Funeral Planning Can Prevent Further Grief

— Losing a loved one is stressful enough without having to deal with a botched funeral. Preplanning, due diligence and good communication can head off difficult surprises.

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When a loved one dies, the grief experienced by family members may be overwhelming. Even when the deceased was elderly and the death was expected, it can be challenging to move forward with funeral planning and burial preparations. Imagine how much more difficult it can be for a family who loses a loved one unexpectedly.

Horror stories about unscrupulous funeral homes have been front-page fodder for more than a century – see Jessica Mitford’s 1963 book American Way of Death – and I have personally handled more of these cases than I care to think about. When people are dealing with the death of someone close to them, the last thing they should be dealing with is a botched funeral.

Despite strong consumer protection laws and the licensing of funeral home directors, it is still possible to experience bad service from a funeral home. But with good information and careful planning, family members should have their moment to pay their respects with dignity.

Preplanned Funerals Present Best Scenario

The best scenario is, of course, a preplanned funeral. The deceased has either made arrangements in advance or has left written instructions about how things should be handled. The directive clearly outlines the steps to be taken by loved ones, saving them from having to make those decisions following the death.

It sounds simple and straightforward, but it is not always so simple. Family members owe it to the deceased – and to themselves – to ensure that the provider chosen by the deceased a year or a decade ago is still in business and reputable. Just because the directive names a specific funeral home does not mean that survivors are obligated to entrust the remains to that home. If the named funeral home raises concerns for the family (more about this below), it is far better to move forward with a different funeral home, despite the deceased’s wishes.

Due Diligence When Looking for a Funeral Home Can Head Off Surprises

If the deceased failed to make funeral plans in advance, or if the family believes plans must be changed because of new information they’ve received about the designated funeral home, the process of shopping for a good funeral home begins. It isn’t like shopping for a car: There are no lemon laws or do-overs if they get it wrong. Once a contract for funeral or burial services has been signed and the funeral home has taken possession of a body, it may be impossible to back out of the commitment. Therefore, the more due diligence done beforehand, the better everyone should sleep. 

It starts with doing basic research. Read customer reviews. Check for complaints with the Better Business Bureau and state licensing agencies. Look at county records to see if there is a history of lawsuits against the funeral home. The more you know up front, the fewer surprises there should be down the line.

Then meet with representatives of the funeral home to learn about their services. Every funeral home is obligated to provide prospective customers with a menu of choices before having them sign an agreement. If the funeral home staff try to sell you a package, or you feel in any way pressured to make a choice before you have seen their menu, leave the premises and look for another provider.

Don’t Hesitate to Ask Questions and Keep Lines of Communication Open

Ask questions before signing anything. Find out whether the home has received a death certificate for the deceased and, if not, how long it should take to get a certificate following an autopsy or medical examiner’s review. If there will be a cremation, consider asking the home whether they can preserve the body so that it can be viewed prior to the cremation. Make sure you feel comfortable that the funeral home will honor the deceased’s wishes, if preplanning was done, or that they understand and will honor your wishes if no advance directive was created by the deceased.

After you’ve signed an agreement with the funeral home on the package you’ve chosen, the ball is essentially in the funeral home’s court. It will be extremely difficult to undo things if you’re unhappy with its work. Even though there is nothing left for you to do other than wait for the work to be completed, expect to have ongoing communications with the home.

The funeral home should continue to be available to answer your questions, and it should be keeping you apprised of its progress with your case. If you believe that something has not been done correctly, or you have other concerns about the services being performed, representatives of the home should be willing to meet with you to discuss these issues.

Reporting Issues to the Proper Agencies

Unfortunately, even with the best of planning, things can go wrong. If you believe that a funeral home has handled things improperly or violated your trust, you can and should report it to the proper agencies. At the federal level, this would be the Federal Trade Commission. At the state level, it will likely be the appropriate licensing board for the industry. You can also reach out to nonprofit groups such as Funeral Consumers Alliance or the Funeral Consumer Guardian Society.

If you have suffered emotional distress or other injury as a result of a funeral home’s actions, contact an attorney who has experience with these types of cases. The consumer organizations named above may be able to provide referrals.

Complete Article HERE!

‘A good send-off’

— Why food plays a major role in Irish wakes and funerals

Irish funerals and wakes since ancient times have always highlighted the importance of food, feasting and hospitality

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As one of those who lost an elderly parent during the pandemic, we were unable to give the appropriate ‘send-off’ to a member of the older generation who would have fully expected one. I found myself at one stage mechanically making two sliced pans worth of sandwiches in my late mother’s kitchen, forgetting there would be no mourners coming to serve them to due to lockdown restrictions.

This brought into sharp focus the real function of funeral hospitality: without visitors to share the food with, my immediate family lacked the impetus – or the appetite – and the food was thrown out days later. It’s the rituals that help make a funeral. Often we don’t know why, but we enact them in the knowledge that it’s what we’re supposed to do. Without the anchor of a set of traditions to follow, the days around a funeral, difficult enough to navigate with grief, felt even more rudderless at the height of Covid.

Providing appropriate provisions for guests was a deep seated concept in Ireland. Under the Brehon laws, a householder was required to offer food and lodging to any traveller passing through. The higher a guest’s social status, the higher level of hospitality they expected to receive.

Later, great funeral feasts were held for Gaelic chieftains where the new heir marked his succession by providing ceremonial meals for mourners. These funeral banquets were as much about the heir’s generosity for appearances’ sake. Lavish hospitality could help advance a family in Gaelic society by demonstrating prestige and power.

Stakes were high, and guests with elevated expectations could be quite judgemental about what was on offer. Guests attending funerals expected good food and drink to be served. Traditionally, mourners were provided with food and drink to provide sustenance while they sat up with the corpse through all-night wakes. Partaking of hospitality was one of many rituals that, once enacted during this liminal period, was another stage in signifying the soul of the deceased passing over into the next realm.

