A 9,000-year-old axe sheds light on burial practices

Ireland’s earliest burial site gives up the secrets of our hunter-gatherer ancestors

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Situated on the banks of the river Shannon at Hermitage, Castleconnell, the burial site
Situated on the banks of the river Shannon at Hermitage, Castleconnell, the burial site

[A]nalysis of an axe that is more than 9,000 years old, found at Ireland’s earliest burial site, in Co Limerick, has shed light on the ancient burial practices of our hunter-gatherer ancestors.

Archaeologists believe the highly-polished stone axe, known as an adze, was made especially for the funeral of a very important person, whose remains were cremated and then buried at the site.

Microscopic analysis has revealed the shale tool, believed to be the earliest fully polished adze in Europe, was only used for a short time, and then deliberately blunted.

Situated on the banks of the river Shannon at Hermitage, Castleconnell, the burial site, dating back to between 7,530 and 7,320 BC, is twice as old as Newgrange.

It was discovered 15 years ago, and contained burial pits holding the remains of individuals who had been cremated.

Artefacts recovered from the earliest pit were recently analysed by a team from the Department of Archaeology at the University of York, led by Dr Aimée Little. Their paper on the subject has been published in the Cambridge Archaeological Journal.

Speaking to The Irish Times, Dr Little said the discovery showed the general perception that people living in Ireland during the Mesolithic period were “just hunter-gatherers roaming around the island, chipping away at bits of stone” is completely incorrect.

Very complex behaviour

“You have really, very complex behaviour at play here, in terms of the making and treatment of the adze as part of the funerary rights,” she said.

“We make the argument it was probably commissioned for the burial and was probably used as part of the funerary rights, possibly to cut the wood for the pyre for the cremation, or to cut the tree used as the grave post marker.”

Dr Little said there were examples of other adzes partly polished in Europe which date from earlier, but nothing completely polished to such a high degree and with such a high finish.

Highly polished stone axe, known as an adze, especially made for the funeral of a very important person.
Highly polished stone axe, known as an adze, especially made for the funeral of a very important person.

“It is found on an island, which is incredible in itself . . . and it is actually found in a burial, which is even more remarkable,” she said.

She said it offered a rare and intimate glimpse into the complex funerary rituals taking place on the banks of the Shannon and how people were grieving their dead at this time.

Dr Little also highlighted the skill involved in the cremation itself, which would require temperatures of between 645 and 1,200 degrees.

“To achieve that level of cremation takes a lot of fuel and a lot of understanding of how to actually perform a cremation,” she said.

“A lot of time, and care, and effort went into collecting every single fragment of bone to put into the burial.”

Complete Article HERE!

From rigor mortis to shouting at corpses: What I learned about dying from those who work in the funeral industry

There are only two rules when it comes to being dead: get someone to register your death and keep your body covered when moving it around. The rest is totally up to you – from getting your ashes tattooed into your loved one’s arm to punk funeral services

 
By Kirsty Major

 The UK's only tandem hearse is one such alternative idea being adopted to mark the life of a loved one Good Funeral Guide
The UK’s only tandem hearse is one such alternative idea being adopted to mark the life of a loved one Good Funeral Guide

Halloween is one of the few times of the year when you are allowed to be morbid, so why not take the opportunity to think a little about your own funeral? If fear of death is fear of the unknown then we should definitely be more afraid of funerals. For a start, most of us don’t know that there are only two laws to keep in mind when planning a funeral: you have to register the death of a person within five days, and secondly, you can’t travel with an uncovered body on a public highway. Seriously, that’s it – the rest is totally up to you.

Why have some black-suited blokes coming to haul your body away in a Transit van to have your eyelids glued together, only to be subsequently burned to cinders in a glib 20-minute service at a crematorium, when your shroud covered body could be crowdsurfed into your mate’s Volvo or turned into a firework? I spoke to five women making funerals that work for the dead and their families about what makes a ‘good funeral’.

Not all dead people are ‘loved ones’

Let’s start with terminology. Hopefully you’re living your life being the best person you can be, but if you happen to fall short and die being widely regarded as a complete and utter a***hole, then your relatives should be able to say so at your funeral. Some people cause pain and funerals are a good place to finally put those feelings to rest (alongside your body).  

“I remember the first time any anger was expressed at one of our funerals, and I hadn’t seen that it was missing. This young man was in his late twenties and he had been a heroin addict for 15 years and his brothers were angry, as they had tried to help him for so long, and they just stood up and shouted and it was so brilliant and it was a relief to hear that,” says Claire Callender from the Green Funeral Company.

Tell your family to relax around your corpse

Before you pop off, try to remind your relatives that just because you have breathed your last breath it does not mean that your body stops being you. As a death doula – someone who provides care to the dying and their families – Anna Lyons describes “families who are happy to sit and hold somebody’s hand while they are in the dying process, and the second their heart stops beating and they stop breathing they shy away and their body becomes untouchable and something disgusting, because we have medicalised everything and we have stripped everyone of the normality of it.”

Ditch the funeral parlour 

Louise Winter, a funeral celebrant, says: “Funeral directors have come to see it as their duty to protect the living from the dead.” Perhaps instead, we should be protecting our dead selves from funeral directors. Tora Colwill, from Modern Funerals cautions: “You shouldn’t just pass over your body to be manhandled. The mortuary hub is often in an industrial estate, where they stack up the bodies and one by one wash that, cut that hair, embalm there… if we actually asked questions about how our bodies are being treated, some of the answers we would be unhappy with.”

