Why We Struggle to Talk About Death and What It’s Costing Us
Is it just me, or does anyone else find it slightly concerning that we’re replacing perfectly clear words with ones that not only make little sense, but also seem designed to distort our perception of reality?
I won’t get into the more controversial debates currently dominating modern discourse, the ones that demand we rewrite biology and redefine truth. But for the purpose of this piece, I want to focus on something more universal: the quiet erasure of death from our everyday language. It struck me recently when I realised that even the word dead is being replaced.
Now, apparently, we say unalived.
He or she unalived someone. Or, they are unalive.
Have you come across that too?
But what’s the big deal about swapping out words like death, dying, or dead?
In my view, it’s part of a broader attempt to push the reality of our mortality out of sight, and that has consequences. When we bury something so deeply that we no longer even have a proper word for it, we risk turning our understanding of life into something more fictional than real.
Why does that matter?
From a Buddhist perspective, death is kept front and centre in daily life, not because we are morbid or dark, but because it reminds us just how precious this life is. Even though we believe in rebirth, the quality of that rebirth depends entirely on how we live our lives right now, in this very moment.
But in a world increasingly shaped by materialism, a world that thrives on distraction and surface-level gratification, we are encouraged to ignore what truly matters. We’re urged to forget that life is short, finite, and precious.
There is a reason death is a central theme in Buddhist practice. It is not to frighten us, but to sharpen our focus on what counts. The awareness of death reminds us that every moment matters, and that we must choose wisely how we spend those moments.
This is why changing the word dead to unalive matters.
When we soften or sanitise our language around death, we begin to dilute its meaning. And how can we afford to minimise the one certainty in life? I call it a certainty, even in a world where we often confuse facts with feelings.
If we refuse to face life’s truths, we start to live in a kind of dreamland. We convince ourselves that we have all the time in the world. But that is the greatest illusion of all.
Now, I’m not suggesting that we spend all day thinking about dying. But if we push death so far to the back of our minds that we never confront it, life can pass us by without ever stopping to reflect on what really matters.
We can reclaim money, belongings, and even relationships. But time? That is the one thing we never get back. So how can we justify living in a culture that avoids talking about death, that refuses to acknowledge it in our daily lives?
The Importance of Talking About Death and Preparing for the End
So, what is the real cost of not talking about death?
It is the loss of direction, the lack of focus on what matters.
We risk wasting our lives, drifting without meaning or purpose, only to reach the end with regret.
As a Buddhist, I see that danger through the lens of rebirth. But even if you don’t share that belief, many people still face the end of their lives with the crushing realisation that they spent their time chasing things that didn’t matter. Usually, those things are material.
I’ve seen this firsthand in my work with people living with cancer. Confronted with their mortality, many are jolted awake, some for the first time in their lives. They suddenly become aware of death, yes, but more profoundly, of the value of life.
One patient, who knew she only had days left, told me she wanted nothing more than to eat a pizza. Not just eat it, but really taste it. She wanted to savour every bite like it was her last, because it very well could be.
But let’s think beyond ourselves for a moment. Even if avoiding death helps us feel better or stay focused on the present, what about those we leave behind?
Don’t we owe them the honesty of sharing our thoughts on death? Don’t we owe it to them to be clear about our wishes for when we die? Shouldn’t we be helping younger generations to understand life as it truly is, not just as we would like it to be?
I worry that this growing refusal to have honest conversations about death, to the extent that we now call it unalive, is yet another way we are failing the next generation.
We are not preparing them for what life will throw at them.
If we avoid the hard topics, if we act as though everything is always fine, how will they cope when things go wrong?
This is the cost of not talking about death.
We fail those who come after us. We leave them unprepared and unequipped to face the most basic truth of all — that our time here is limited.