Perhaps therein lies the roots of Irish generosity in such circumstances: legislated in old Irish law and as a concept in tradition, it became innate in folk custom that it was right and proper to offer appropriate hospitality. It was also considered ‘unlucky to refuse’, and the superstitious time around a funeral was not one where people took their chances with luck.

By the early 20th century, bestowing hospitality despite humble circumstances was a key tenet of Irish identity. James Joyce wrote, albeit ironically, that “the tradition of genuine warm-hearted courteous Irish hospitality, which our forefathers have handed down to us and which we in turn must hand down to our descendants, is still alive among us.” The idea that generous hospitality must be extended continues to be key in most Irish celebrations and feasting today. Being conscious of appearances and not wanting to let the side down or being seen as ‘stingy’ can lead to the often-extravagant spread at Irish gatherings.

The multi-use table

From the post Famine period and into living memory, the ‘feasts’ that maintained formal dining seated at tables were wedding breakfasts and harvest feasts. Funeral catering involved simple food usually served ‘in the hand’ or passed around to mourners informally seated while conversing. These would have been much humbler than the medieval banquets of old.

Late 19th century traditional Irish kitchen table, still in use in the O’Brien homestead in Kilbrittain Co Cork.

At Irish wakes throughout the 19th century, sitting at the kitchen table for hospitality was off-limits, because that piece of furniture was a focal point for reasons other than food. The kitchen table or ‘bord’ might alternatively contain an altar or the corpse itself. When laid out and ready to view on the table the corpse was termed ‘over board’. According to the funeral director David McGowan, this term persisted into living memory.

In earlier times at wakes, the long wooden stretchers underneath the tabletop might be where the corpse was laid out, while the tabletop was used as an altar. Most families would have lacked appropriate furniture to serve the large number of mourners in a formal manner, and neighbours often loaned furniture and crockery.

‘Wake provisions’

As one of the key events in Irish life, guests not only fully expected ‘a good spread’ at a funeral but it had also been also keenly anticipated by the deceased that they would have, and be given, a ‘good send off’. In the more recent past, even the poorest people saved money so that their funeral could be catered suitably.

At a time of frugal diets, dominated by potatoes and buttermilk, a funeral offered a chance to feast on treats: tea with sugar, bread with jam, a glass of whiskey, good tobacco. These were key on the shopping list known as the ‘wake provisions’.

A wake provisions list from 1912 in the Clay Pipe Museum, Knockcroghery, Co Roscommon.

The custom was that male relatives of the deceased were responsible for going to the local grocer to collect this. The men had to do this in pairs, to have another to-hand for protection from any evil spirits at a potentially dangerous spiritual time. The wake provisions included clay pipes and tobacco, alcohol such as porter and whiskey, along with tea, shop-bought white bread, jam, sugar and meat.

In the past, wakes and funerals, along with fairs and pilgrimages, were large gatherings that allowed a usually dispersed rural community to come together. Many wakes were places for young people to stay up late and socialise, and some wake games facilitated flirtation and courtship. In addition, the serving of treats and alcohol gave a party atmosphere that along with some of the ‘heathen’ customs involved drew the ire of the Catholic Church.

Funeral hospitality today

Although many customs have died out, the funeral in Ireland retains an importance as a collective event, and one where hospitality remains important. Today, this is more formal, invite-only and restrained when compared to the past, when mourners would simply turn up at the house when they heard keening begin. Wakes are now often denoted as ‘house private’ or take place, carefully regulated, in funeral homes.

Any home catering is usually informally served tea and triangle-cut sandwiches, (egg mayonnaise, or ham, or cheese for vegetarians) along with cakes and scones. Church services are followed by cremation or burial, and the ‘afters’ now usually take place at a hotel, where that intrinsic Irish hospitality is remnant in the form of a sit-down meal for invited guests.

Post Celtic Tiger, Irish hotels have become the real engines behind the hospitality for life events that once took place in the home: funerals, weddings, and other celebrations. Hotels and their staff can offer a fascinating lens through which to observe contemporary Irish customs and rituals.

One Irish chef I spoke to observed that ‘hotel’ funerals are not as big as other such events, guests do not linger long and there is a reluctance to take alcohol as many are driving. “From what I’ve witnessed, formal sit-down [funeral] meals are a much quieter affair where people don’t really know how to ‘be’“.

The formalities therefore tend to stifle the atmosphere. The wish to offer substantial hospitality to guests, versus what the guests might actually prefer, and the struggle to figure out what is appropriate these days – food truck? Barbeque? – is a particularly modern Irish conundrum, and one that might be solved by a return to slightly more traditional rituals.

Sean Moncrieff recently wrote of the comfort of funeral food from a mourner’s point of view, and how it is an evocative part of the grieving process. From the point of view of the bereaved, serving and interacting with guests (be it at a wake house or hotel) offers a welcome fleeting distraction from grief. It gently encourages eating and engagement at a time when the stomach feels hollow. To this day, wherever the location, offering and partaking of hospitality, and ritually sharing and consuming, all continues to be an essential part of the Irish funeral tradition, and will continue to be in whatever form it takes in the future.

Complete Article HERE!

‘I attended my own send-off’

— How living funerals are changing the way we deal with death

I watched my own dad die when I was 25, and it made me realise how awkward people get around the subject. I wanted to see if living funerals – both those for the terminally ill and those who are not – are opening up how we talk about death.

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I am lying in a coffin, the lid gently placed on top. A warm light filters through the woven fibres, as a meditation chant reverberates around the room.

“Welcome to your funeral,” death doula Emily Cross said, moments earlier.

A photograph of me and my husband sits between two flickering candles, with confetti from our wedding scattered in front of the frame. I wriggle, trying to relax but coffins, it turns out, aren’t designed for comfort.