There has been a move over the past 20 years to return funeral care, planning, and burial logistics back to the home, the traditional place where families dealt with death before the rise of the funeral industrial complex following the Second World War. Claire Turnham, a funeral planner, says: “It is not about doing things differently, this is the way things were always done, this is the norm. This is the traditional.”

Funeral directors are probably going to rip you off

For anyone who has yet to organise a funeral, the receipts would cause you to die of shock if you could afford it. Reflecting on her time working at a funeral directors, Anna Lyons says: “(A) lot of funeral directors push people toward spending more money. You are working with people at their most vulnerable and people have been taken advantage of for too long.”

Embalming is gross and unnecessary

Many funeral directors recommend that a body should be embalmed if it is to be displayed in an open casket during a wake or service. However, according to Cara Mair, co-founder of ARKA Original Funerals, “Embalming fluid is lethal, it is formaldehyde, and it is carcinogenic. The embalming process is so invasive and it is not needed.” Instead, proponents of the natural death movement like Tora Colwill use natural methods, often alongside the family, to prepare the body for an open casket. “When you die, you can use rigor mortis to your advantage. For example, instead of having your gums stitched through to keep the mouth shut, you can simply roll up a towel and place it under the chin keeping the jaw locked as your corpse begins to stiffen.”

You don’t even need to have a coffin

Undertakers offer luxury metal and wood coffins costing several thousands of pounds; instead coffins can be made from biodegradable cardboard that your family can decorate as part of the wake, or bodies can be buried in traditional shrouds which cost just under £100. Also if there is life after death, I would much rather wake up in a cool shroud to haunt people in.

Your funeral service can include anything 

Since there are really only two rules you can literally incorporate anything into your funeral service. Claire Callender and her husband Rupert use the ethos of punk and rave when helping families plan funerals: “I just throw out the rules, there is no set way of doing it, just make it up as you go along. And that is the punk, DIY, let’s just set up a record label in your bedroom, let’s just do it … with the rave aspect it is that thing about rave where you just found yourself dancing with a thousand people and you were all connected and you had this communal thing and you had a church without a religion.” Giving your family something to do allows them to process their grief, so don’t outsource it all to a funeral director. 

Throw the eulogy out of the window

By having one person who is allowed to give their version of your life you lose out on the rest of it. You are more than a mother or husband – maybe your ex-partner has a salacious story to tell about that one time in Vegas, because what happens in Vegas should not stay in Vegas, it should be told at your funeral to all of your assembled relatives. The advice given by pretty much everyone I spoke to was to get everyone in a room, preferably with your body and let conversations happen.

Crematoriums are the worst

The most important thing is to not have the service in a crematorium, or as Louise Winter, from Poetic Endings calls them, “hospices where flowers go to die”. For Callender they can be one of the most challenges places to work: “The crematoriums hate us because they just want to bring a dog in, light the candle and rearrange the chairs – it is because we are trying to bring ritual to a really spiritually barren place.”

You don’t have to choose between burial and cremation

You can do so much more with your corpse. You can be buried in a pod that later grows into a tree; blasted into the sky in a firework; or inked onto your loved one’s skin forever in the form of a tattoo until they too die and then it’s up to them where you end up.

If you do decide to get buried, you don’t have to go to a church or local authority cemetery – you can be buried in a natural burial ground or on private land. It is recommended that you check in with the landowner, police and local environmental health authority – nobody wants to become drinking water.

Finally, whatever you do at your own funeral, make sure it is honest

We don’t get to say the things we really feel because we are too anxious, or tied up in the tedium of the everyday. Funerals are the one time that people are listening and really want to talk about life, death, love and all of the things inbetween. Like really talk about it – not just pretend they are talking while they’re swiping away their phones. So make some space for that.

Complete Article HERE!

The Vatican may protest, but traditional funerals are dead and buried

A new decree forbids Catholics to scatter ashes, and insists on the sanctity of the cemetery. But in terms of burial options, the Vatican are way behind the times

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‘Burial space in UK graveyards is at a premium, so people are moving towards alternative trends in the disposal of bodies.’
‘Burial space in UK graveyards is at a premium, so people are moving towards alternative trends in the disposal of bodies.’

[J]ust in time for the prayers for the dead on All Souls’ Day next Wednesday, the Vatican has restated its position on what can be done with the ashes of the faithful. In short, no longer can Auntie be kept in a mantelpiece urn or grandad’s ashes scattered on his local team’s football pitch.

Concerned about the adoption of “new ideas contrary to the church’s faith” suggestive of “pantheism, naturalism or nihilism”, the Vatican document conflates ashes-scattering with a dangerously new age spirituality, stipulating instead that remains should be kept tangibly in a sacred place. The Catholic belief in bodily resurrection at the end of days makes this position unsurprising, and the church clearly has a vested interest in discouraging casual rituals outside their control, but it’s a proscription that doesn’t sit well with current trends in the UK. The Vatican may face a harder battle against creeping modernism in the matter of burial and funeral practices than they bargained for.

Burial space in the UK is at a premium. The Labour government’s 2007 plan to allow the reuse of graves was given the green light in London, but the toxicity of the topic has seen it languish “under review” ever since for the rest of England and Wales. A Scottish bill to permit such recycling was passed in March. But such measures won’t make a significant dent in the 75% cremation rate, and the scattering of ashes is still a huge trend – the Mountaineering Council of Scotland warns that the sheer volume of ashes on the most popular summits is such that it is causing dangerous chemical changes in the soil.

