Virtual funerals give survivors real, intimate space for grief
I didn’t know my friend was dying until after he’d died. A mutual friend found me on Facebook and said he needed to talk to me about Rick. Something was clearly wrong. Could coronavirus have come for my friend?
Rick had suffered a heart attack at his Palm Springs home three days earlier. He was in the hospital alone, and according to our mutual friend it wasn’t looking good. News was moving weirdly, slowly. A few minutes later, confirmation came. Rick had died that day.
My friend Rick was in his 60s. His passing, while sudden, wasn’t related to COVID19 or any freak accident. Rick’s was a regular death in an irregular time. A widower, Rick had been without his beloved husband, Ron, for six years. Perhaps this heart attack finally reunited them. My heart aches, not only for Rick’s death, but also for the circumstances under which he was rushed to the hospital. Those closest to Rick couldn’t see him; his brother couldn’t fly to Rick’s bedside. My friend was tended to by first responders in masks that hid their faces. And then he was gone. What do we do now? Under normal circumstances, we’d throw a big Palm Springs party for Rick. When Ron died, Rick hosted a hundred of us for a lively martinifueled memorial soiree at San Francisco’s City Club. But Rick’s death won’t be marked with such fanfare. Instead, his memorial service took place on Zoom. That’s right. We Zoomed an online funeral.
As it turns out, digitally streamed funerals are a whole thing now. From all over the globe, friends and family of the newly deceased sit before computer screens to mourn. Due to COVID19, gatherings of any size are mostly forbidden. Still, our rituals continue — at least as far as Zoom will allow, which for now is a maximum of 100 people for 40 minutes on a free account.
“If you die,” my husband assured me, “I’ll upgrade my Zoom to a paid account.”
Rick’s cremated remains were flown to his family in New York, along with Ron’s ashes, located among Rick’s treasured possessions. A tiny family service was held in person before the rest of us, all of Rick’s friends, logged on. We were in our homes and in mostly casual clothes. Some attendees fumbled with the technology; the occasional dog barked. As I scanned through the faces, knowing only a handful of them, I imagined Rick would be bemused by his Zoom memorial. After all, he loved reality television.
Right away, my assumptions of what a Zoom funeral would entail were discarded. A rabbi, a very real and very serious rabbi, was leading the proceedings. It was suddenly clear that Rick’s online service wouldn’t be an awkward mashup of strangers stumbling over each other but instead a somber and spiritual occasion.
The rabbi muted us and began proceedings in accordance with Rick’s Jewish faith. Earlier in the week, Rick’s brother had emailed to ask if I’d say a few words, so I’d planned ahead by turning on my son Leo’s favorite movie, an Easterthemed 90 minutes of nonsense called “Hop.” As the Zoom funeral progressed, I could sense Leo growing more and more bored with “Hop.” I needed him to hold on until after I spoke. I might be Zooming into this funeral from my kitchen, but this was still a funeral.
When it was my turn to remember Rick, Leo was defiantly over “Hop.” As soon as I started to speak, Leo was at my feet, clamoring at my knees. I continued as Leo changed course and ran in circles around the kitchen island. The distraction was a challenge, one I worried would annoy or offend my fellow funeral attendees. But the only attendees that mattered, the ones who I hoped were somehow there, were Rick and Ron — and they would have been delighted.
Often after funerals, I find I’ve come to know whoever passed a little bit better. I get to see their family, their other friends, all their different circles. This Zoom funeral managed to magnify that experience.
I saw Rick’s family, both biological and chosen, speak about him from the comfort of their couches. Maybe they spoke so freely because the surroundings were familiar and the rest of us were far away, or maybe that was just what Rick’s personality inspired. Either way, despite the miles that separated the dozens tuning in, Rick’s funeral was intimate, it was genuine, and it was an appropriate honor for a man so many of us loved.