In the last two days three members of The Fellowship have lost someone they loved. A husband, a father, an aunt. People. While exchanging emails with each of our friends it has become very clear to me that many of us have very different, what is the word? ways? family traditions? protocols?. when it comes to burying our dead. Different yes, and every one is so laden with grief and release and closure. The funeral is such an important occasion in a life.
Death is as predictable as birth. We all have our ways of dealing with it. And every family tradition is different.
The other day I was in the kitchen with my son and we were discussing an old gentleman we both knew. We were worried about some of his behaviours. My son said “He is afraid of dying.” His wife, as she set the table, laying knife beside fork agreed “Everyone is afraid of dying.” she said. “No.” said my son, ” “Mum isn’t. She is the only person I know who is not afraid of dying.” He hates that this is true. But it is true. I faced it. I touched it. I will never be afraid of it again.
“Shoulder high.” I called to him as I chopped the greens. Bashing gaily away at the poor innocent leaves with the big knife. I have always told my sons and my daughter that they must carry my casket shoulder high through the crowds of mourners (laugh). Then afterwards have a big party. I do think it is important to have these things in order. “That’s enough.” he said. Not wishing to pursue the conversation further. Sons are like that. 
Yesterday, this is what I wrote to our fellowship friend, who is having to wait two weeks before the funeral of her dearly departed. (Not her choice by the way.)
“I remember when Mum died, after such a long time ‘dying’ (and we even wished for her to be able to die she was so ill and in such pain), that I actually got a shock when she died. I was knocked sideways by it really. Everything happened very fast. In NZ we tend to bury people within a couple of days. After they have died the undertaker collects the dead mother, then a few hours later returns her to the family home (or to the marae) and they are set up – the casket open – then we all sit with her, people coming in to pay their respects (shoes off, hats off) they drop off some food and have a drink or a cup of tea with us. On the first night it sometimes get’s a bit rowdy, at the end of the second day (or possibly the third) the body is taken to the church to sit for the night. We all go too, taking turns to sit with her.
Then in the morning there is the funeral mass and we drive her out to the graveyard and after that service – we sing, then we throw straw on top of the casket in the ground to deaden the sounds and then we all get shovels out of our cars and fill in the grave. My family buries our people ourselves. It takes a long time.
I do think that if someone cannot be bothered coming to visit me when I am alive why should my body have to WAIT until they come to visit me when I am dead. Seeing someone alive is surely more important. (Yes, yes I hear my sons begin to growl again – Mama can you not behave for Five minutes.. ?).
Anyway, From the moment of death to the time of the burial – the dead of my family are not left alone.
After the burial we all go back to her home again and have lots more to drink and eat. This night usually gets VERY rowdy. This is what we call a Wake in NZ. We sure drink enough to Wake the dead. At home in New Zealand it is important to celebrate the life of the person who has died in their family homes or on their
marae. It is all very personal. I knew a guy who took his mother in her casket to the graveyard in the back of his truck. I would like that! I don’t want a bloody shiny expensive hearse for goodness sake.
All this left me wondering about your burial rites. Your family traditions. How do you bury your dead? What are your burial rites.? Are we really that different?
As the Old Codger says. “We are not getting off this boat alive. “
Not today though darlings. If we are reading. We are alive, today.
Love, love,
celi
The Kitchen's Garden 
151 responses to “Human Burial Rites”
Our family tradition tends to be cremation with a service. Though, it’s really up to the individual. We will follow the wishes of the deceased. When my dad died, he was cremated. We chartered a boat with our immediate family. The boat took us out to sea until we lined up with my dad’s favorite beach swimming spot. We scattered his ashes there. A service was held later for extended family and friends. Years later, we were contacted about a class action suit against the people who cremated my dad. Apparently, the company was caught mixing ashes. I have no idea who we scattered in the ocean that day or where my dad’s ashes went. I would go to the beach anyway and think about him. It didn’t matter that his actual ashes weren’t there. He’s dead. As the living, what I needed was a place to go.
I’m awed by all the experiences and wisdom in this group. Thank you for your willingness to share.
I just got through prepaying for my mom’s funeral in the small town 400 miles away where she has lived for more than half a century. She wants a funeral and has even told me what hymns and poems she prefers, and exactly which papers to send her pre-written obituary to. I think it’s a good thing to face these things. That’s why Buddhist monks have to spend time in charnel grounds–to learn not to turn away. Mom has shown me what a pioneer soul is–one that embraces the wonder and mystery, but doesn’t shrink from the dark. There is a line from a Whitman poem where he’s talking about death: “All goes onward and outward—nothing collapses; And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.”
When I was living in England 25 years ago, a call came in the middle of the night that my father was dying–completely unexpected. I flew home by myself to the Midwest in February. My husband said he couldn’t come because of teaching responsibilities, but I knew if was because he was afraid and we were at the end of our marriage. During the next six weeks I saw my mother shrink physically but grow spiritually. I saw my father transform from being a sturdy 6’4″ to a ravaged man bent in half over a cane, unable to feed himself. I was so filled with terror there was no room for anything else. And there was nowhere to turn for comfort–now, suddenly, I was the caretaker not the cared for.
One morning, my mother woke me and whispered that he was gone and I should come into the next room where he’d died in his sleep. Every fiber of my being screamed, no, you can’t go in there. But I did and it was utterly amazing. It was like walking into a cloud of peace–exactly the opposite of what I was expecting. All the fear left me and I kissed his forehead and held his hand and marveled at how wonderful this event was. It was not just that he was out of pain, it was something much bigger–a homecoming for him, for all of us. I felt as if he had been gently reclaimed by a love much greater than ours. I was happy for him. I have never looked at death the same way.