The Vatican rejects the idea of death as “the moment of fusion with Mother Nature or the universe, or as a stage in the cycle of regeneration” that scattering in such natural environments represents; it also bans the use of ashes in memorial trinkets. In recent years, ashes have been used to make everything from records to tattoo ink, and such gung-ho going-ons have become associated with rock’n’roll abandon, from Keith Richards snorting his father’s remains, to the metal fan whose ashes were scattered in the mosh pit earlier this year. US experimental act Negativland went so far as to issue their new album this month with a small bag of the ashes of band member Don Joyce. Irreverent stuff, but the modern history of cremation in the UK started in no less paganistic style, with the failed prosecution of druid William Price for burning the body of his baby son on a pyre in 1884, setting a legal precedent that saw the practice legalised in 1902.

But cremation may not be where the individualism and valorisation of the natural world the church so fears is really thriving. Alternative trends in the disposal of bodies are moving towards burial. The Association of Natural Burial Grounds (ANBG) represents more than 270 woodlands and meadows run as natural cemeteries in the UK; 20 years ago there was only one such facility. It is in natural burial that the idea of an unmediated return to the earth that the church has denounced is writ large, with bodies often buried without a coffin and the landscape managed sustainably to preserve its natural beauty.

Rosie Inman-Cook, head of the ANBG and of the Natural Death Centre (NDC), a charity that puts choice, family and respect for the environment at the centre of their funeral advice service, has written inspiringly about the wide range of funeral and burial options available in the UK today. In the words of Leedam Natural Heritage, which operates eight natural burial grounds, these alternatives “offer something gentler”. Indeed, this is all in a context of the rejection of the staid funerals of old, which belonged to a more emotionally buttoned-up past, with British Humanist Association-trained celebrants now conducting more than 7,000 funerals a year.

But more and more people are doing away with formal ceremony and professional celebrant altogether, instead taking the “direct-it-yourself” approach championed by Inman-Cook, or going for direct cremation, which involves no funeral at all. The fact that David Bowie chose this option cemented his image as the ultimate individualist, and the NDC has reported a rise in interest in this possibility.

With adherence to a faith’s doctrines always being on a sliding scale, and the Catholic faithful hardly being immune to changing fashions, the church perceives these new approaches to marking the end of our lives as a threat. But if they are worried about greater freedom and a more individualistic approach to death and burial, scattering of ashes is old news.

Complete Article HERE!

Meet Two Portland Women Who Make Their Livings Talking About the Ultimate Taboo: Death

An exclusive excerpt from Casey Jarman’s new book, “Death: An Oral History.”

By

Jana DeCristofaro
Jana DeCristofaro

[J]ana DeCristofaro may have the toughest job in Portland. Each morning, she drives to a large Craftsman house a block off Southeast Foster Road, and goes to work among the dead.

To be precise, DeCristofaro makes her living talking to survivors: bereaved children and teenagers. She’s the director of children’s grief services at the Dougy Center for Grieving Children & Families, a nationally renowned center for counseling kids in Southeast Portland’s Creston-Kenilworth neighborhood.

That means DeCristofaro, 42, spends much of her days starting the kinds of conversations most people scramble to avoid. She sits with children whose parents have recently died, and asks them what they miss most about their lost loved ones. She starts group conversations between grieving teenagers. And she advises parents about how to break the worst possible news to their kids.

DeCristofaro’s job is haunting and difficult. But it isn’t unique. When Casey Jarman began writing a book of interviews about people who have confronted death, he found many Portlanders who confront mortality on a daily basis.

“Call it exposure therapy,” Jarman writes. “If you have a fear of heights, spend some time in the mountains. If you’re scared of death, what can you do, short of dying? You can spend a year of your life talking about it.”

Jarman, co-founder of Party Damage Records and a former WW music editor, spoke to hospice workers, philosophers and Oregon’s former death-row executioner. His book, Death: An Oral History, comes out next week.

Among the people he interviewed are two Portland women whose job is digging in the roots of grief. In the following pages, excerpted from the much longer conversations in Jarman’s book, you’ll meet DeCristofaro and Holly Pruett, who arranges and officiates DIY memorial services.

These women confront on a daily basis the most basic and frightening fact of our existence: that it ends. But that’s just where these conversations start. —Aaron Mesh

jana-decristofaro
Jana DeCristofaro

The Dougy Center for Grieving Children & Families is a low-key place, despite its austere name.

One might expect a woman with the title of coordinator of children’s grief services to be relentlessly serious or walk on eggshells. Jana DeCristofaro, though, is unfussy and direct.

This is a place where people come to talk. Kids talk to other kids. Teens talk to other teens. Parents talk to parents. Some of that talking is about death—the center helps people who have lost parents and siblings—and some of it is just talking. More than 30,000 children and teens have taken advantage of the Dougy Center’s services since it opened in 1982, and DeCristofaro has talked, laughed and cried with a lot of them in the past 15 years.

I graduated with my Master of Social Work degree in 2001. I got a job doing research, and over the course of the year, I was feeling very unfulfilled with that work. A friend of mine was like, “You know, you should check out this place. I don’t know, it’s called the Doughy Center or Dooey Center? There are kids who go there, they’re sad. They have teddy bears and they cry.”

I was like, “What are you talking about?”

I looked them up, and they were having volunteer training a few weeks later. Our volunteer trainings tend to have really long waitlists, but I happened to write in just after somebody had canceled. They invited me to come to the training. It was held at a small building in North Portland. It was dark and gloomy, in a basement, and we were all squished in there, sitting on colored pillows. I thought, “What have I gotten myself into?”

