While New Zealand’s death-positivity movement is still fledgling, among industry professionals there is growing understanding of the shifts in society towards more hands-on engagement with death and death care. Kristine Rose, the Nelson-based director of Choice Home Funerals, points out that the movement represents a rediscovery of old rituals, rather than being anything new.
“All through human history and up until about 1940, people died at home and remained at home, cared for by family members until their burial. Contact with death was just an ordinary part of life.”
Kristine gives families who wish to keep their deceased at home advice on practicalities such as keeping the body cool (ice packs, dry ice or a cooling blanket), washing and dressing, and being with them until the funeral and disposal. She usually recommends families keep the deceased at home for one to three days, explaining that the changes to the body are, in most cases, very gradual, and that the benefits of doing so are significant in terms of a chance to process grief. “Having time with the body of the loved one … really helps families to get used to the fact that they aren’t really there in the body any more. It’s a tactile experience that makes the death more real for them.”
Kristine’s experience of losing her sister at age 17 was a catalyst for her journey into home-based death care.
“Viewing my sister’s dead body briefly at a funeral home, and the very abrupt way she was taken for cremation, was just awful. Not having a body to grieve over really messed with my head. I kept thinking, ‘Did it really happen?’
“I just didn’t want to be in this culture where we dealt with death and dying in this detached way. I’ve always been really interested in other cultures and I became aware there were other ways of dealing with things.”
At Melbourne’s Festival of Death and Dying, Kristine worked with artist Maree Clarke to create a kopi, a clay hat worn by indigenous Australians until they felt the worst period of mourning had passed. It was a meaningful experience for Kristine, who has Aboriginal ancestry. “It’s those kinds of physical experiences that are so important for us in processing grief,” she says.
Today, one of the most rewarding aspects of her work is seeing the way death care connects families. “There’s always a lot of talking and remembering, and laughter mixed with the tears. You can go in and sit with the body at midnight if you want to, or sleep beside them or talk to them or have a good cry whenever that wave of emotion hits you. Once you’ve experienced this, it seems strange that our default is to call the professionals as soon as someone dies. Then they arrive with a gurney, and the next time you see that person you’ve loved so deeply is at the funeral home, and you have a short time to say your goodbyes, in that very formal and unfamiliar environment.”
In ‘death-positive’ style, I do a little window-shopping of caskets in Nelson. Kristine’s business offers simple cardboard coffins, which cost $260 and are “a hit with kids, who love having the chance to help decorate them”, as well as pine and plywood caskets from local makers Return to Sender, Departure Lounge and Down to Earth. I’m torn between a rough-sawn pine casket and the romantic shroud-bearer, which looks as though it’s ready to head out to sea. These would cost me $1195 and $785 respectively. While I’m not quite ready to purchase a casket to keep in the carport, my coffin-cruising reveals to me that there’s something cathartic about thinking through your own burial preferences.
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“All through human history and up until about 1940, people died at home and remained at home, cared for by family members until their burial. Contact with death was just an ordinary part of life.”
Kristine gives families who wish to keep their deceased at home advice on practicalities such as keeping the body cool (ice packs, dry ice or a cooling blanket), washing and dressing, and being with them until the funeral and disposal. She usually recommends families keep the deceased at home for one to three days, explaining that the changes to the body are, in most cases, very gradual, and that the benefits of doing so are significant in terms of a chance to process grief. “Having time with the body of the loved one … really helps families to get used to the fact that they aren’t really there in the body any more. It’s a tactile experience that makes the death more real for them.”
Kristine’s experience of losing her sister at age 17 was a catalyst for her journey into home-based death care.
“Viewing my sister’s dead body briefly at a funeral home, and the very abrupt way she was taken for cremation, was just awful. Not having a body to grieve over really messed with my head. I kept thinking, ‘Did it really happen?’
“I just didn’t want to be in this culture where we dealt with death and dying in this detached way. I’ve always been really interested in other cultures and I became aware there were other ways of dealing with things.”
At Melbourne’s Festival of Death and Dying, Kristine worked with artist Maree Clarke to create a kopi, a clay hat worn by indigenous Australians until they felt the worst period of mourning had passed. It was a meaningful experience for Kristine, who has Aboriginal ancestry. “It’s those kinds of physical experiences that are so important for us in processing grief,” she says.
Today, one of the most rewarding aspects of her work is seeing the way death care connects families. “There’s always a lot of talking and remembering, and laughter mixed with the tears. You can go in and sit with the body at midnight if you want to, or sleep beside them or talk to them or have a good cry whenever that wave of emotion hits you. Once you’ve experienced this, it seems strange that our default is to call the professionals as soon as someone dies. Then they arrive with a gurney, and the next time you see that person you’ve loved so deeply is at the funeral home, and you have a short time to say your goodbyes, in that very formal and unfamiliar environment.”
In ‘death-positive’ style, I do a little window-shopping of caskets in Nelson. Kristine’s business offers simple cardboard coffins, which cost $260 and are “a hit with kids, who love having the chance to help decorate them”, as well as pine and plywood caskets from local makers Return to Sender, Departure Lounge and Down to Earth. I’m torn between a rough-sawn pine casket and the romantic shroud-bearer, which looks as though it’s ready to head out to sea. These would cost me $1195 and $785 respectively. While I’m not quite ready to purchase a casket to keep in the carport, my coffin-cruising reveals to me that there’s something cathartic about thinking through your own burial preferences.
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