A lot of people, famous people, have been dying recently, and this has set me thinking. Of course, a lot of ordinary people have died too, ordinary in the eyes of the world but most of them special to someone, special for something, and we should not forget them either.
David Bowie recently startled many, his own family included perhaps, by the arrangements he had made for his disposal. It transpired that he had left instructions that his mortal remains should be privately cremated, incinerated without ceremony of any kind, so privately that only he would be there! Was he trying to spare the rest of the family, and the thousands of fans who would doubtlessly have tried to attend, any further grief? Was it recognition that the important bit was over? He was, putting it simply, gone. Bowie’s action avoided the stage show that big US funerals and some of those in this country have become in many cases. The great white or gold coffins that we read of in The American Way of Death, the immensely expensive bouquets spelling out ‘Dad’ or here perhaps ‘Ziggy’? The ultimate showman, in this case, slipped quietly and humbly away at the end of the show.
Denying the victim a funeral ceremony certainly removes something from the would-be mourners. But what, or who is the funeral for? This last can be a far more complicated question than it may seem at first sight. The cremation, or burial as the case may be, are processes for the disposal of the body. That’s what they are for. The service which we attach to the disposal process: who is that for? It is the final ‘rite of passage’ but what form should the proceedings take? If indeed there are to be any, and it nearly always seems there are. Bowie presented a remarkable exception to the norm.
The funeral, perhaps, is for those who live on and who wish to mark the passing of a friend, a relative, an icon in Bowie’s case, in a certain way… stamping the seal of their own religious hopes and fantasies on the occasion (comforting and re-assuring themselves that they will be reunited with their loved one, and so on). Harmless enough, on the whole? Should, then, it be shaped in accordance with their wishes, particularly if they are especially religious, or more simply possibly, in accordance with, and out of respect for the wishes of the deceased (particularly if they were not)? Conversely, should the atheistic, left behind, feel obliged to afford full church honours to the victim, thus honouring beliefs which in many cases have died along with the deceased? A recent feature on Woman’s Hour highlighted the various parties whom we might feel we ought to please and/or comfort – not just family but close friends, colleagues, professional, sporting or social companions, each with their own vision of what the deceased might have wanted, each with their own needs. Bowie spared more trouble than he could have imagined perhaps.
Above all, we should be honouring a past life, hopefully long and happily lived and ended – but celebrating where someone has been, rather than a future life, a place where not everybody, victim included perhaps, may believe they are going! I am all for remembrance, commemoration or whatever you want to call it. So, wait a while, until the ash has dispersed or the ground begun to settle, THEN have a well-considered, well-presented event; bring together words and music or art which exemplify the character of the deceased – whether this be stuff they created personally or, in the case of more humble folk, the stuff of their dreams, perhaps; favourite poems, music and so on.
You could say, at the end of the day, the victim’s day that is, that they themselves will not be there and so why be concerned by whatever form any funeral service might take? Let the others, those left alive, have their way. Die and let live, so to speak. But I do wonder what, honestly, is best…
Dr John Pearson is Chair of SOF trustees. He lives in Newcastle and recently retired from his job as a lecturer at Northumbria University.