Ways to Make Your Funeral Better, and More Like Pope Francis'

By Amy Cunningham

Last week’s funeral for Pope Francis was a lavish affair. But here are simple rituals and graceful, loving gestures I noticed last Saturday that, as a funeral director, I’d like to see more people consider for their own end-of-life events.

Cue the bells

Timeless, mournful basilica bells announced the pope’s death, calling the devout to worship.  Bells, of course, have a long history with funerals in Europe, and are considered symbolic of God’s voice, a solemn call. Here in Brooklyn, I feel blessed to function as a modern funeral director within a nearly 200 year-old cemetery where a tower gate bell still tolls every time a funeral cortege drives under the arches.

But if your cemetery, crematory or house of worship run bell-less, ask your loved ones (seriously or playfully) to make some kind of large noise to honor the momentousness of your departure. Ask family members to strike a Tibetan bowl. Or play a particular hymn or song at high volume. A stirring round of applause is lovely to offer. Pope Francis got heaps of street applause. Simply say to your loved ones that it’s okay with you for them to conclude your funeral with applause or even a standing ovation, if they feel so moved (or log this as an idea for funerals you yourself might plan for someone else). Think out whatever note and noise to strike is best in advance, and —you may laugh, but I’m serious—place these requests in your plans. The bell might not toll for thee these days, if you don’t ask for it.

It’s Okay to Look Dead

I wish I could make you more fully privy to the frothy chat among friends who are embalmers in the private Facebook groups I frequent. They were so upset with the presentation of the dear pope's body, driven crazy by the stiff hands that hovered strangely above his belly. Yes, Pope Francis didn’t look his best. But here's the deal: It was his wish to avoid harsh chemicals, as I understand it. Depending upon which news reports you trust, embalming was either skipped completely or a his handlers used a simpler, less invasive method. 

You too can keep it natural at the time of your death. And embalming is never required by law. Ask your loved ones (as happened in the last episode of "Dying for Sex") to see that your open mouth at death is closed, request a gentle touch to lower your eyelids. Instruct them: "Wash the salt tears from my cheeks and smooth my hair." Encourage your family members and friends to step in at the time of any death, stay engaged. Whatever simple steps we take to seize agency may prove to be transformative.

Viewings are important. Embalmers are artists. But you may not need one. Once, in my presence, two daughters confided to their aunt that their deceased mom, who hadn’t been embalmed, shouldn't be viewed because she "didn't look like herself."

"Of course, she doesn't look like herself," the wise aunt said. "She's DEAD. That's why people should see her!"

Photo CNS/Vatican Media

Choose a casket that looks like you: 

While press reports called the pope’s wedge-shaped coffin the "simple box" he’d requested, it was indeed a work of art. Study the gorgeous carpentry, dovetail joinery, wood inlays, and slope from high head to lower foot. “Exposed joinery really highlights the fact it was handmade,” says woodworker Ethan Canan of Canan Originals. And the coffin’s “simplicity makes its more interesting.” Who makes coffins like this? The Italians, of course. No strangers to great architecture.  

Pope Francis requested a pauper’s box (see funeral of Bishop Desmond Tutu). The lesson telegraphed to the rest of us is not to spend thousands. I ask you: what sort of statement do you wish to land? Are you dark wood or lighter wood person? Grainy? Smooth? Wicker loving? Linked to Asian lines and bamboo? Wildly colorful? Shiny or matte? Then connect with your local funeral home to see what's available so your loved ones don't have enter a showroom and make decisions with Kleenex in their hands. The right box, shroud (or green burial board or tray) represents your essense. It’s probably out there getting ready for you. And if it’s not out there yet, you yourself can create it. We once helped a woman who’d asked a friend to create a burial garment for her out of all the crazy silk robes, blouses and scarves in her closet. The final result was marvelous.

Ask for your own "Rogito" to accompany you

Wow. Old tradition, new to me. A rogito is a document, deed or I’d call it a credo, that summarizes a pope’s life story and accomplishments. Vatican attendants read the rogito manuscript at the funeral just prior to rolling it up into a protective metal tube that's then placed at the pope's feet and sealed into the casket. 

Funeral directors have for years appreciated the "memory tube" that's part of the Batesville casket product line—a small glass tube built into Batesville caskets that can hold the name of the deceased, dates of birth and death, so that in the event of a flood or global disaster, the identity of the deceased would still be preserved. 

The Vatican’s rogito concept is many times more gorgeous. Your rogito could be your ethical will, or a statement of your life's purpose, or a transcript of all of the eulogies that were offered in your honor. Rolling up whatever it is, and placing it neatly at the foot-end of your casket provides yet another lovely closing ritual, symbolic of the fact that even in the face of death, you can take what meanings you made along with you.  "All that you've loved is all you own," write the great Tom Waits and Kathleen Brennan.

GO BACK TO THE EARTH

 No frilly gold and marble tomb within the Vatican for our Pope Francis. When outlining his end-of-life wishes, he wrote: “The tomb must be in the earth; simple, without particular decoration and with the only inscription: Franciscus." He left wishes for just one wooden coffin, not the usually three serving as protective vaults. We honor the pope for the model he provides the rest of us, and strongly feel—due to all these things and the courageous deeds he completed this lifetime—he now knows the peace we all seek.

Amy Cunningham