, we’ve wrecked the planet and it’s a miracle it hasn’t already imploded on us. Some people know when they’re ready to go to sleep and not wake up again, and they want to spend what time they have left celebrating with the people they love around them. That looks a little different for everyone, and we aim to cater to even the most extraordinary asks.”

“Can you tell me a little bit about what you offer your clients? Who is a ‘deading planner’ for?”

“I thought you’d never ask!”

She bellows heartily again.

“We work with clients both long-term and short-term. Our short-term clients often come to us after receiving a terminal diagnosis. We work with them on their projected medical timeline to plan a Celebration of Life event they can attend in good health—or as good as can be—or to plan what we sometimes call ‘the trip of a lifetime.’ It’s always their choice what they’d like to do. It’s their money, their life, and their vision for how they’ll see out their last days. We’ve planned some wonderful parties as well as truly once-in-a-lifetime adventures.

“Other clients begin working with us long-term and purchase a pre-paid package they can pay into on a regular basis, much like old-school life insurance plans. Thanks to the legislation recently passed by President Washburn’s administration, these plans now accumulate and appreciate over time tax-free, which is great. We don’t ask clients to choose their last day; we let them save up and plan their last moments as they wish. These clients also have the option to put unexpected death stipulations in place so that, should they pass unexpectedly from something like an accident, their wishes are still granted and their deading savings are put to use as they wanted. It’s really up to what the clients want. We do our best to grant every wish.”

“So once your clients have chosen their last day, how do you—”

“Babe! Get in here!” I shout, sputtering half-chewed chips again.

“I think this is where people overreact the most and accuse us of being modern-day Dr. Kevorkians. We’re not—not at all. We help our clients plan their last days and moments. And if they choose a specific date to pass, we help them. They celebrate with their friends and family close to them, get to say their goodbyes to everyone in person, and then we make them comfortable by starting with a medically induced coma. The so-called ‘drug cocktail’ has been used by hospice care for years.

“I think, though, the most important thing to remember about the choice these people are making is that it’s their choice. It’s not—and shouldn’t be—anyone else’s. Yes, it can be hard for family members to let go, but it’s not their decision any more than it is yours or mine. Their loved one has made a choice of when they feel ready to go, and they see it through. It’s really a beautiful thing to observe, actually. I hope more people will consider Celebrations of Life for themselves.”

I don’t hear Brendon come in and jump when he speaks in his gravely voice behind me. “Lady sounds nuts,” he says through a mouthful of peanut butter sandwich. (We have a relationship habit of talking with our mouths full.) “Like a real tree hugger.”

“I think I like her,” I say with an exhale. “What she was saying makes so much sense to me. I think I want to learn more about this stuff.”

“Well, I think it’s weird and super hippy-ish. But you do you, boo. May you find whatever you’re looking for.” Brendon raises his sandwich as if to salute me and turns back toward the kitchen, face parallel to the screen in his hand.

I brush the crumbs off my hoodie, throw the blanket off my legs, and cross the room to grab my laptop from the dining table. A quick Google search of “Cathy Miller” brings up a ton of results, and I start flipping through them like a raccoon in a trash bin. I can’t read enough or watch too many clips of her talking.

Three hours and a rabbit hole later, I send an email to the address listed on the website asking to set up an interview. I have to meet this woman if it kills me. (And if it does, maybe she can handle my funeral—scratch that, I mean “Celebration of Life.”)