A good funeral, poet/undertaker Thomas Lynch says, gets the dead where they need to go and the living where they need to be. When my husband Helmut died four years ago in the middle of the Covid pandemic, the usual mourning rituals had to be significantly modified. Not all of this was disappointing. It was a privilege for me, for example, to wash his body myself and, with the help of a son, dress him after death. The funeral service had us as a family separated into three “bubbles” but was meaningful nevertheless, as music, readings, eulogy, and homily flowed smoothly via the technological help of one of our pastors. We very much missed the physical presence and hugs of other people but, as a livestream production, it was possible for local friends and family as well as those in faraway places like Winnipeg and Paraguay to participate.
Once Helmut knew his diagnosis was probably terminal, he built his ashes box himself, of two favourite woods–maple and walnut. The plan was for cremation and then interment in a columbarium niche. The first part happened, and then four years passed with the box and ashes in the apartment with me. I didn’t mind at all, to be honest. But the time had come, and the opportunity, for the second part. This month, the whole family was together in B.C. for the wedding celebration of our daughter and her wife who were married five years ago, also during Covid, but sans the party. The couple graciously yielded a day of their celebration week for the interment of Helmut’s ashes.
I decided I wanted to walk to the cemetery and all the children and available grandchildren (some were in university classes and couldn’t come) gladly joined me. It’s about two kilometres from my apartment to the cemetery, but everyone’s fit to walk. The nearly-nine-year-old granddaughter wanted to know why we were doing this and I told her about the practice of pallbearers, about the symbolism of carrying our dead where they need to go. It took us about half an hour, down 56th Street, the main street of Tsawwassen, and whoever wished to, had their “turn with the urn.” (It was heavy!). I enjoyed this walk and the various conversations enroute, this carrying of our husband, father, father-in-law, grandfather at the pace of our feet.
A granddaughter takes her turn.
At the cemetery, we gathered under a canopy. I shared a few thoughts and memories, as did others, the granddaughters read some selected scripture texts, we spoke a litany of commital together, and the three children placed the box in the niche. Then the cemeterian came and closed the niche and placed the plaque over it. It felt emotional for many of us, but good.
I’ve startled a few people already with the photo of the niche plaque, because my name is also there. Please don’t be, it’s what my parents did with their cemetery stone, and it feels perfectly comfortable for ours. A niche has room for two “urns” and it’s where my cremains will go as well. Whenever; year only to be added.
After the ceremony, we gathered at the home of the oldest son and family, not far from the cemetery. Since I’d baked cinnamon buns for our lunch together and since I needed to be alone for a bit after the interment, I walked back down 56th Street, just me this time, and that felt necessary and symbolic too, and I picked up the pans of buns and brought them to the house in the car. We had a lovely day together, all of us gradually turning our thoughts to the upcoming marriage celebration. (Which turned out to be a wonderful day too.)
Borrowing Bones 
Oh Dora, this is all so familiar territory for me. I still have Hardy’s urn here. Last summer while our whole family was together we scattered ashes over the river and blew bubbles in his memory as we did so. It was hard for me to be at the cottage without him and I had an unexpected grief attack (you’ll know what I mean). Someone noticed and soon loving arms surrounded me. Perhaps this summer we will take his urn to the place designated for it.
Yes, this is also familiar to you. You too are doing various rituals and remembrances. I love that you blew bubbles in Hardy’s honour!
Thank you , Dora, for allowing us to walk to the cemetery with you. What a beautiful remembering and honouring. ❤️
So meaningful to have you along on the walk, Haide! Thank you.
Thank you for sharing your walk! What a wonderful way to celebrate Helmut’s love of life and your families love.
And thank you, Sandra, for taking the time to comment!
I kept Sue’s ashes for about a year before burying them during the pandemic in the cemetery where my name is also on the stone. The burying of ashes is a significant event. Thanks for sharing.
Yes, it is. Which you well know. Thank you.
I loved this whole post of yours. Touched a chord in me. Mom died during COVID, and the week my own family was gathering for the wedding of a daughter. I have often wished that our larger family could have celebrated Mom’s life differently than in the small intimate gathering we held in Taos because it felt like we hadn’t recognized the many parts of Mom’s life that were full of her gifts and presence in a way the last years of her life were not. So I’m glad you could be together and walk the ashes to a resting place, and afterwards celebrate a wedding. Something about that is particularly sweet to me.
Oh thank you! You know what a Covid death involves and I’m sorry that you couldn’t celebrate your mom’s life differently. What a gift the memory of her can continue to be to you, however.
O my, Dora. This life! And you also on the inexplicable wavering journey of life with death and death with life. Beautifully written and spoken; it pinches the heart. and blesses it too. Your acceptance – no doubt hard-won – is rife, and filling. I often take ‘notes’ from you much love m
Hey, you’re so dear to me, you know, and I thank you for your kind words!
Dora, what a poignant journey you shared with us. I am especially touched by the conversation with your granddaughter as you walked along. As you know, I treasure my interactions with my grandchildren that are personal and intimate. I am inspired by your care and attention to the importance of ritual and honouring your dear husband with the family. Truly a legacy of love that you and he are passing on. Thank you for sharing this experience so beautifully. Love, Marjorie
Thank you Marjorie! I in turn am inspired by your various meaningful interactions with your grandchildren. They are intentional and, as you say, intimate.
Thanks for the tremendous kindness of sharing your story in this way 😊
Thank you Kevin. It’s a privilege to have you as a reader.
Your writing always makes me more grateful for life — for mine, for yours, for all we love.
Thank you Shirley! I in turn am grateful for your friendship!