Meditating on my own death isn’t how I spend most Tuesday evenings. But like many who seek out Emily’s services, I am intrigued by the idea of confronting my own mortality.

“Everyone comes with a different reason,” Emily, 35, says when I ask her about the kind of people who usually attend. Sometimes they are dying, sometimes they are just curious about the service.

I watched my own dad die when I was 25, and it made me realise how awkward people get around the subject. I wanted to see if living funerals – both those for the terminally ill and those who are not – are opening up how we talk about death.

Dad’s funeral was beautiful and cathartic – 500 people packed out a church to celebrate him. I remember wishing he had been there to see how deeply loved he was.

Emily’s living funeral is a more solitary affair, and you don’t need to be dying to do it. To start, she plays haunting music and asks participants to look at a photo of themselves, imagining they are dead. Then they are asked to visualise their bodies shutting down before being “brought back to life” in a coffin.

I only go through part of the ceremony but it’s enough to bring up a raft of emotions. Lying inside the cosy coffin, I remember how shocked I felt seeing Dad in his – that such a larger-than-life figure could fit into such a small space. It’s a relief when the lid is lifted, the room comes back into view and Emily helps me stand.

Death doula Emily Cross
Death doula Emily Cross

Earlier this year, Kris Hallenga – one of the founders of breast cancer charity CoppaFeel who shares her own cancer journey with her 145,000 Instagram followers – threw herself, what she called, a FUNeral.

Kris sent out invitations shaped like coffins. Inside each was a test tube of tequila and a letter explaining her intention.

Guests were invited to sign a cardboard replica of her coffin and childhood footage was projected around Truro Cathedral in Cornwall. Dawn French did the eulogy in character as the Vicar of Dibley, while Kris gave a speech and sparkled in a glittery jumpsuit.

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For Robert Hale, he decided to hold his own living funeral when he found out he had just months to live. When the 33-year-old aerospace engineer was told by doctors that his leukaemia was terminal, he decided to organise a “happy send-off commemorating my life”.

“The doctors were honest,” he said, his dogs curled up on the sofa next to him. “They said straight from the start, I didn’t have a good prognosis.”

With the support of his parents, he arranged to hold his living funeral at a farm park near his home in Gloucestershire.

“I used to go there as a child for the parties and thought it would be a good place,” he said.

Rob Hale
Rob Hale

He was surprised when hundreds of friends and family turned up on the day. At one point, he snuck off to take on what he calls the “death slide” – despite being fitted with a catheter – only to be greeted by 50 people cheering him on at the bottom of the steep drop.

“It was overwhelming,” he said. “I had friends that I hadn’t seen for years. I’d always told myself that I would catch up with them next year, because I thought I had plenty of time.”

Now, he says he can “go without leaving anything unsaid”.

Rob didn’t flinch when he talked about his own death and shared candid accounts of his final year on Instagram. He said he wanted to be honest about what was ahead of him.

“The closer I get to the end, the more important those things become because other people are facing it,” he said.

Rob died three weeks after we spoke – but his parents, Caron and Nigel, told me they wanted his story to be told.

Caron and Nigel Hale
Caron and Nigel Hale

End-of-life ceremonies are nothing new – in some cultures, they have been around for hundreds, or even thousands, of years. But their exact roots are difficult to track.

Before a member’s death, the Native American tribe the Lakota Sioux of South Dakota repair relationships, make amends, and distribute family heirlooms. A similar tradition became popular in Japan in the 1990s as the older generation sought to remove the financial burden of funerals from their children.

In 2019, the Hyowon Healing Centre in South Korea began offering free-living funerals to the public as a way of tackling high suicide rates in the country, which in 2016, was almost double the global average.

Participants, who were usually completely healthy, would undergo a meditation, often while in a coffin or under a shroud, and come face to face with their own mortality and the realities of death.

Death doula Emily says she was inspired by these Eastern practices. Situated in a Dorset village, her Steady Waves Centre is something of an anomaly on this quiet, rural high street. Originally from the US, she says she suspects residents sometimes wonder “what that weird American girl is up to”.

“There’s a [fishing] shop next door, and people just walk in here by accident thinking it’s a tackle shop,” she says, laughing. “I’ll say something like, this isn’t a tackle shop, but do you want to come lay in a coffin?”

So far, no one has taken her up on that offer, she says.

Rachel Bass, a Pagan celebrant, has planned plenty of funerals – including her own.

“I was born with a serious heart condition, so I’ve always been aware of my own mortality,” the 47-year-old says.

Rachel has had several major surgeries for her condition, tetralogy of Fallot, and doctors have always been very clear with her that she is unlikely to “make it to old age”. During the COVID lockdown, her health declined dramatically and she made contact with a hospice to begin planning her end of life – but emergency heart surgery bought her some more time.

But it made her realise if she organised – and attended – her own living funeral, there would be less of a burden on her family.

Rachel Bass
Rachel Bass

“In the last few years, other problems have arisen,” she says, referring to scarring she has suffered on her liver. “It’s made me more conscious of [death] because I’m only going to go one way.”

Rachel also lost her mum at the age of 24. “For me, it is about accepting that I will not make old bones,” she says.

While we talk, Rachel lightens the mood with laughter, but she does admit that the idea of leaving her 21-year-old son behind makes her emotional. “All I care about is my son, who still relies on me,” she says.

While she doesn’t feel the need to set a date for her living funeral, she has started to plan it. It will be held in the town where she grew up and will feature karaoke and a 1970s-style buffet.

“I’d like to give away my jewellery and certain books at that point too, so I know everything has gone to the right people,” she says.

Jane Murray, who manages bereavement support at the Marie Curie hospice in the West Midlands, tells me living funerals are “definitely becoming more popular”.