My husband wants me to (quite illegally) haul him to the top of our local mountain and burn him on a pyre up there. I have no clue how’d I’d get that done or who would bail me out of jail afterward!
He proposed to me on the top of that mountain, we bought a house with a grand view of it, and an enormous photo of it (on fire, with the town cemetery in the foreground) graces our living room wall. Official name? Slieve Cairn. For those with no Irish – Grave Mountain.
I think I can handle some jail time to do that for him.
Call me. I’ll try to help. Tradition is tradition
Aww, thanks! Bit far away though, don’t you think? This is just his thing, I’m never quite sure if he is serious or not! I haven’t decided for myself yet, which isn’t good as I’ll probably go first.
My condolence to all those having lost someone and are grieving. There are many heart warming stories everyone has written as well as heart breaking. It feels as if everyone has wrapped a cloak around each and everyone of us and, for me, that’s a tremendous support. I have no fear of dying – maybe I should – but my fear is in living. I hope that doesn’t sound selfish. Sometimes it just feels life is too hard and the struggles endured can be too much. I read the blogs everyday and enjoy so much the antics of all – it is the highlight of my day and then my reality kicks back in. But for those few moments I am part of something rewarding, even if from a distance. So thankyou Celi for making me – us – part of your life, and to everyone who writes in with their thoughts, especially on such a topic as this. Has there ever been so many replies to your blog? xx
Mommy Marmalade looks so content with her happy brood. Is Boo liking his coat better? Times change, and burials are changing, too. My grandparents and parents were “viewed” at a funeral home for a few hours over a couple of days, and on the third day a service and burial took place. Funerals are so expensive now, many are opting for cremation and a small service.
Wonderful post. I have missed reading for several days as I have been on deadline with a project, plus gallivanting to sing on the radio and to visit Johnny. But I will save my email of this to read again. My family does not do much in the way of wakes or memorials. Mom wants to be cremated. I probably will be, too, but I will want a memorial music party for everyone to gather, remember and assuage their grief together, With good food that I would have liked and perhaps beautiful seasonal flowers, whatever season it happens to be when I die (We can have this in California where something is always blooming).
As you’ve said, this is quite a conversation. Practically the next book – greatly important thoughts
Peace and healing to all who dropped by and are suffering in heart.
While our family has had many many very very old members pass away, these “died well” – no long painful periods.
I’m not one for open casket funerals. I will go to viewings to comfort the family. But the ones in the caskets – while nicely “done-up” never look right – not like they did. A poor imitation with life force and soul gone. I have do/did my best to be with, visit, and talk to the elderly ones when alive, I can let go – remembering their last smile and hugs and words.
My dad always said funerals were for the living. As a death is unsettling, he was probably right – people remaining trying to make sense and peace with the unavoidable final curtain.
I do like the idea of straw on the casket. And I prefer a gravesite funeral with a few of the old old country hymns sung. Traditionally, in small rural towns, people pull their cars over off the road as the hearse goes by…just about everyone knows or knows of everyone, but even the “new” people in town offer this tribute. It is somehow comforting – the respect of a passing – like a life mattered even if not touching you directly. Not done in the larger cities. Also after the burial, the church offers a pot luck dinner to feed family and friends. Left-overs, and there are always tons – are packaged up for the immediate family and their freezer. When my father’s generation was the “adults”, we always met in a home and “visited” until late. That’s where you heard all the family stories and high jinx they did when young. Things changed with this generation and it wasn’t so congenial, so we’ve skipped some. My parents would be sad about the lack of closeness, but we are spread widely now, some of the spouses don’t get along, there’s the difference ways incidents are remembered, and I think there’s some guilt for not coming when called – or thinking the person “wasn’t really sick” so why hurry guilt. So as even under the best of situations, there’s exhaustion and stress, best to leave while all are sort of pleasant with each other.
I will live until I die and not worry about it. Hope to leave gracefully and “die well”. But it does appear having a place to visit – a spot to show that it was real and this person did exist ore than in memory is important to some, so I leave it to them as they decide. But simple, I plead. What matters is what is done while you are here on earth. All the ceremony and cost won’t take the place of that.
Peace Celi. And strength. And joy.
I like the meeting in the how for a visit. Sometimes I think that it helps relationships to put things aside and get on .. c
Normally I’d agree but if people see it as an opportunity to bully, curse, insult, and name-call totally out of the blue for no reason when everyone else is getting along, uh, count me out…we’ll chat on the phone later. Some of us remember the promise not to fight. (How about reeling in your spouse?)
Sadly guilt makes people do odd things at unfortunate times? Pretty unpleasant when it’s already stressful.
Guilt is a poison.. c
Was raised “if you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.” I try to do that. Sometimes you have to just walk away to keep the peace and hope at some point down the road you’ll be able to start over.
Appreciate you taking time to chat. Hope your Thanksgiving was terrific…dragging my feet on the Christmas decorations. Would like to enjoy this one for a bit
It is a good saying to remember. I also think that if you answer meanness with silence they will only hear the echo of their own words.. we are on our last thanksgiving meal, then the visitors will all go home and quiet will come again.. no need to rush into christmas here either..c
My lovely daughter and my sweet voiced wife have been instructed that, at my burial, they are to sing an old Billy Joe Shavers song entitled Ride Me Down Easy. I’ve loved the song for years.
Kathy my guitar picking songwriting daughter is not as big a Shavers fan as her old man.
Like the idea of the shoulder high carry though. Good post.