The Dougy Center was the first program in the country—I think the world, too—to start working with grieving kids in a peer support model. The whole idea is bringing kids together of a similar age who have a common experience of the death of a parent, sibling, primary caregiver, or—in the case of teens—a close friend or a cousin.

We have over 30 groups for kids and teens that are split up by ages: 3 to 5, 4 to 8, 6 to 12, 11 to 14, and 13 to 18.

The Dougy Center was started by a woman named Bev Chappell. She’d had a long-standing connection with Elisabeth Kübler-Ross, a pioneer of the death and dying field back in the ’60s and ’70s. A 13-year-old boy named Dougy Turno, who had an inoperable brain tumor, wrote to Kübler-Ross and said, basically, “Hey, how come kids get cancer? And why do we die?” She wrote him back, and it was a long, colorful, illustrated response.

In the late ’70s, Dougy came to Portland for some experimental treatment, so Elisabeth reached out to Bev Chappell, who lived here, and was like, “Hey, would you meet up with the family, help them get settled?” Bev did that, and she started visiting Dougy at the hospital. She looked around and noticed that, one, the medical community was not down with telling kids what was going on. Because back in the day, the approach was not to tell them.

But Bev hung out with them long enough to realize that the kids knew. She heard them talking to each other and starting conversations about things like: Do you think you’re going to live long enough to go to prom? Have you kissed a girl? Do you think you’ll get a chance to do that? What do you think it’s like where we’re going? You know, all the stuff that the kids talk about in group. They were doing it without adults facilitating the conversations.

That’s where she got the idea to start a center. She hosted the first group in her basement, and I think there were four boys who came to that group, and from there it has just grown. She’s still around. She lives in East Portland, and was just at our benefit gala a couple of weeks ago. Now we have 500 children and teens coming through the doors every month at three locations.

When the teens first come in, you can often tell they do not want to be here. I’m like, “Anyone willing to admit you’ve been dragged here against your will?” In this last orientation, all five teens raised their hands. I was like, “Wow, I’ve got my work cut out for me.” But just acknowledging that, it opens up the energy in the room in such a dramatic way. I tell them, “I’m not here to convince you. I won’t take it personally if you decide not to come back. My job is to try and show you everything, what we are and what we’re not.”

It doesn’t work too well to force people to talk about this stuff against their will. One time, I asked a teen group, “How many people got something for coming to the Dougy Center?” It was like, “Yeah, I got out of school.” One kid said, “I got a new MacBook.” Everyone was like, “Damn it! We should have asked for more.” I thought I was going to start a revolt. It doesn’t take long, though, for most of them to realize we aren’t in the business of making them do, say, or think anything. They get comfortable being with other grieving teens pretty quickly.

Once I had a group of teens talking about how the death they experienced has affected what they wanted to do with their lives in the future. Many of them were like, “I want to honor my parents by going to their alma mater,” or “I really want to become a nurse because the nurses helped my brother so much when he was sick.”

There were a lot of those sort of more expected answers, and then there were some kids who said, “I hate doing well at things now. I actually don’t want to do well. I don’t want to have any success with my life, because to do it without my person there is too devastating. I’d rather feel like I haven’t done anything.” I thought, “Wow, what a hole to be in.” I never considered that moving forward without this person and having success could mean leaving them behind. That really opened my mind.

Anytime somebody says something that surprises me, I always try to remember that there could be someone else in the group going through something similar. My job as a group facilitator, if I’m doing a good job at it, is to speak to what’s not being spoken about in the group. Many times there’s a sense of, “Yeah, yeah, we all know this is true.” And I ask, “Who’s had an opposite experience?”

With the younger kids, I think about one boy in particular. We sat quietly and we were talking, and he had so many questions—not for me, necessarily, just questions. He was talking about how it didn’t make any sense to him. His mom had died, and he was like, “You know, people say that when your person dies, they are looking out for you, they are watching you from above, and making sure everything’s OK. Our roof sprung a leak last night, and, I don’t know, don’t you think my mom in heaven looking out for me would make sure the roof didn’t do that?”

I was like, “Hmm. That’s a really interesting question. What do you think?” And then it just went on. We talked for 20 minutes. There were so many questions this little boy was really wrestling with—answers he’d been given from adults in his life that were very black and white. He was like, “That doesn’t make any sense to me.” He wasn’t having an opportunity to really muck around in the gray areas. “Well, they say when somebody goes to heaven, they never look back because they’re so happy to be in heaven, but don’t you think if you were a mom, you’d miss your kids?” Here’s a little boy thinking his mom doesn’t miss him.

That was really powerful for me because oftentimes we think that, developmentally, these kids are concrete thinkers and we tell them concrete answers. But many times they are very wise and have some really deep philosophical questions.

One little kid, their person had died by suicide, and they were like, “I’m just so worried. I hear when people die by suicide, they go…” and he pointed down to the ground with his finger. He’s like, “But I really think they went…” and he pointed up. Just for him to be able to say, “This doesn’t work for me,” was pretty amazing.

Some people will ask, “Do you have a really hard time now? Thinking that everyone’s going to die?” I tell them I’ve always had that. Long before I started working here. Working here just solidified my anxiety a bit, and perhaps enhanced it.

