End of life rituals for the remaining

One of the sacred rituals that still seem to remain in our culture is the funeral. I went to the services for my hospice client. He had been born in an observant Jewish family over 70 years ago, but left those religious roots and went searching for the rest of his life. In the end he was part of a Buddhist community and was studying the Course in Miracles. It seemed he has strayed a long way from his Jewish roots, but in the end, his service was conducted by a rabbi and our hospice chaplain. His body was not allowed to sit out for a few days as his Buddhist sangha had expected much to their dismay. He was interred immediately following the service.

My childhood experience with funerals was not very good, and I was so distraught after my grandfather wake, my mother would not let me attend the funeral service. I didn’t go to another funeral until I was an adult. Even then I mostly avoided them or made excuses to not attend. When my husband died, I conducted his memorial service and turned it into a celebration of his life. At both my parents’ funerals, I thought it was a shame that the family and friends had not gathered like this while they were still alive and could appreciate the experience. My hospice client had such an experience. His spiritual community hosted a celebration of his life while he was still alive. It was a testament to his life and an affirmation of his connection to his friends and family.

I have not been to the graveside of my parents and Michael's (my deceased husband) ashes are buried in the front yard of the only house he ever owned under a tree we planted together. I don’t see myself walking up to the owners and asking if I can bow and pray in front of their tree. However recently a friend asked me to go with him and his family to his mother’s grave side for the first anniversary of her death. We placed flowers and sang hymns. It seemed very healing and life affirming for them. The one graveside I have attended with some regularity was that of my grandfather. He was buried in a concrete crypt in the field of the family farm. So he was always near at hand when I was at my grandmother’s house. I spent many hours over the years lying on his cement crypt pouring my heart out to him about my life and problems. I cried bitterly on his crypt when my mother died and asked him to watch over her. Of course I have no idea if he heard me, but this ritual that I started when I was seven has over many years given me comfort and a sense of connection to my ancestors. They recently moved my grandfather to the cemetery where my mother and grandmother are buried.

As a chaplain I suspect, I will attend many end of life rituals and even be asked to conduct the services. I believe this ritual is truly for the living and serves as a balm for the suffering they are experiencing. I have a new respect for these rituals and perhaps someday, I will go and place some flowers on my father’s grave and tell him how my life has turned out since he left.