A family from Ghana yelled: “He joined the ancestors!”

The NP hesitated, unsure how to respond in the moment. Shouldn’t we say died?

As I wrote in The Cosmic Sleep, euphemisms often delay care. But across cultures, not every metaphor hides. Some phrases are sacred clarity, honoring dying through words families trust. 

“She passed last night.”

It sounds gentle. Maybe even sacred. But the daughter didn’t understand. “Passed what?” she asked. The nurse clarified: “I mean she died.”

We rarely say the word. Not in obituaries, not in hospitals, not even in hospice. Instead, we soften:

“He’s gone.”

“She slipped away.”

“They took their final bow.”

Some families call it “going home.” Others crudely say “he took a dirt nap.” Across cultures and time, we’ve buried death in metaphor.

Language can shield. Buy time and feels kinder. But it can also confuse, delay, and distort what people most need to know.