The act of loss : Why ceremony still matters.

Written by Helen Parker

As all the dog owners among us will appreciate, when you’re out and about with your pooch, you get to know a whole array of people and get involved in loads of conversations without actually knowing the dog owner’s name! So, it was the case a few weeks ago, that my dog Sorcha and I met Molly the retriever and her “dad” while out on our morning constitutional.    

We stopped to chat, and Molly’s dad shared that he’d received the sad news earlier in the week that his long-standing friend had passed away unexpectedly after some seemingly routine surgery ,and how upset he was . A perfectly natural and understandable reaction of course. He then went on to say that the family had opted for a direct cremation, so there would be no funeral ceremony.  Something he found difficult to accept.

However, what struck me was that he was not just reflecting on his friend’s sudden passing, but on something deeper.  He felt that he was being denied the chance to say goodbye. No gathering of family and friends. No shared space for grief. No eulogy. No funeral tea afterwards and the chance to recount so many shared stories. And  definitely no space to process the loss.

Mind you, with all the advertising of direct cremations in TV these days, it is hardly surprising that the family took this option. Every advert break seems to contain a middle-aged couple smiling over a cup of tea, telling each other they’ve saved their families money by booking a direct cremation for themselves. So, no wonder the family felt it was the preferred option.  A practical way to sidestep costs, sold  to them with phrases such as “ simple” and “dignified”.

Skipping the ceremony for direct cremation feels impersonal. Like getting the bin men round to discard an old sofa. The art of ceremony – the songs, poems eulogies are more than mere formalities. They honour a person’s life and provide a space for those left behind to grieve, process their loss and remember . Together.  

I remember someone once saying that they hoped that death would be like falling asleep at a party when you were wee.  Gentle arms would lift you up and carry you into bed, without disturbing you. So, to me, the lack of ceremony is like being carried into bed without being tucked in properly. No gentle kiss on the forehead to say goodnight.  Ok you might be in bed.  But  not with the love and care you deserve.

I talked to Molly’s dad about things he might want to do to remember his friend. Go for a pint to the pub they once went to together, with a few of their pals. Play a round of golf on his favourite course. Or write a letter, saying his own heartfelt goodbye to his friend. And then burn it in the flame of a lit candle. He agreed to consider my suggestions but said he’d still miss going to a funeral, because, according to him you get to find out things about the person in their eulogy that you would otherwise never have known.

 As a ceremonialist, I hold fast to the belief that ceremony and rituals matter. They have been with us since the dawn of time. It's not about extravagance, or show. It's about holding space for each other.  Marking arrivals, departures and all other rites of passage.     

In this modern, cost cutting world, may we never lose sight of the power of coming together in ceremony.