My parents’ views held me back. And yet that tattoo would have celebrated them. I came from them, and they were so shockingly impermanent that it took me decades to come to terms with their absence from my life.

Tattoos are a unique love project for people who have suffered traumatic loss. I heard and saw this in the ‘Death Matters’ workshops which Grant Broadbent and I’ve run.  A tattoo is a continuing bond with the person who died. If I’d had a tattoo I could have stroked it when I was feeling sad. It would have been an unambiguous gesture, a step to recovery. An internalised, external sign.

I met Chris Latimer and Danielle Pullin at the 2019 Story Conference in Melbourne. Danielle and I heard Chris present on her work with a Transport Accident Commission’s Road Trauma Support Services program. She stood up front and relayed her experience of traumatic loss. Chris has spoken to thousands of people in government agencies, community groups, prisons and schools about how her daughters lost their lives through separate car accidents involving others’ culpable driving. Like me, people in her audiences shiver. How can one person suffer so much? And then be so warm and open towards all of us?

Chris, Danielle and I sat on the lawn for lunch. I noticed Chris’ tattoos. I saw that Danielle has one also. Text. I’m a sucker for tattoos in text! When I asked them to tell me about their tattoos I knew there were big stories behind them. I thought they might hesitate. Not a bit of it, as my mother would say. We hardly had time to eat our lunches, and had to make a date to follow up in my studio another day.

Death, a love project – the role of tattoos in traumatic loss

Annie: I don’t have any tattoo and I’m sure that’s to do with how my parents thought about them. What about you?

Chris: My mum and dad were very against them. In those days they were for people from the navy, the ones who ran away to sea. They were vagabonds, rough men. It’s different now. Yeah getting a tattoo went against the values I grew up with.

Danielle: ‘I hope that’s not permanent,’ my mum said when she saw mine. She was devastated. She came from an upper class family and an era where you did not put marks on your body. “Well, no, it’s not permanent, it’s only going to last about 40 years!” I said.

‘I was thinking about how it wasn’t permanent because it’ll go with me. She was dying then, and I think she faded back into sleep. We never spoke about it again.’

Danielle – everything is impermanent, nothing lasts forever

Annie: So you were thinking of your own death in those times, with her dying … Can you say a bit about the line you chose – it’s Shakespeare isn’t it?

Danielle: That in black ink my love may still shine bright. It’s from Shakespeare’s sonnet no. 69.

‘I’d wanted this tattoo since I was 15. So when I did it in my late thirties I felt my independence. I felt excitement. New identity.

‘I’d had a child. I was sleep deprived and isolated. You have to re-invent yourself when you’ve entered into all that and don’t know who you are any more! I booked a trip to Sydney by myself for seven days. The first thing I did was find a leading female tattooist – well known for her cursive – and I cut my hair, and skipped the conference I was booked for!’

Annie: What did you say about cursive?

Danielle: It’s fine line work … when you put words on your body you want the text to be perfectly clear and to stay that way.

Annie: Chris calls herself the grandma with the dragonfly tattoo, what about you?

Danielle: I don’t know … I have to think about that.

Chris: The rebel …

Danielle: I am so not a rebel! The significance of those words are: firstly that I’ve always loved writing and literature. Then the line also conveys the Buddhist idea of anicca – everything is impermanent, nothing lasts forever.

‘I can remember clearly at 15 being at the beach. I’d memorised that poem. At that time I was obsessed with death …

Chris: … like all the other 15 year-olds …

Danielle: And I thought: as soon as I’m old enough I’ll have those words as a tattoo. It was a statement that spoke directly to my question: How on earth to find solace from fear of death?

Annie: That’s such a big story, what you had on your mind as a young woman, and how it led to getting the tattoo done. Chris can I ask what you noticed when you knew you were going to get your tattoos?

Chris, the grandma with the dragonfly tattoo

Chris: With my first tattoo, my daughter Nicky had already designed it and had it drawn on her wrist at one time to see how it’d look. It has the central motif of a star from the Swedish heavy metal band H.I.M. and her design around the outside. After her crash I was going through her things with my niece and we found it.