I also accept the fact that when I go anywhere, I always have at least two or three stories about how someone has died doing what I’m about to do. That just happens—it’s just the way it is. Like, this river is so beautiful, but there was that brother who fell off that rock over there, and then there was the guy who went mountain biking and hit a pothole and cracked his head open. But I came that way before I even had this job. My mom’s been like that my whole life: “Don’t do that, you’ll die.” I already know all the ways you could die, but now I have particular stories that match up with them. I have to spend a lot of time being, like, “Yes, and we’re going to still do that.”

Holly Pruett
Holly Pruett

Holly Pruett

[H]olly Pruett officiates ceremonies from cradle to grave—think baby blessings, weddings, retirement rituals, and so on—but her interest in funeral rites has made her one of the central figures of Portland’s burgeoning DIY death scene. She went into business for herself after two decades as a political consultant and public relations director. (Her résumé includes helping form Basic Rights Oregon.)

I have always looked at cherished social conventions like weddings and funerals as old-fashioned relics. But I never spent much time thinking about what, if anything, they should be replaced with. That’s Pruett’s line of work. She is a certified Life-Cycle Celebrant, and while that term may elicit images of tree people wearing white dresses and daisy chains praising “the goddess,” Pruett is clear-eyed about the need for ritual in our lives.

A friend read in People magazine about a burial ground in South Carolina called Ramsey Creek Preserve, [where] people were buried in a natural wooded setting.

My friend thought, “If this is in People magazine, and it’s happening in South Carolina, why is it not happening in Oregon, the so-called green sustainability capital?”

When we got in touch with the national Green Burial Council, they said, “You know, there’s somebody else who’s expressed interest in your town.” It happened to be a woman who was a Life-Cycle Celebrant. I got together with her and asked, “What’s a Life-Cycle Celebrant?” When she described it, I was like, “Whoa.” It seemed to be a convergence of many of the things that I was interested in.

When I explain to people what a Life-Cycle Celebrant is, I often say it’s like a secular clergy person. Because not only can I officiate weddings—and, technically, I do have clerical credentials to do that—but I am there for people in the process of figuring out what ceremonies they need in their life.

Somewhere around that time, I realized that the most common form of human memorial, among a lot of people I’d come across, was no memorial. I slowly started to recognize that I was in a position to address some of this cultural vacuum.

All of the needs that organized religion and social rituals used to serve are still with us. It’s just that a lot of those forms have become archaic. Funerals are just a bad brand. A funeral director once said to me, “In the funeral chapel, you’ll often see a man gripping his wife’s arm, saying, ‘Don’t you dare waste our money on something like that for me.'” Because they see a retired clergy person mispronouncing the name of their best friend, and it’s like, what’s the point?

I’m coming to see that one of the most powerful roles I serve is that I’m typically the first person to meet the deceased after they’ve died.

I’m not a medium working metaphysically, but I am leading their loved ones through the memories and through the presence that is evoked through their stuff—a quilt they made, the letters they wrote, their emails, the impact that they had on others. Their legacy can be so much clearer to me, in a sense, because I’m coming to it fresh.

I hear things like, “I felt closer to my mother during the process of working with you than I did in the last months or years of her life.” Perhaps she was suffering from dementia. They’ve gone through their mom being sick and dying, and it’s still very raw, a very painful thing. Then they revisit, with me, the stories of their mom’s early life and how she became who she really was, and how everyone else saw her. It’s healing.

In one ceremony, the client generated a list of words—associations that reminded her of her mom. We printed them out on these really nice, blank business cards. We put them in one of her mom’s pocketbooks. She was a really sharp dresser and always known for having a pocketbook. During the memorial, a large family gathering, we passed the pocketbook around. Each person pulled out a card, and that word—in connection to that physical object—evoked her presence.

I met a young woman in her 30s who was diagnosed with stage IV lung cancer. She hired me to help put together her death plan. She wanted to spare her husband as many decisions as possible. I created a lengthy questionnaire for her to use to clarify her wishes. Some things were clear—like, she wanted to be cremated—some things weren’t.

Do you want to put together the playlist for the music at your memorial, or choose the food, or do you not want to? Are you planning a party, or is it more like this or that person should speak? I always say, with these planning questionnaires, just respond to those questions that really resonate with you. None of it is mandatory.

She was like, “How can I possibly answer these questions on my own?” She brought together her 10 closest friends from various parts of her life, told them there’d be pizza, and they talked about death. She selected a subset of my questions and invited me to observe.

What was phenomenal was that most of these friends hadn’t met each other. They were from different parts of her life. Very easily, the first time that they could have met would have been at her memorial or at her deathbed. Of course, they are all very bereaved about her diagnosis and her living with this, but societally, what kind of permission is there to talk about that and for her to say, “OK, I know I’m going to die, and I need you all to help me talk about that and to tell me what you think happens after we die?” It became, “I don’t know what I think, what do you think?”

It was like they were starting to do a workout together, you know? Because they’re going to have to train to hold this grief together for her.

My life has become heavily engaged in conversations about dying, death and grief. In my personal life, I’m at an age where many people who I personally care about are sick or dying, or coming to me with their bereavement. Of course, I have a professional practice of assisting people in memorials and home funerals. At times, I think, “What have I done to my life?”

This interest in rekindling ceremony could be the start of something much bigger, or it could easily become another self-help program. You can buy kits online for your divorce party—so much ritual has already been commodified. Think about a baby shower: How do you mark a baby coming or a wedding? It’s become all about the stuff that you buy, or these silly, giddy, frivolous activities. What about this threshold that these people are about to cross?

Most of us aren’t living in a way that says, “I belong to the world, the world needs me.” If we don’t celebrate people’s death, then they never really belonged to the bigger story.

