Like most people, I remember my first dead body. It was that of a friend, a man who had lived a full life, touched others’ lives, been touched, been a seeker and finder and a guide for some. He was also a regular guy who loved to laugh and to drink and eat cheese sandwiches. When my friend died, his friends and family got to sit with his body. This doesn’t happen often these days, in Britain at least, and it really helped us, the living, say goodbye.
The key point I take from a recent talk by ceremonial undertakers and sextons Claire and Rupert Callender is that “Funerals are for the living.” ...
There are approximately 455 more words in this article.
To read the rest of this article, please buy this issue, or join the Resurgence Trust. As a member you will receive access to the complete archive of magazines from May 1966.
If you are already a member, please Sign in