‘We went together. She also had Nicky’s design done. The same design on the other foot to me.

‘I felt great anticipation that I was going to have something of Nicky forever. The design was something she’d put thought into.  I was 52. After that I thought I’d never ever have another tattoo. It was so painful.

‘But there was another one.

‘Six years after her crash, my daughter Nicole died from complications of the brain injury that she received. My sister had come down from Queensland. We were planning the funeral. It was a tragic, chaotic time.

‘I was called to the door by a neighbour coming round. I hardly had the energy to stand there talking, but suddenly, unexpectedly I saw a dragonfly. When I saw that dragonfly at my window I felt inspired again. We’d never seen a dragonfly at our place, and I knew that it was … I felt conviction. The dragonfly is a symbol of change. I related it back to Nicky and the changes she had in her life and how she adapted to those changes with courage and laughter. My life was going to change again forever.

‘My sister also had the dragonfly tattoo  done. We went together. That’s where the tattooist christened me ‘the grandma with the dragonfly tattoo’.

‘Later, a year after this terrible loss, I was in Cambodia with ten other women. I wasn’t in a great place in myself. We went to the Killing Fields. There in that terrible place where these horrific things had happened, where the Killing Fields stretched out for miles, there were thousands of butterflies. I strongly associate butterflies with my other daughters who’d died in the other accident, Melissa and Wendy. I knew I had to find a place that did tattoos and we only had three days before coming home.

‘One of the girls found a tattooist, up, up, up above a bar totally in the open. She turned out to be an Australian. And she did a beautiful job.

‘What I noticed was that I felt a sense of urgency to get that tattoo done. It was about the connection to the country of Cambodia and the collective suffering of the people. It meant so much more that I was able to have it done there.

Motherhood, life from a place of heart and survival

Annie: Can you talk about the tattoos as part of your imaginative life you two?

Chris:  I love them. It gives me a sense of difference. No one has these marks. My stories are unique. No one has the same story. Though my sister and my niece have the same tattoos they have different stories as the aunt and cousin. The artistry tells the story on my body.

Danielle: I identify with that – mine makes me feel different. When I had it done I felt I’d become part of the secret club of people who have tattoos. I’ve got an idea that I’ll have more done. I picture flowers threading through it. Mum’s favourite flowers. Poppies, she loved poppies. Violets for my grandmother. The colours of flowers weaving through the black text.

Annie: I’m very touched by your story. One day you’ll be celebrating your mum and your grandmother colourfully, in such a feminine way. Chris, can you talk about the connection that the tattoos create for you?

Chris: People do ask me about them. And there will be a reference to my daughters. I do talk about my daughters a lot. They’ll ask “What’s the meaning of this one?” I wear mid sleeves, I’ve always worn them. The images are on my forearms. I need to be able to see them.

Danielle: I’m surprised how few people ask me about mine … even some of my closest friends. You’re one of the first people to ask me Annie. I see people discreetly try to read it …

Chris: Like I did! …

Danielle: And I just want to say come on, you can ask about it!

‘For me it’s a lot to do with motherhood – in relation to my own mother, and to my daughter, and me as a mother. Mum was so important to me. She really did turn me into someone who loves writing and literature.’

Annie: Chris if you were with someone who’d experienced traumatic loss what might you say to them about getting a tattoo?

‘I’d encourage it. It’s not for everyone of course, but I’d say ‘Do it!’ because I love them. They’re a statement of … they’re almost like battle scars. Even though they’re pretty pictures they’re not. They’re battle scars. Not that you need to have something visible and tangible to remember someone you’ve lost. The big guys I work with in prison know. They’ll say, “You’re a warrior, you’re a fighter.”

‘The purpose that grew for me from the death of the girls is something that’s led me into all sorts of different experiences. My girls all died in road accidents that could have been avoided. My purpose is to let people know that.