She says patients often become frustrated planning traditional funerals: “People think – it’s going to be such a good time and I’m not going to be there. That leads to have you ever thought about having it beforehand?”

Kris Hallenga was supported with her FUNeral by Legacy of Lives, a social enterprise that helps with funeral planning.

“We hope it will encourage more people to be open about death and what they want after they die,” says the charity’s chief executive, Rebecca Peach.

Rebecca Peach from Legacy of Lives said how we talk about death is changing

Data from Legacy of Lives found that less than 1% of people surveyed knew the funeral wishes of their loved ones, which Rebecca says can cause trauma, especially in the case of sudden death.

“I hate when I go see families and they don’t know what that person wanted. That’s tough on them at a traumatic time,” says Rachel, explaining why she has been so explicit in her funeral planning.

A party to plan your own death isn’t everyone’s idea of a good time, but after James Barrett’s dad died of lung cancer during COVID, he realised how important it was to know a person’s wishes.

Pic: My Goodbyes
ames hosted a ‘death party’ with his mum and her sisters. Pic: My Goodbyes

He developed the My Goodbyes app to help people plan, and host, their own death parties.

His mother was initially reluctant but agreed to participate. The party they hosted with her sisters ended up lasting two hours.

“They were arguing over which song they wanted, saying, you can’t have that, that’s my song,” James says, laughing.

Pic: My Goodbyes
Pic: My Goodbyes

I empathised with James – losing dad was the most difficult experience of my life, and he only opened up about his own funeral in the weeks before. There was a constant fear of doing something he didn’t want before I ultimately realised there were no wrong choices when it came to planning his funeral.

While stepping into a coffin sounds like an odd form of therapy, I found it cathartic. My mind wandered from the profound: would I be as open as Rob and Rachel about my own death if I knew it was coming? To the mundane: would my husband remember to de-flea the cats when I was gone?

I’ve spent weeks immersed in discussions of death but I have never felt more alive. Because it was Rob, and his courage and strength, that left me with the most to think about.

Rob Hale
Rob Hale
< "Death shouldn't be something you hide from," he told me. "Everyone goes through it. We are all going to die at some point. I think we need to be more open about it and embrace life rather than focusing on death." Complete Article HERE!

Islamic Burial Rites

— How These Women Are Making a Change in US

Ramla Shaikh works with a local funeral home in Avon, Connecticut, to assist with Muslim burials.

Most funeral homes don’t know how to bury Muslims but a group of Muslim women seek to introduce a change.

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More than a dozen women watch closely as Ida Khalil measures the length of the mannequin lying on the white table in front of her, stretching the palm of her hand and moving up from the figure’s toes to its head, HuffPost reported on Sunday.

She then measures and cuts the white shroud, the garment in which Muslims are wrapped when they are buried — three pieces of cloth for men and five for women. Muslims traditionally aren’t buried in caskets, a practice connected to the belief that everyone is equal in death and no one takes along any of the possessions, status or wealth they may have accumulated in life.

Khalil’s voice, confident and clear, reverberates in the room as she explains the rituals of how to wash and wrap a body according to the Islamic tradition. She wears blue medical gloves and a medical apron over her long black abaya, a loose garment worn by Muslim women, that she paired with a keffiyeh-print hijab. Behind her are the Palestinian and American flags, representing the large Palestinian American community in the town.

The women in the audience tilt their heads with Khalil’s every move, some taking detailed notes, others recording the demonstration on their phones. Some of the women came alone, while others came in pairs, including mothers and daughters. The women ― some in their early 20s, others in their 80s, and still others of every age in between ― sit in neat rows of folding chairs at this cultural center, their jackets hanging off the backs of seats. The sun sets, and a chilly fall wind hits the doors.

Khalil is here because she believes it’s critical for the next generation of Muslim women to learn how to wash bodies. Otherwise, she worries, the tradition may be forgotten. In Islam, death is seen not as an end but rather as a transition from one lifetime to another. It’s not a taboo subject, and Muslims are encouraged to prepare for death to come at any moment, including by learning the related traditions, rituals and spiritual elements through the Islamic faith.

Despite this, many women in the U.S. are too afraid of touching a body to learn how to prepare for their loved ones’ deaths until it’s too late, Khalil said.

“They don’t get that this is incredibly important,” she told HuffPost.

‘You’re Putting Them To Peace’

Islam, like many other religions, sets out a specific process for what should happen to a person’s body after they die. The body must be washed and not embalmed, then buried quickly, usually within 24 hours.

Men are usually washed by men, and women by women. There are a few exceptions made for relatives such as parents and children. The Islamic faith outlines the protocols for preparing the body, including washing it (starting with the right side), braiding the hair, perfuming the body and wrapping it in cotton.

Above all, there is an emphasis on dignifying the deceased. Those who wash are forbidden from relating the details of a body, and the process is meant to occur in silence. Muslims believe that washing, burying and praying for the dead are a collective duty. When a member of the community passes, all are encouraged to participate in funeral prayers and send condolences to the family.

Khalil, now 57, first learned to wash a body when she was 44.

“I said fine, let me take the class. But I’ll never do this. I’m afraid of dead people,” she said, recalling when two women came to the mosque she attended to teach others how to carry out the process.

A few months later, Khalil’s mother reached out. Her sister-in-law had died, and she wanted Khalil to wash her.

Khalil was hesitant, but she didn’t want to reject her mother’s request. She showed up to the mosque, accompanied by two other women. The room was silent and Khalil found herself washing her aunt’s body without concern. She thought she’d have trouble sleeping that night, but she slept well, knowing she could honor her mother and aunt.
Thirteen years later, Khalil has washed more than a hundred women at three mosques across New Jersey.

“I used to be afraid of dead people,” she said. “Now I could sleep next to dead people.”

