There are new ways to say goodbye. While many still turn to the funeral rites that have comforted generations, others, led by baby boomers, are taking a different approach than their parents and grandparents. They are instead choosing individualized and symbolic memorials: a party with a punk-rock band for a tattoo artist, or a gathering at an airport hangar for the devoted mechanic. “It’s more about a life lived than a ritual of religion,” says Jimmy Olson, a spokesperson for the National Funeral Directors Association.
A changing society is fueling this trend. Nearly a quarter of adults in the U.S. aren’t affiliated with any organized religion, according to a 2014 report from the Pew Research Center. A rise in cremations, which now outnumber burials, gives leeway on when and where to hold memorials. Although there are some laws about where ashes can be scattered, many people spread them surreptitiously in especially meaningful places. In the past year, more than half of around 1,000 people surveyed had attended a memorial in a non-traditional place—in a backyard, atop a mountain, aboard a boat—according to the NFDA. These non-traditional events have given rise to funeral celebrants, who custom design memorials for anywhere from $250 to $1,000.
Pam Vetter, a certified funeral celebrant in Los Angeles, says she decided to go into the field after her sister died of cancer and the pastor at their church refused to show a farewell video. Ms. Vetter has a podium, speaker system, and CD player that she brings to hold memorials in gardens, homes and on board yachts. The pull between old and new leaves some unsettled. Jennifer FitzPatrick, a caregiving expert who writes about grief and advises people to write down their end-of-life wishes, was alarmed when her dad, Hank Lubaczewski, said he didn’t want a funeral. When he died in June 2017, Ms. FitzPatrick, from a Polish Catholic family in Philadelphia, worried about her older relatives’ reaction but decided, with her siblings, to invite people to Giuseppe’s Restaurant for spaghetti and meatballs and Coors Light, her dad’s favorite beer. They brought along his iPod shuffle, with his playlist including Tom Petty and Barbra Streisand. Everyone said it was “So Hank.” Still, Ms. FitzPatrick felt something was missing. “I’m not a practicing Catholic, but I do find peace in some rituals and funerals.”
Even as rules are shed, some constants remain. William Hoy, a grief counselor and professor of medical humanities at Baylor University, urges people not to delay memorials too long, which can happen when someone is cremated. He remembers one daughter who wanted a spring memorial for her mother who had died before the Christmas holidays. The older woman’s friends were unsettled. “The problem is you put everyone’s grief on hold,” he says.
Here are four stories of people who chose to honor their loved ones with very personal ceremonies and destinations.
Starfish, Seashells and a Surfboard: Christian Fuhrer, 50, never considered a traditional church service for his brother, Cameron, an artist and musician who owned tattoo parlors in Desert Palms, Calif., and died in May 2017. The brothers were only 22 months apart, loved punk rock music and surfed together. Christian thought a celebration of life, which he came to call Camapalooza, more fitting. “We always felt, he and I, that when we went, we wanted a big party. No doom and gloom,” he says. The ideal place, he thought, would be by the ocean and in July, close to his brother’s birthday. He remembered a Bavarian beer hall called Old World Village in Huntington Beach where the brothers watched punk rock-bands decades before. It was a few blocks from the beach, casual and big. He created a Facebook event for Cameron Fuhrer’s Celebration of Life, inviting family and friends. His parents and sister helped call relatives who might not be on Facebook and deserved a personal phone call. His wife made centerpieces and display tables filled with photos, starfish and seashells, noting the former was a symbol of regeneration and the latter for protection of the soul. Guests were invited to take one. They invited guests to sign Cameron’s suroard A punk-rock band called the Detours volunteered to play. Another friend made the food. Several artists created pieces for a silent auction to benefit a college fund for Cameron’s sons. A Buddhist friend prepared a spiritual reading. His father said a prayer. A video of Cameron through the years was shown. About 300 people came through the day. Just before sunset, family and close friends went down to Huntington Beach, waded into the ocean, arms draped around each other’s shoulders, ashes in hand, for a final farewell. He posted the Cameron video for those who couldn’t attend. “The thing to remember about a celebration of life is that they are not for the dead, but for the living,” he says.