Complete Article HERE!

Things not to say to mourners (and some things you can do instead)

by Esther D. Kustanowitz

black-and-white-person-woman

When friends announce on Facebook that a loved one needs prayers, or is in the hospital, or that they’re going through a hard time, I get a sinking feeling. And while recovery sometimes happens, sometimes, it doesn’t. So when I read, “I am heartbroken to announce …,” my heart breaks, and the pain of my own loss reawakens, in sympathy for the end of a life and for what is to follow for those still with us — a year mourning the loss through text, ritual and the communal embrace that is vital, but stands in contrast with grief’s frequent companion: a stark and searing sense of solitude.

Death is part of the organic fabric of life, our liturgy tells us, arriving sometimes in a timely manner and sometimes in a shocking and unexpected instant years or decades too soon. But regardless of the individual circumstances surrounding a loss, family members and friends are left to mourn and to try to move through the grief to live their lives in a new normal.

Jewish rituals provide a year of structure for rudderless mourners, with customs that encourage communal engagement while acknowledging that the year is one in which the mourner is set apart from and different than the embracing community. While this state traditionally lasts a prescribed year, in emotional reality, it tends to linger. Five years after my mother’s death, when people check in on me, I’m grateful; Judaism says that I have been done with mourning for the span of a college education, but that doesn’t mean I’m back to the me I was before. It doesn’t mean that my mother’s absence from the world doesn’t affect me anymore. It’s just different.

I remember those first few months, and how many people, hoping to utter words of comfort, instead spewed forth words of frustration, anger, pain and even insensitivity. They were probably as appalled as I was, but I know — and I hope they know that I know — that their hearts were in the right place. I believe they were so concerned about saying the wrong thing that they often said something even less appropriate.

Each mourner is different. Each grief circumstance is different. Each person finds comfort differently, in different gestures and phrases. But here are seven things — in honor of the traditional seven days of shivah — that everyone should try to avoid saying, along with a few things you can do or say instead to express your love and concern for someone who is experiencing a loss.

Avoid awkward moments engaging the mourner, conversationally or physically. There’s a tradition to leave the conversational initiative entirely to the bereaved, to wait until he or she wants to speak. Some mourners crave the physical embrace of community, while others prefer a spiritual support and company, but not literal embraces (especially from virtual strangers). While challenging to all of us who love words and fear silence, or who are more inclined toward long and crushing hugs to convey what’s in our hearts, sitting quietly in a room next to someone who is grieving can send a powerful, wordless message of presence and support (even if you don’t touch).

“Read” the mourner and be mindful of your relationship with him or her. Are you a close friend, whose embrace the mourner may be expecting, or are you an acquaintance who hugs as an alternative to conversation? If you’re concerned about the potential awkwardness of your physical or verbal interaction, ask the rabbi or a relative what kind of support the mourner may want. You can also ask the mourners if they would like a hug, and don’t be offended if they say no — not everyone wants to be touched by everyone.

Avoid commentary about the illness or the last moments of the deceased. “At least your loved one’s suffering is over” falls into a category of things that people inside and outside the immediate family may think quietly, especially if the deceased has been through a long or public illness, but should not say. Similarly, “at least s/he didn’t suffer,” or “what a blessing that it happened so fast.” You are not the coroner, so don’t offer your opinion on the cause of death or its nature. Instead, sit quietly with the mourner for a while — if there’s an appropriate opening, gently ask the mourner to share their favorite memories or most memorable moments.

Avoid making comments about the afterlife. In some religious communities, it’s comforting to devout people to think about their loved one being “in a better place,” “taking his place at God’s side” or (as I’ve heard religious Christians say) “going to Jesus.” But, emotionally, most mourners do not find comfort in this concept (especially “God needed another angel”). Is there an afterlife? Heaven? Hell? Olam ha-ba, where you study Talmud all day? No one knows; there are too many theological and emotional potholes in grief’s road to cover over with religious speculation about the afterlife. Instead, focus on this life: “I hope the community is the right kind of supportive when you need it. And I’m always available to help you.” (More on this in the next paragraph.)

Avoid: “Is there anything I can do?” Think about the vastness of the word “anything,” and the one thing it cannot include: the return of the lost loved one. Also, offers to help are something mourners receive in abundance at funerals and at shivah, but as time goes on, the offers trickle down to nothing. A year in, people who haven’t been through a loss themselves may assume you’re “fine.” And while you probably will be functional to some degree, at least, you’re probably not “fine.” Instead, if you’re offering assistance, get specific — grocery shopping, picking up kids from school or activities, baby-sitting so that the mourner can have some personal time. Specific offers give the mourner a chance to say “yes” or “no, thanks,” but without challenging them to think deeply about what they need and what you can and cannot provide. And if you’re a friend who really wants to be supportive, offer assistance even after shivah, or during the year of mourning, or beyond, after the offers have faded away but the need for support remains.

Avoid judgmental commentary about the funeral, the shivah or about how the mourner is grieving. 