Islamic Burial Rites: How These Women Are Making a Change in US
Ida Khalil demonstrates how to wash and prepare a body for burial at Beit Anan Community Center in Paterson, New Jersey, Oct. 22.

Some washes are harder than others. Khalil recalls washing and preparing the body of a 5-month-old fetus that did not make it to term. She also recalls washing the body of a domestic violence victim who was punctured with stab wounds.

At the cultural center where Khalil taught her class, she demonstrated the Islamic pre-ritual wash conducted before prayers, washing between the mannequin’s fingers, face and feet up to the ankles. She used warm water, as she always does. She told her audience that she tells the families of the deceased to bring their loved one’s favorite soaps and shampoos.

Khalil told the women in the class to think about themselves and treat the body as they would want to be treated.

“It’s their last bath,” she told her audience. “Picture yourself.”

Some women asked if nail polish and piercings should be removed. Yes, Khalil said. The majority of women said it was their first time taking Khalil’s class, though some said they’d taken one before.

Naemeh Asfour, 25, attended Khalil’s class with her mother. It was her first time. Asfour and her mother had promised that whoever died first would wash the other.

“Everyone’s a little scared seeing someone dead, or seeing someone you love in that position,” she said. “But in reality, it’s very peaceful when you think about it. You’re giving someone that final bath and you’re putting them to peace.”

‘We’ll Have To Step Up’

In Muslim-majority countries, funeral homes abide by the burial customs of the faith, a process that emphasizes minimalism. After the bodies are washed and wrapped with the white shroud, the deceased are buried facing toward Mecca, the city Muslims face to pray.

But many funeral homes in the U.S. aren’t aware of Islamic traditions, or well equipped to carry them out.

Ramla Shaikh recognized this immediately after moving to the U.S. in 1987. She noticed that the majority of funeral homes embalmed their dead ― the process of preserving a corpse by treating it with chemicals, which is forbidden by the Islamic faith ― or cremated them.

Islamic Burial Rites: How These Women Are Making a Change in US
Khalil giving a demonstration at Beit Anan Community Center, Oct. 22.

So Shaikh, who lives in Avon, Connecticut, now collaborates with a local funeral home when someone in the area’s Muslim community dies. If the body of a Muslim person is brought to the funeral home, they call Shaikh to make sure a Muslim, sometimes Shaikh herself, washes the body.

Shaikh has also negotiated prices with the funeral home on the mosque’s behalf. Traditional services, which include embalming and holding a body for an extended period of time, cost approximately $10,000. But since Muslims prohibit embalming and bury their dead within 24 hours of their passing, Shaikh was able to reduce that cost to just $3,000. (The process is often paid for by social services in Muslim-majority countries, but in the U.S., people from a community band together to cover the costs. Shaikh’s mosque will help families cover expenses if they can’t afford them.)

“If somebody passes away in this country, a Muslim woman or a man, there isn’t a service or aren’t any professionals who can do it here like for the Christians, Jews, or other religions,” she said. “We don’t have that, so we’ll have to step up and do it for our own.”
Shaikh has created a WhatsApp group to coordinate whenever someone in the community dies. She’s been able to help people all over the state.

Islamic Burial Rites: How These Women Are Making a Change in US
Audience members observe Khalil’s demonstration.

Shaikh first washed a body in 2004, when her mother died. She has since washed many more, including those of her mother-in-law and friends of friends, and she persuades other women to get involved with the practice.

“I needed to teach other people so when it comes my time, and I go, somebody will be there to wash me,” she said.

Safwan Shaikh ― the imam at Ramla’s mosque, and no relation to her ― said his community is grateful to have Ramla to streamline the washing and shrouding for their members. Not all mosques are as organized, and the imam said those mosque administrators need to uphold their obligations to the community. In addition to offering religious guidance to the body washers, Safwan ensures that families of the deceased have access to the mosque’s resources, including a memorial service and assistance with expenses.

“It’s something that’s a necessity,” Safwan said, “and I can’t imagine the community not having these for both men and women.”

The mosque had a women’s washing team, headed by Ramla, before there was one for men.

“Muslim women have a lot of rights and responsibilities,” she said. “They are portrayed in front of the world that they are oppressed, but they are leaders in every way.”

Back in Paterson, Khalil hasn’t taken a penny for her work. She never plans to.

“I would do it [for free], even if I’m poor and I have nothing to eat and I have to beg,” Khalil said.

She said the experience has been life-changing. It’s made her reflect on the shortness of life and her purpose in this world. Her demeanor fluctuates between patience and a somber acceptance, as she’s no longer stressing over the small mishaps in life.

She’s silent when she attends funerals and burials, and demands the same from those around her. A few weeks ago, she scolded funeral attendees who were being disruptive and making unnecessary small talk. Respecting the deceased means acknowledging what is to come, for her and for everyone else in that room.

“We’re all going to be in this position,” Khalil said. “It’s a part of life.”

Complete Article HERE!

Common Funeral Flower Etiquette Questions

When tragedy strikes and a life comes to its close, the world slows for a moment. Condolence flowers stand as a testament to that pause, a way of expressing our love, respect, and sympathy for the departed. They capture the transient beauty of life, the memories that remain behind, and the universal fragility we all share. This age-old gesture has its own unique tapestry of traditions and etiquettes. Let’s explore this further by weaving through uncommon perspectives.

The Tale of Two Cultures: East Meets West in Flower Etiquette

In the West, chrysanthemums, carnations, and roses are often presented as tokens of respect. Their colors, especially white and light shades, are symbolic of peace, purity, and remembrance. However, traverse to the East, particularly in countries like Japan, and chrysanthemums take on a more solemn note, specifically tied to death and are exclusively used for funerals.

Likewise, in some parts of Asia, the color white is deeply associated with mourning, whereas in the West, white flowers can symbolize innocence and purity. This brings to light the vast mosaic of cultural beliefs and practices associated with funeral flowers.