Rose Petals Under a Giant Spruce: Ben Martin, 65, handled two memorial ceremonies for his cousin, Barbara Dalberg—one just after her death in 2011 and another two years later. The cousins belonged to the same interfaith spiritual community in Denver, which she founded and where he ministered. When Dr. Dalberg, who taught about death and dying at Regis University, learned she had an inoperable tumor in her throat, she began planning her memorial service and asked Mr. Martin to help and officiate. “She was actively involved in what she wanted and how she wanted to be remembered,” says Mr. Martin. The memorial was a mix of rituals from their faith community, and readings and songs that she selected, including “Somewhere over the Rainbow” at its conclusion. It was held at a church down the street from where she grew up—not because of religious ties but because she remembered her brothers playing basketball in its gym. Two years later, Mr. Martin received Dr. Dalberg’s ashes from her family, who felt something should be done with them but weren’t sure what. Though involved with her memorial service, she didn’t make any plans for them. He decided to scatter them beneath a towering spruce in the foothills of the Colorado Rockies near a retreat house and chapel she had visited often. It was one of a group of ancient spruce trees that Dr. Dahlberg had called the Sisters. Friends came and took turns reading prayers from different religions. The ashes were mixed with dried petals of some of the 75 white roses given to Dr. Dalberg on her 75th birthday, five days before she died. Marking the spot is a white marble stone inscribed with her name, the dates of her birth and death and the phrase “I walk in Beauty” referencing a Navajo prayer. “We made sure she was returned to a place that meant so much to her,” Mr. Martin says.
Harley Hearse in an Airplane Hangar: Sarah Kidder wanted a memorial that would honor her father, Richard Lee Kidder, and also make amends. As a teen, Ms. Kidder didn’t always get along with her dad, an airplane mechanic in Broomfield, Colo., who built Harley Davidson motorcycles in their garage. He dropped out of her life for 10 years. In 2015, after a life-threatening seizure, he asked her to call him, and they got back in touch. He died a year later in November 2016 at the age of 60. She was glad they had reunited but wishes she had spent more time with him. “When he tried to get back into my life, I built up a lot of walls,” she says. Ms. Kidder, 25 at the time, felt largely responsible for the memorial service because she was the only child and her parents had separated. She searched his house for directives. “He didn’t leave anything. I spent two days going through everything he wrote down,” she says. “Finally I realized he’s not going to see it. It’s what I wanted out of it. One thing you want to do in life is honor your parents.” She spent two weeks with her mother, uncle and aunt, going through photos and songs to assemble a slideshow. She made sure to include “Hells Bells” by AC/DC, remembering how it played in the background while she and her dad worked in the garage, she on her Little Tikes toys and he on his Harley. She enlisted Diane Gansauer, a funeral celebrant with Service Corporation International trained at the non-profit Celebrant Foundation & Institute. Ms. Gansauer arranged for a motorcycle hearse to bring the casket from the funeral home to a hangar at the Boulder Municipal Airport, where they had a memorial with a eulogy delivered by Ms. Gansauer, who had interviewed family and friends. Afterward, the group went outside and launched balsawood airplanes. “It came together in a way that was very comforting,” Ms. Kidder says.
A Gathering, a Field, a Tree Planted: Susan Hamilton didn’t know what to do when her architect husband, Howard, died suddenly in 2013 in an accident on their Oklahoma farm. Her family, though not deeply religious, had church funerals with a pastor officiating. His didn’t. Their tradition was to spread ashes in the pasture on the farm, which had belonged to his grandparents, with nothing to mark the spot. “I really struggled with whether to have a funeral or not,” says Ms. Hamilton, 49, who ended up with a mix of public and private ceremonies, all fitting, she believed, for her husband and comforting to her. For help with a memorial gathering, she turned to Glenda Stansbury, a funeral celebrant with the Oklahoma City-based In-Sight Institute. Ms. Stansbury met with Ms. Hamilton, other family members and friends, and listened to their stories about Mr. Hamilton’s childhood, how the couple met at work, and his love of the outdoors. The gathering in the auditorium of a funeral home included a video tribute played to the song “It Had to be You.” At the end, the celebrant distributed small rocks as a symbol of the foundational role that Mr. Hamilton played in their lives. Ms. Hamilton keeps hers on a ledge in her home. “People laughed and cried and said ‘Oh, my God’ it was the best funeral they had ever been to,” Ms. Hamilton says. There was a moment of silence. Those who wanted to pray, could. A year later, she invited family to the farm to scatter the ashes of Howard and her father-in-law, who had died eight months before Howard. It was near the anniversary of her father-in-law’s death and she wanted to both mark that anniversary and follow their family tradition of scattering ashes in the field. She kept back some of her husband’s ashes to take them with her on her travels. Months later, on Howard’s birthday, she and her family gathered to plant a tree that she could visit and tend. “I couldn’t take it,” she says. “My family is buried in a cemetery and it really bothered me not having any marker.” Since then, she and her children have taken Howard’s ashes to Turkey and Greece. “Howard and I wanted to go all over the world,” she says. She spread some in New York City’s Central Park, which she and Howard visited on their honeymoon.
