When someone dies in Spain, or at least in a Spanish pueblo, it doesn’t take long to find out. Death notices are thoughtfully posted outside the local city halls, or pinned to the exterior blinds of shops. ‘Closed Because Of A Death in The Family’, they say. Read the whole thing and you’ll get the time and place of the funeral. They always say the deceased passed away cristianamente – I am not sure if that means something like ‘of natural causes’, but presume it doesn’t describe a fatal heart attack in a high-class brothel.
On the way back from the supermarket just now, I found out the mother of the owner of a local kidswear boutique passed away yesterday. The funeral service will be held in the local church tomorrow morning. I know the family, and was able to send my condolences.
This is the seventh death that has entered my life in the past two months, including my own mother’s. The wave has made me think about the protocol of death and how western funeral rites – the frenzy of the guest list, the catering, the video and flowers and so on – are basically designed to take one’s mind off what just happened. It delays your grief, which is perhaps not a bad thing.
Some years ago my mother got together with a bunch of her girlfriends over morning coffee. They each composed a letter of intent entitled ‘I am sorry I am dead’ – a sort of wish list to let family members know how they wanted their funerals to be. I am glad she did. We found out, amongst other things, that she wanted to be buried (being a Buddhist, we all presumed she would have preferred a cremation) which of the local funeral directors she wanted to take care of things and that she had a preference for an eco-coffin.
We probably would have gone for that anyway, but didn’t expect to be able to purchase a sleek white model made of recycled cardboard. Unlike wooden coffins, which are much more expensive, you can personalise these with your artwork or notes. Mum’s was plastered with kid’s drawings before it went into the ground.
On the way back from the supermarket just now, I found out the mother of the owner of a local kidswear boutique passed away yesterday. The funeral service will be held in the local church tomorrow morning. I know the family, and was able to send my condolences.
This is the seventh death that has entered my life in the past two months, including my own mother’s. The wave has made me think about the protocol of death and how western funeral rites – the frenzy of the guest list, the catering, the video and flowers and so on – are basically designed to take one’s mind off what just happened. It delays your grief, which is perhaps not a bad thing.
Some years ago my mother got together with a bunch of her girlfriends over morning coffee. They each composed a letter of intent entitled ‘I am sorry I am dead’ – a sort of wish list to let family members know how they wanted their funerals to be. I am glad she did. We found out, amongst other things, that she wanted to be buried (being a Buddhist, we all presumed she would have preferred a cremation) which of the local funeral directors she wanted to take care of things and that she had a preference for an eco-coffin.
We probably would have gone for that anyway, but didn’t expect to be able to purchase a sleek white model made of recycled cardboard. Unlike wooden coffins, which are much more expensive, you can personalise these with your artwork or notes. Mum’s was plastered with kid’s drawings before it went into the ground.
In Ghana coffins are famously colourful; carved creations made especially for the deceased. Most of my friends there bemoan how expensive funerals are. The protracted wakes, which last for days are an enormous financial burden for families that can barely affords them. At last year’s brilliant Chale Wote arts festival in Accra, mock funeral processions poked fun at the big business and bloated displays of sentiment that Ghanaian funerals have become.
Though still on the fringe, earth-friendly coffins and caskets are an emerging industry. A quick squiz on the web reveals woollen coffins, willow caskets, shrouds and this art-deco inspired designer number. The most radical burial concept I have seen lately comes from the Italian company Capsula Mundi. They would like to see the end of cemeteries all together, and instead place the deceased in the foetal position in egg-shaped pods made of biodegradable materials. Each grave would be marked not with a tombstone but a tree, creating what they call ‘sacred forests’. The idea is that the pod ‘seeds’ the tree, by feeding the soil with nutrients generated through the body’s decomposition.
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