Beyond Petals: The Silent Language of Flowers

Each flower speaks a silent language, and the Victorians were adept at reading these floral messages. In a time when words of emotion were restrained, flowers did the speaking. For instance, a lily conveyed the message, “my thoughts are with you”, while forget-me-nots whispered of memories and remembrance.

Considering this, sending flowers becomes more than just a gesture. It becomes a silent conversation, a way to communicate grief, hope, and everlasting love without uttering a single word.

Exceptions in Elegy: When Flowers Might Not Speak Right

While flowers are accepted and appreciated in most cultures and religions, it is important to tread with care and respect. As mentioned, those of the Jewish faith might prefer not to receive flowers during mourning. Instead, acts of charity or food might be a more appreciated gesture.

Additionally, for some Buddhist funerals, sending white flowers is the most appropriate gesture, as they symbolize sorrow and mourning. Conversely, red flowers, usually signifying happiness and celebration in many cultures, are considered inauspicious.

It’s a gentle reminder that in our intent to comfort, it’s essential to be sensitive to the cultural and religious backgrounds of the bereaved. The golden rule? When in doubt, always check with the place of worship or funeral home.

The Extra Mile: Personalizing Floral Tributes

Consider a situation where an ardent lover of literature departs. In remembrance, you might send a bouquet accompanied by a bookmark or a quote from their favorite book. This personal touch elevates the gesture from a mere tradition to a heartfelt memory.

Similarly, understanding the deceased’s passions or hobbies can guide a more personalized tribute. A gardener might be remembered with a pot of blooming roses or a bird-lover with a floral arrangement shaped like a bird.

Concluding Blooms

To wrap our exploration, remember that flowers are more than just a customary tribute. They are a medium of expression, a way to weave stories, and an emblem of life’s transient beauty. In moments of loss, they silently whisper love, remembrance, and hope.

So, as you stand by the blooms in a shop, think not just of tradition but of tales, emotions, and memories. Think of the language each petal speaks and the comfort it can bring to a grieving heart. After all, in moments of silence, it’s often the flowers that speak the loudest.

Complete Article HERE!

‘People didn’t realise a funeral could be so beautiful’

— Poland finds a new way to celebrate life – and death

Mourner Malgorzata (right) thanks celebrant Emilia Mandes for a perfect funeral: ‘Maybe I’ll go on such a journey myself …’

More and more Poles are turning away from traditional funeral rites. But what can replace them? Enter the Institute for the Good Death, grief doulas, ‘death cafes’ and music by Whitney Houston

By Katarzyna Piasecka

“Then, feeling really sorry for himself, he exclaimed: ‘There is fucking nobody to help me,’” reads Emilia Mandes, and the crowd bursts into laughter. They look at each other, nodding – this story has already become a family legend. But this is not an anecdote about a drunk uncle at a wedding. I am at a funeral: a special ceremony to say goodbye to Jan Ledwoń, who died in October at the age of 74.

Despite taking place in Elbląg, a medium-sized city in the north of Poland, it doesn’t feel like a typical Polish funeral. Instead of wreaths, people have made donations to a local animal shelter; instead of dirges, Leonard Cohen’s Tonight Will Be Fine is playing; and instead of a formally robed and solemn priest, there is Mandes, a professional celebrant, dressed modestly in black, and hugging the family and friends.

We are in a humble chapel next to the cemetery, with about 30 mourners, including Ledwoń’s daughter Kasia, who reached out to Mandes and organised most of the funeral. The chapel has allowed only half an hour for this farewell, but it is enough time for Mandes to deliver an emotional and moving speech about Ledwoń. As well as honouring his coarse language and crisp sense of humour, it reveals things that his friends weren’t aware of – that his parents wanted him to become a priest, for instance. Or that, when his father died, he promised his mother that he would replace him.

Such a ceremony is still a rarity in Poland, a predominantly Catholic country, in which the church has monopolised the celebration of most rites of passage. Although fewer and fewer Poles participate in religious rituals, they are still reluctant to give up traditional church ceremonies such as funerals or children’s baptisms. But recent years have brought changes: the Catholic church is in crisis and many Poles are turning to non-religious forms of spirituality, and as in other countries, there is now a growing “death positive” movement.

“The first ceremony I officiated at was the funeral of my husband. He died by suicide,” says Mandes, 47. “I wanted to respect his wish, in his final letter to me, to disappear unnoticed and avoid the ‘church circus’. Moreover, both of us left the institution a long time ago and our children are not connected with the church either.”

Mourners escort Jan Ledwoń’s ashes to the grave in Elbląg, northern Poland.
Mourners escort Jan Ledwoń’s ashes to the grave in Elbląg, northern Poland.

Mandes explains that her husband had depression, which he refused to acknowledge. It eroded their marriage and she decided to move on. “And then he decided to move on, as well,” she says. Two weeks spent with her husband in hospital in a coma gave Mandes time to think about how to organise his funeral. It was winter 2021, in the middle of the Covid lockdowns, so she had to negotiate limitations. But the main question was, if not a priest, then who would officiate at the ceremony? “I Googled Polish secular celebrants and knew my husband would haunt me if I hired one of them. They were more like celebrities than celebrants,” she says. “So, I decided to do it myself.”

A former audiobook reader with some acting experience, she harnessed her writing skills to concoct a unique speech for her husband, and her acting skills to deliver it. She even used the occasion to raise awareness about depression. “Afterwards, people commented that they hadn’t realised a funeral could be so beautiful, so personal. Some time later, a friend told me that being a celebrant could be a profession and this is how I got to know the Institute of the Good Death,” she recalls.