In many communities, there is variation in how people participate in mourning rituals. For instance, traditionally, shivah is held for seven days (shiv’ah means “seven” in Hebrew) for a close blood relative (parent, sibling or, God forbid, a child) or a spouse, and in a designated year of mourning, traditionally mourners abstain from “celebration.” But some (especially the non-Orthodox) are altering these traditions to fit their lives: sitting shivah for an aunt, uncle or grandparent, or only observing a few days of shivah. People want to connect to Jewish meaning and tradition, but not necessarily in a strictly Orthodox halachic framework. Saying things like “you’re not supposed to” or “not allowed to” grieve in a specific way is counter-supportive: The function of shivah, in particular, is to help the community gather around a mourner for support, not criticize the depth of their feelings or the minutiae of their approach to mourning. So don’t render a judgment as to whether it’s appropriate or halachic. Instead, if you’ve ever been on the inside of a year of mourning, you can offer, “If you ever want to know what helped me, I’m happy to share.” And if you haven’t been, just be there and listen.

Avoid over-empathizing with the mourner’s experience and emotional state. While this comes from a good place, saying, “I know exactly what you’re going through” minimizes the intensity of the mourner’s emotional state and shifts the conversation to being about you. For most mourners, especially at funerals and during shivah, this is not comforting; it’s a negation of their special status in that space. Occasionally, people double down on these kinds of statements, following up with an anecdote about a deceased pet or another “loss” story that isn’t equivalent — because no story of loss is ever really equivalent. Instead, saying, “I can’t imagine how hard this is for you,” or “I know it’s not the same, but I have some experience with loss if you ever want to talk,” is a better approach.

Avoid using shivah as an excuse to badmouth the community or its members. While this might seem a simple enough thing to avoid, the essential awkwardness that people feel when trying to comfort a community member may result in people blurting out things that are unintentionally hurtful. This may include criticizing the eulogies or the funeral service, or gossiping about the community’s failure to let everyone know the funeral was happening. Listen to the mourner. That’s why you’re there, to offer presence, an ear, and words of consolation when you have them. In most cases, that’s enough.

May we all know only simchas. But in the unfortunately inevitable event of a tragedy, let us focus our love and respect on the needs of those who are in the center of the grief circle, and may we as community members take seriously the sacred privilege of helping those who suffer to know that they are not alone.

Complete Article HERE!

7 Distinctly Southern Funeral Traditions

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Most funerals follow a fairly predictable series of events. Wearing conservative, dark clothing, sending flowers and respecting family wishes are all commonplace. But when it comes to Southern funerals, you can expect to see some distinct traditions and practices that set them apart.

So much food

The second it’s announced that someone in your family has passed away, expect people to be coming by non-stop with more food than you could ever consume. Most of it will be in the form of a casserole or freezer-friendly meal. Fried chicken, deviled eggs and pies are also common. In western Mississippi, there’s a tradition of giving Tomato Aspic, a circular, gelatinous dish.

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Respecting the procession

You’ll see this in other parts of the country as well, but Southerners take it seriously. When a funeral procession of cars is following the hearse to the cemetery, all other cars on the road pull to the side until the procession has passed. This is common courtesy (and sometimes the law) to honor the grieving friends and family members of the diseased. It’s a sign of respect.

A public affair

Forget about the funerals that include just immediate family and friends. In the South, it’s not uncommon to have people from all over the community show up at the memorial and wake. Funerals are a public event of sorts, and people attend them often, even for those whom they hardly knew.

Second lines

 

Second lines are a New Orleans tradition that still take place when a popular figure from the community or a musician passes away. You may have heard of second lines for weddings, and this is essentially the same thing. The community will grab their brass instruments and play music in a procession line, following the hearse on the way to the cemetery.

Grand florals

Sending flower arrangements isn’t specific to just the South, but the scale of the arrangements certainly are. Southern funerals can get very personalized also, so you’ll often find arrangements that pay tribute to the person who has passed. You’ll often see regional flowers like camellia blooms, abelia and magnolia leaves.

Lengthy services

You’ll likely never attend a church memorial that lasts less than a couple of hours. The minister is going to do a full service, and there will be a spirited sermon aimed at getting you to come to church more often.

Sitting up with the dead

There’s also a rarely practiced, but distinctly Southern, long-standing custom referred to as ‘sitting up’ with the dead. After a loved one has passed, the body remains in the home and is never left alone. At least one family member or friend sits awake with the body at all times until they are buried.

 Complete Article HERE!

These Indonesians unearth their deceased loved ones every few years

People lift the coffin of Liling Saalino to a stone grave, or Liang, during a burial ritual, or Rambu Solo ceremony, in Lemo village, Toraja, South Sulawesi, Indonesia. During the procession, people chat “Tau Tae Sengke,” which means nobody should be angry.
People lift the coffin of Liling Saalino to a stone grave, or Liang, during a burial ritual, or Rambu Solo ceremony, in Lemo village, Toraja, South Sulawesi, Indonesia. During the procession, people chat “Tau Tae Sengke,” which means nobody should be angry.

It is said that Torajans are people who “live to die.”

For this Indonesian ethnic group, funerals are such extravagant events that they sometimes attract tourists. Families can postpone burials years (and the deceased are considered sick and hosted at home until the funeral) until the family can raise enough money and gather as many relatives as possible. And then it’s a jubilant multiday social event with a parade, dances and animal sacrifices.

Agung Parameswara photographed these funerary practices when he traveled to South Sulawesi province, where the Torajans live. But often, their funeral isn’t the last time the dead are seen.

In August, crypts are opened, coffins are slid back out and bodies delicately unsheathed. This tender ritual is known as Ma’Nene, which is customarily performed every few years. In this practice, which honors the Torajans’ ancestors, corpses are washed and dressed in new outfits. They may be treated to betel nuts and cigarettes, sometimes even taken back to the place where they died. And, finally, they are wrapped in new shrouds and replaced in their freshly repaired coffins.

