What Do You Plan to Do with Your Body When You Die? - A Mindful Approach to Dementia & Psychedelics
That was a question posed to Roshi Joan Halifax from a participant during an end-of-life training I was attending in the early 2000s. She reflected that as a Buddhist, she wanted her body to serve a purpose, but also she wanted her body undisturbed for the crucial three days after physical death so that the fragile bardo state was protected and undisturbed. She answered that she didn’t know. Maybe now she does, but she didn’t at that time. I reflected deeply on this perspective I had not considered.
My mother had donated her body to science. The process was so respectful that my husband, Henry, and I decided to be signed up through the same organization. Donating our bodies to science helped me solve the first part: letting your body serve a purpose. Due to the fact that it took more than three days to transport my mother’s body, I felt the three days of relative tranquility also met the criteria.
It was a Tuesday morning, which turned out to be less than forty-eight hours before Henry died, that the body donation organization informed me that they don’t service the state of Vermont. The last thing I wanted to do was get distracted from staying in the peaceful bubble of presence surrounding Henry. Be that as it may, as a family we had to come to a decision and FAST.
A thorough conversation with my daughters, along with one of my sons-in-law (the one who headed the What To Do With The Body arrangements), explored available options:
Body Donation to a local hospital
Green Burial
Cremation
Here is how we went through the options in priority order:
Body Donation - Since Henry had been signed up for body donation, we considered this as his first choice, so we pursued this option. We quickly learned that body donation to Dartmouth-Hitchcock Hospital was not possible.
Terramation, also known as natural organic reduction (NOR), is a concept I had just learned about. In fact, I had heard a terramation service was opening very close to where we lived and is legal in Vermont. The body is covered with natural materials in a climate-controlled environment for close to a month until the body decomposes and becomes regenerative soil. It was still half a year away before this service would be available locally. It made no sense to send a body across the country to access such a service. The cost also seemed prohibitive.
Green Burial - A green burial had always seemed like a natural process that is practical and heart-centered, as well as environmentally sound. We were all on board with this choice. Two friends were helping to provide mushroom spores to bury with the body. We could have ordered a mushroom shroud, now readily available from various vendors, but spores themselves do the trick. Spores are not even necessary, but we all liked the idea and knew Henry would too. It was the beginning of February, which in the current year presented a roadblock to this choice. The ground was too frozen due to the historically low temperatures of the harsh winter. No one could dig. Though we could have kept the body in an unheated sheltered area such as a barn or shed, as one friend had done with her mother, or under refrigeration at the funeral home, these options did not feel right.
That is how we circled back to the remaining option of cremation. When we initiated the conversation about What To Do With The Body, one of my daughters voiced a strong reaction against burning her father’s body. A week after his death, we learned that there are hydrocremation services in a nearby town. This is a more eco-friendly, water-based alternative to traditional flame cremation and decomposes the body within six hours. My guess is this may have been our choice had we known about it. Leaf & Water cremation services several states, including Vermont. Researching it now, I do see the cost can be a prohibitive factor. As a tribute to my daughter and the ingrained skill of listening that has been cultivated over the years by witnessing Henry, who deeply listened to and took in what had been said and considered the diverse perspectives, interests, and overall intention, my daughter was able to fully endorse and be completely comfortable with a traditional cremation despite her initial reaction against this choice. We proceeded with the cremation through the local funeral home.
The funeral home is just a few miles from the house, prominently situated on the main road just by the heart of town. Interestingly, once the decision was made to work with the local funeral home, I immediately felt a strong connection to the generations of families the funeral home has serviced. I now share in the drive into town, always reminding me and connecting me to this unbroken and unseen thread that weaves us together. The power in that brings a strength and reassurance of a humanity in us all that we share in love, grief, loss, resilience—in life and death. It weaves neighbors and families into community.
What I didn’t expect was the flood of emotions that came over me—not just me, but my eldest daughter too—when we went to pick up the remains. Thinking we were going to be handed a package with an urn inside, we were not prepared to walk into the viewing room to find the urn surrounded by flowers on display.
I have been told the emotions will flow in and out like waves. This continues to be true; seeing the urn was the first tidal wave of unexpected emotion. It was also a moment that brought a shared experience with my daughter to a depth of ever-deepening love. We quickly called my other daughter, who was with two of her daughters downtown. The five of us sat pensively looking at the displayed urn, tears welling up from all five of us at different moments—the beginning of a process made more public and shared firsthand with my seven- and eight-year-old granddaughters. The beauty of a full life and the sorrow of its loss.
As I write this, I reflect on how Henry’s ashes have been carried into the wind by my two daughters in two different places, both places dear to him. My daughter, who traveled back to her home in Toronto, lives just a pace from Lake Ontario. On a family walk to the beach, a scattering was taken by the winter’s wind on a sunny day. My other daughter, on a family trip to California, visited some of the sites founded by Paramahansa Yogananda. Sites Henry and I had taken our own daughters to in their early years. These places, homes in Henry’s heart, fill our hearts with this homecoming of sorts.
When I first came home from the funeral home, I didn’t know exactly what to do with the ashes. A friend reminded me how bones are considered relics in the Tibetan Buddhist tradition, buried in stupas and other places for protection. My Hawaiian friend, who recently visited, told of the traditional Hawaiian burial of boiling the body, removing the flesh, and taking the bones to volcanic spots or other hidden places. It is known as Iwi Kupuna, literally meaning ancestral bones. They are thought to hold the person’s spirit and revered as sacred. These two understandings helped me to change my relationship from one of cautionary regard to one of deep blessings.
Now the bulk of Henry’s ashes remain in the beautiful handmade paper and pressed flowers heart-shaped box that was used for other relatives. It sits near other items of meditation. I plan to have them join a sacred spot in our forest along with our mothers and my grandmother. These ritual spaces hold meaning, and their connection in the mycelial network of the forest floor, as they become part of it, may grow and manifest in ways unseen but will remain forever present in spirit.
- Lauren Alderfer, PhD.