Anja Franczak, 39, founded the Institute of the Good Death in 2020, after losing a child in 2015 and realising that society offered few tools to cope with the grief. She then discovered the roles of grief doula, end-of-life doula and celebrant, and trained in all three in Germany. “Doula” comes from the Greek word for “a woman who serves”, and is popularly associated with birth doulas, who help mothers navigate the beginnings of life. But the need for assistance with end-of-life matters has become more and more salient.

A grief doula is a non-medical professional who supports individuals or families experiencing loss. They help them to come to terms with death, navigate emotions arising from grief, and deal with practical issues, such as fulfilling the deceased person’s will. An end-of-life doula, in turn, guides a dying person through the process of passing and supports those important to them. Like a grief doula, they also help people come to terms with death, and deal with administrative issues such as planning a funeral. They also help communities recognise death as a natural and important part of life. A celebrant complements the doulas, supporting mourners and organising a farewell ceremony that honours the departed person.

End-of-life doulas Katarzyna Boni, Anja Franczak and Magdalena Siwecka (left to right), about to start a workshop on the circle of grief.
End-of-life doulas Katarzyna Boni, Anja Franczak and Magdalena Siwecka (left to right), about to start a workshop on the circle of grief.

While training, Franczak started sharing the experience on her blog and received a lot of reactions from people who were fascinated by this new, fear-free approach to dying. Death is a taboo subject in Poland, as it is in many countries. According to research, 33% of Poles don’t think about it at all, and 27% very rarely.

“I don’t avoid death: on the contrary, I seek contact with it. My perspective on life has changed,” Franczak wrote on her blog. “I want to talk about life with the knowledge that we’re all going to die. I believe that this awareness offers us a chance to live an intense life in line with our values, to open up to a deep experience of being human and to have relationships full of respect, acceptance and love.”

Together with like-minded people she met along the way, Franczak created a grassroots collective that morphed into the Institute of the Good Death. Today, it has more than 100 members, including professionals from the funeral industry, experts in medicine and palliative care, psychologists, journalists, scientists and artists. They organise courses, lectures, meetings and events such as “death cafes”, informal open meetings during which people can talk about loss and grief.

Their aim is to foster conversation and education about end of life, death and grief in a sensitive and supportive way. The institute also aspires to transform the culture from one in which death is absent or censored into one that draws from transience for our benefit, to enrich and enliven us. “We want to empower people to keep each other company in life and in death,” says Franzcak. “To raise awareness that we do not necessarily have to outsource all things concerning dying to institutions. We can deal with many things ourselves.”

The institute does not oppose the church or tradition, she stresses: “Many Poles value these religious, Catholic rites. We are open to collaboration with priests.”

One notable aspect of the institute is that it attracts mainly women; few men have participated in courses or events. “Maybe it’s because, for some reason, topics of life and death, childbirth and dying are closer to women,” says Franczak. Mandes suggests it might also be down to a difference in socialisation between men and women, “and the fact that what we do at the institute is perceived as care work, historically associated with women”.

Emilia Mandes conducts the humanist funeral ceremony of Jan Ledwoń.
Emilia Mandes conducts the humanist funeral ceremony of Jan Ledwoń.

Back in Elbląg, after the ceremony, Mandes invites mourners to the cemetery, where Ledwoń’s ashes will be returned to the soil. “He chose the forest as a place to say goodbye to this world. It leaves us in pain. If you feel that you want to tell him something, recall some memory, thank him for something, get angry about something, forgive him for something, you may express it with a metaphorical letter in the form of an autumn leaf,” she says.

As orange and red leaves fall on to Ledwoń’s grave, Mandes plays one of his favourite songs, Whitney Houston’s I Will Always Love You. This is the saddest moment of the funeral and Ledwoń’s widow, Magda, bursts into tears, hugging her husband’s photo in her arms. “You may now get closer to the family and hug them,” encourages Mandes, and the crowd clings together, forming a swinging mass.

“It is one of these rare experiences that really unite people,” Mandes says later. “It’s incredible how we are able to bond when we stand together in the face of death. It is above all divisions, all polarisation.”

A few days earlier, on 1 November, it was All Souls’ Day, a day when Poles do commune with the dead. On this day, Polish cities are typically deserted, but the cemeteries are bursting with life. Trains and motorways all over the country fill up with those travelling to visit the graves of the departed, and necropolises are covered in flowers and flickering candles. It is a time reserved for family and friends, and for remembering those who have died.

The Wind Phone Booth, where mourners can ‘communicate’ with those who have died.
The Wind Phone Booth, where mourners can ‘communicate’ with those who have died.

As dusk falls, Warsaw’s historic Powązki cemetery becomes as busy as an airport. People who have come to visit graves mingle with those collecting money for charity, and vendors of candles and chrysanthemums. The place is dotted with booths housing priests selling commemorative masses.

But Mandes is not there. “I’m not going to the cemetery today,” she told me. “I don’t like crowds and I want to show my children that a connection with the dead is not limited to one day in the year.” Instead, across the city from Powązki cemetery, in the Osiedle Jazdów – a cultural commune housed in tiny houses in the centre of Warsaw – she is preparing an “open grief ritual” organised by the institute. This small ceremony is aimed at helping people honour and remember the deceased and engage in the process of letting go. Wading through autumn leaves in a small public square, Mandes and two other celebrants place lit candles in various corners and set up a microphone. A dozen participants observe them curiously. Some of them use the Wind Phone Booth, an imitation phone box installed by the institute in May 2022, where mourners can “communicate” with those who have died (the line is not connected to anything).

“I will give each of you a ribbon. It will be your bridge to your departed person and will let you connect with them,” says one of the celebrants, and divides the group into small circles. After a moment of awkward silence, each of the circles starts resounding with words, and soon with sobbing. “I wanted to thank you for being such a great auntie …”, “I wanted to say sorry that you couldn’t die in your beloved flat …” As the stream of words intensifies, I cannot believe that these people are able to show such vulnerability despite being complete strangers.