Parameswara was moved when he saw the family of Yohanes Tampang bring him a new pair of sunglasses, which he loved to wear while he was alive. They touched his body and introduced him to new family members.

People carry the coffin of Liling Saalino as a part of the Rambu Solo ceremony. When a person dies, pigs, chickens and buffalo are sacrificed, as the locals believe that the animals carry the soul of the deceased into heaven. The number and type of animals killed reflect the social status of the dead person.
People carry the coffin of Liling Saalino as a part of the Rambu Solo ceremony. When a person dies, pigs, chickens and buffalo are sacrificed, as the locals believe that the animals carry the soul of the deceased into heaven. The number and type of animals killed reflect the social status of the dead person.
The burial ritual for Liling Saalino.
The burial ritual for Liling Saalino.
Villagers and relatives gather as they prepare for a parade during the Rambu Solo of V.T. Sarangullo in La’Bo village, Toraja, South Sulawesi, Indonesia. After the animals are killed, a feast is thrown and the body of the deceased placed in a stone grave, or Liang.
Villagers and relatives gather as they prepare for a parade during the Rambu Solo of V.T. Sarangullo in La’Bo village, Toraja, South Sulawesi, Indonesia. After the animals are killed, a feast is thrown and the body of the deceased placed in a stone grave, or Liang.
Men gather during a buffalo fight, or Tedong Silaga, as a part of the Rambu Solo for V.T. Sarangullo in La’Bo village, Toraja, South Sulawesi, Indonesia.
Men gather during a buffalo fight, or Tedong Silaga, as a part of the Rambu Solo for V.T. Sarangullo in La’Bo village, Toraja, South Sulawesi, Indonesia.
Men gather to perform a Ma’Badong dance during the Rambu Solo of V.T. Sarangullo.
Men gather to perform a Ma’Badong dance during the Rambu Solo of V.T. Sarangullo.
Men remove a corpse from inside a Liang as they prepare to perform Ma’Nene in Pongko Village, Toraja, South Sulawesi, Indonesia. In Ma’Nene, bodies of the deceased are exhumed to be washed, groomed and dressed in new clothes. Damaged coffins are fixed or replaced.
Men remove a corpse from inside a Liang as they prepare to perform Ma’Nene in Pongko Village, Toraja, South Sulawesi, Indonesia. In Ma’Nene, bodies of the deceased are exhumed to be washed, groomed and dressed in new clothes. Damaged coffins are fixed or replaced.
A man holds the corpse of Tang Diasik, who died six years ago, as he dries the corpse during the Ma’Nene ritual in Ba’Tan village, Toraja, South Sulawesi, Indonesia.
A man holds the corpse of Tang Diasik, who died six years ago, as he dries the corpse during the Ma’Nene ritual in Ba’Tan village, Toraja, South Sulawesi, Indonesia.
A woman cries in front of the corpse of Marta Ratte Limbong during the Ma’Nene ritual in Ba’Tan Village, Toraja, South Sulawesi, Indonesia. Locals believe dead family members are still with them, even if they died hundreds of years ago.
A woman cries in front of the corpse of Marta Ratte Limbong during the Ma’Nene ritual in Ba’Tan Village, Toraja, South Sulawesi, Indonesia. Locals believe dead family members are still with them, even if they died hundreds of years ago.
Personal belongings of Marta Ratte Limbong inside the coffin including money, a necklace and two gold bracelets.
Personal belongings of Marta Ratte Limbong inside the coffin including money, a necklace and two gold bracelets.

These practices are rooted in Aluk To Dolo, or the “way of the ancestors.” Though Torajans are predominately Christian, they still adhere to these ancient traditions.

Parameswara said via email that he felt that witnessing the rituals reminded him about how important connections with family are in a time when people can be self-absorbed. “Death is not a thing that could [separate] the Torajans people [from] their loved ones,” Parameswara said. “Love for the Torajans is eternal.”

Villagers pray before they perform the Ma’Nene ritual in Barrupu village, Toraja, South Sulawesi, Indonesia.
Villagers pray before they perform the Ma’Nene ritual in Barrupu village, Toraja, South Sulawesi, Indonesia.
The Liang with Tau-Tau, or effigies made of wood in Lemo Toraja, South Sulawesi, Indonesia. These life-size representations of the dead were once produced only for the wealthy. They are guardians of the tombs and protectors of the living.
The Liang with Tau-Tau, or effigies made of wood in Lemo Toraja, South Sulawesi, Indonesia. These life-size representations of the dead were once produced only for the wealthy. They are guardians of the tombs and protectors of the living.
A boy lights incense in front of Lucas Payung’s body before the Ma’Nene ritual in Barrupu Village, Toraja, South Sulawesi.
A boy lights incense in front of Lucas Payung’s body before the Ma’Nene ritual in Barrupu Village, Toraja, South Sulawesi.
Relatives cry as the coffin containing the bodies of Tikurara, Dumak and Limbongbuak arrived at the Liang in Barrupu village, Toraja. The corpses were buried in Makassar a few years ago; this year, the family decided to move the bodies to the stone grave in their hometown. But first, the family performed the Ma’Nene ritual.
Relatives cry as the coffin containing the bodies of Tikurara, Dumak and Limbongbuak arrived at the Liang in Barrupu village, Toraja. The corpses were buried in Makassar a few years ago; this year, the family decided to move the bodies to the stone grave in their hometown. But first, the family performed the Ma’Nene ritual.
A landscape in Toraja.
A landscape in Toraja.

Complete Article HERE!