“Morrie cried and laughed with them. And all the heartfelt things we never get to say to those we love, Morrie said that day. His ‘living funeral’ was a rousing success” – Mitch Albom, ‘Tuesdays with Morrie’
IN Ireland, we pride ourselves on doing death well. Communities rally around the bereaved, offering all sorts of practical supports when a loved one dies. Funerals take place swiftly and efficiently, encompassing familiar, comforting rituals. The Irish wake offers a heartfelt occasion for the living to remember and acknowledge the dead, and it is not uncommon for mourners to accompany the remains of a loved one throughout the night, sharing memories and stories. Oftentimes, these become treasured memories in themselves, as families find themselves spending time together, united in loss. Loved ones may hear things about the departed that they may never have known before. And for the most part, it is an opportunity to celebrate the goodness of that person, and the life they lived.
Isn’t it a shame, that the person who has died misses out on all of this?
It’s fair to assume that most of us would welcome the opportunity to hear the people we love the most saying nice things about us. The chance to reunite and relive memories with old friends. Hearing first handout just how much we and our contributions to society are appreciated and valued. So why wait until we are dead?
In ‘Tuesdays with Morrie’, ailing professor Morrie, facing his own death, reflects on the funeral of a colleague. “What a waste,” he said. “All those people saying all those wonderful things, and Irv never got to hear any of it.” And so, on a cold Sunday afternoon, at Morrie’s invitation, a small group of friends and family convened in his home, for his own living funeral.
The living funeral may be an unfamiliar, and even morbid concept, but it is not a new one. While undoubtedly, a little unusual, they have been ‘a thing’ in the US for years, and in Japan, where in the 1990s, actress Junko Yamada, televised her own living funeral, or ‘seizensō’ (a ‘funeral while alive’). Some indigenous populations and tribes, such as the Lakota Sioux of South Dakota make a point of repairing relationships, making amends, and distributing family heirlooms before death.
In pre-pandemic South Korea, in an effort to combat soaring suicide rates, the Hyowon Healing Centre began to offer free living funerals, so that those considering ending their lives could face their own mortality, and the finality and reality of death.
Living funerals are generally held for older individuals nearing the end of their life expectancy, or people who might have received a terminal diagnosis. They can offer the opportunity for people to say the things they might have always wanted to say, resolve any arguments, and make it very clear to whom prized possessions should go.
The tone of a living funeral tends to be more upbeat and celebratory than an actual funeral – the absence of grief will help with that – though bizarrely and somewhat morbidly, some choose to spend time in a coffin on the day. The person celebrating their own funeral can decide exactly how they want that celebration to go.
They can create their own running order, pick their own music and select or bribe the most flattering of eulogists. They will not miss out on the funeral feast. For those close to death, there is also a practicality and efficiency about gathering many people together in one place. And unlike an actual funeral, they can decide to invite only the people they like. For the terminally single a (if you’ll pardon the pun) the living funeral might be just the opportunity to avenge years of weddings, christenings and godparenting.
But it’s not all roses and shiny coffins. The idea of a living funeral is quite an extreme cultural shift, and a generational one, meaning that older relatives – if any remain – might not be so comfortable with the idea. There is a danger that the concept could be construed as emotionally manipulative, and while it could offer an opportunity to heal age-old rifts, it may also do exactly the opposite. In Japan, the seizensō is more frequently being used in an ageing society as a way of formally cutting ties with offspring who are struggling with supporting ageing parents, and has been criticised for the familial abuses that can occur as a result.
And of course, the day will come when you do die, and your loved ones will have to attend your funeral all over again.
There is a lot to be said for planning ahead, for removing the burden of funeral arrangements from grieving loved ones, making your wishes clear and embracing the fact that one day, we will all meet death face to face. But there is even more to be said for telling the people we love just how much we love them, while we still can.
OPINION: Could the Irish do living funerals?
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11.04.2024
“Morrie cried and laughed with them. And all the heartfelt things we never get to say to those we love, Morrie said that day. His ‘living funeral’ was a rousing success” – Mitch Albom, ‘Tuesdays with Morrie’
IN Ireland, we pride ourselves on doing death well. Communities rally around the bereaved, offering all sorts of practical supports when a loved one dies. Funerals take place swiftly and efficiently, encompassing familiar, comforting rituals. The Irish wake offers a heartfelt occasion for the living to remember and acknowledge the dead, and it is not uncommon for mourners to accompany the remains of a loved one throughout the night, sharing memories and stories. Oftentimes, these become treasured memories in themselves, as families find themselves spending time together, united in loss. Loved ones may hear things about the departed that they may never have known before. And for the most part, it is an opportunity to celebrate the goodness of that person, and the life they lived.
Isn’t it a shame, that the person who has died misses out on all of this?
It’s fair to assume that most of us would welcome the opportunity to hear the people we love the most saying nice........
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