Mistress of ceremony Dominika Galza offers blue ribbons as a symbol of connecting with a loved one who has passed away.
Mistress of ceremony Dominika Gauza offers blue ribbons as a symbol of connecting with a loved one who has passed away.

“I came here exactly for that,” says Monika, 44. “I am not ashamed – I want to cry among strangers.” She explains that she knew about the ritual from social media. “It is a relief to discuss emotions concerning death and grief that in Poland have been suppressed for years,” she adds.

The ritual led by Mandes and her fellow celebrants is vaguely reminiscent of the pre-Christian Slavic rite of Dziady (Forefathers’ Eve). This “communion of the living with the dead” involved gathering in houses to feed wandering souls with honey, barley, eggs and vodka. It was an occasion to share grief with the living and talk to the dead.

At the end of Ledwoń’s funeral, as his sister-in-law Marzena and her husband Jerzy say their goodbyes, I ask them what they thought of the ceremony. “I loved it,” says Jerzy. “I’m enrolling my name in Emilia’s agenda.”

“Not so fast,” says Marzena. “You still have a couple of dozen years to live.”

Complete Article HERE!

Philly’s deathcare enthusiasts want to bring back the shroud

— The idea that death and dying can be part of life, not handled by walled-off specialists in expensive facilities, has gained traction in recent years.

Attendees of a recent shrouding workshop practice on a volunteer, led by Pat Quigley, right, the supervisor of Laurel Hill funeral home.

By Zoe Greenberg

In a high-ceilinged, brick-walled space in Northern Liberties where people often host weddings, a group of strangers gathered on a recent Sunday to prepare for death.

They had come to learn how to shroud, part of a growing “death-positive” movement in Philly that seeks to demystify and de-commercialize the end of life. Many had been drawn to the hands-on workshop by fliers posted around the city that read, in part, “Yes, you heard that right! ‘Shroud’ as in wrapping a dead body for burial.”

Hosted at the MAAS building, the free event promised a shrouding demonstration (”on a live human”). It also served as the first meeting of a nascent “deathcare volunteer group,” which has aims to help Philadelphians who cannot afford funeral costs prepare and bury their loved ones. The median cost of funeral followed by burial in the mid-Atlantic region was $8,093 in 2021, according to the National Funeral Directors Association — a hefty sum for many families.

Pat Quigley, center and funeral director at Laurel Hill cemetery, teaches attendees how to shroud a dead body at a recent workshop in Northern Liberties. Kim Schmucki, on the table, volunteered to be practiced on.
Pat Quigley, center and funeral director at Laurel Hill cemetery, teaches attendees how to shroud a dead body at a recent workshop in Northern Liberties. Kim Schmucki, on the table, volunteered to be practiced on.

“I really want Philadelphia to be a death-positive hub on the East Coast,” said Isabel Knight, 29, the president of the National Home Funeral Alliance and the workshop’s organizer. In her vision, the grassroots group will wash and shroud the dead for free, and perhaps even transport bodies, in personal vehicles with burial permits, to cemeteries, Knight said.

Of actual burial or cremation, “That’s something that you’ve got to pay for, unfortunately,” she said.

The idea that death and dying can be part of life, not handled by walled-off specialists in expensive facilities, has gained traction in recent years. And the attendees at the shrouding workshop were not, on the whole, new to death — they included death doulas, a hospice music therapy worker, and a former palliative care doctor.

It was a practical meeting, but also something of a pep rally for people whose passion may not be the most popular at cocktail parties.

“I do a meditation where I visualize dying — and sometimes being cared for, and sometimes just being kind of abandoned on a cliff and decomposing,” said Natalia Stroika, 38, of South Philly, explaining to the group why she had come. “I got a lot of wisdom from that.”

Another attendee, a West Philly resident who goes by the name Ask Nicely, explained that he was in the process of growing flax in a burial ground in Upper Darby “so that I can learn to process it into fiber and then weave my own death shroud,” a comment that elicited an appreciative murmur from the crowd.

Many Jewish communities already have a volunteer burial society, or chevra kadisha, to ritually wash and prepare the dead for burial. Knight’s deathcare group will be for all religions, and particularly for those who cannot afford the high costs of the modern funeral.

Attendees of a free shrouding workshop practice wrapping a volunteer in a sheet.
Attendees of a free shrouding workshop practice wrapping a volunteer in a sheet.

Pat Quigley, 66, the supervisor of Laurel Hill funeral home and a member of the Reconstructionist Chevra Kadisha, or Jewish burial society, served as the shrouding instructor. She first reassured the group on two fronts: dead bodies do not immediately become too stiff to handle, and they do not instantly decompose.

Next was the practical matter of what to do. Everyone crowded around a pale green massage table at the front of the room; Kim Schmucki, 60, removed her shoes, revealing multicolored striped socks, and lay on the table, pretending to be dead. The group used a white linen-cotton shroud made by California company Kinkaraco, which Laurel Hill sells for roughly $900. Kinkaraco makes shrouds for a “green burial,” which means that everything about the body, the clothes, and the casket (if there is one) is biodegradable.

“Obviously we’re not going to suffocate Kim,” Quigley said, showing attendees how to roll her over and pull the shroud around her, but declining to pull it over her face. She offered a few “nifty little tricks” to keep eyes and mouths closed, advised attendees to support the head during the process, and showed the group how to tie the shroud tightly around the feet, waist, and upper body.

After the main demonstration, participants broke into smaller groups to try themselves. On the floor, a group carefully wrapped their volunteer corpse in a pale green sheet and rolled her back and forth, tied up with a bow.

“The whole death experience, like the whole birth experience, has become so medicalized and so sanitized,” said Quigley. “I think people just want something different.”

Complete Article HERE!