My dad died. It’s hard to say. It’s even harder to know what to say back to me when I tell you that. Death is perhaps one of the last taboos. We’re able to have far more open and progressive conversations now about things like mental health, we understand more about the fluidity of sexuality, we’re having more nuanced conversations about motherhood, about masculinity, about neurodivergence. It’s far from perfect, of course, but we’ve found a way to talk about these sorts of things, to be more open. But death. Now that’s a conversation stopper.