‘The tattoos are very very personal and heartfelt. It’s almost like there’s a need for a bit of pain also when you’re making your way through such difficult times. There’s value in a tattoo. You have to pay good money for one. It’s an investment. It’s going to be there forever. You want it to be the best it can be.’

Annie: Danielle I meet quite a few people at events that I run who are or have been obsessed with death. It’s troubled them deeply. What would you say to them about your experience of getting your tattoo?

‘Well I don’t know if a tattoo would cure an existential crisis! But it’s a gesture that says you’re not alone. Maybe no one understands, but you’re not alone. My fear of death really took a toll on me. I had to move through it.

‘These words represent the only way I’ve found to be at peace with the fact that we’re all hurtling towards the inevitable. You have to live now. This moment will pass, and you have to accept that in its good and its bad sense. This will change. There’s the timelessness of that. Time can become such an enemy … you have to accept that it’s going to get you.

Chris: When you’re young death is such an unknown …

Danielle: And we don’t talk about it in our culture. Annie does, but we don’t talk about it. No wonder young people feel alone with that.

Chris: I’m not afraid of death now and I think that’s because I’ve had so much death around me. Mum, Dad, my girls, now my brother. It doesn’t frighten me. It’s given me life in a sense, or an appreciation of life. My life comes from a place of heart and also a place of survival. I have three choices – I can continue with purpose, end it sooner, or live in the wreckage. I do what I do – and it’s hard work – it’s the choice I make.

Wrapping up

Annie: So there’s just one thing I want to say … Danielle, I hope that you do those flowers around the words. I can see just see it …

Chris: Oh yes Danielle do! What you described is so beautiful. I can see it too. Do it, it’s all your journey.

Annie: Even if you just do some work on the design for the moment … that could be so enjoyable … looking at all the books in which people have represented flowers. It could take ages.

Danielle: It could! And, wow it’s three o’clock already, I must get going to pick up my daughter.

Annie: Oh Chris and Danielle, thanks so much, it’s been such a rich conversation. And do you want to take some basil from the garden?

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All the sadness in love and loss. We can only experience it. And yet there’s also a pull to make sense of it. The journey to make loss meaningful can be painfully long. Somehow  memorials play a role in this. Then as time passes, there’s something left, something to refer to, a special place to go and find something of that lost love again. We don’t want to lose what’s precious.

I was in Gippsland recently and I stepped into a wonderful restaurant, Catinalla’s. The owner Deanna is seventh generation Australian. When she married a second generation Italian, a big part of her learning was about food. What they’d eaten at home was different. Great food but so different!

Food is a love project

Deanna learned cooking from her mother-in-law, Catinalla. Sugos, stocks, fritattas. This experience lives on in the restaurant. Deanna qualified as a chef in 2015 to formalise her knowledge of cooking. Running beneath the outward effort has been a concern that real family grown food traditions don’t get lost.

That’s a memorial isn’t it? Her mother-in- law passed away in 2014. And in Traralgon, Deanna can keep the traditions going. When Catinalla was still alive, Deanna registered the business name and ran ideas past her, checked things with her. She found out the story behind the unique spelling of her name.

Intent for a love project, the vision and the will

I was a guest at the public event held in 2015 at Hamer Hall to celebrate Neilma Gantner’s rich and generous life. The program was packed with admiring speakers. One was a Parks Victoria employee who had got to know here very very well in the late 60s. Neilma had approached the government about building a hut in the Alpine National Park in memory of her son Vallejo.

Vallejo had died very young, and she was determined to create a fitting memorial that reflected his love of the mountains. She wanted it to be a beautiful place that would benefit all comers. What seemed an impossibility – putting an aesthetically extraordinary hut into the high country – became a reality, the MacAlister Springs Hut. The hut is deeply loved by bushwalkers. Designed by architect David McGlashan, with a copper roof, it is listed on the Victorian Heritage Register.

Buried, cremated or turned to goodness?

My friend Uncle Fletcher Roberts, a Bundjalung elder in Lismore, NSW, once questioned me about where I planned to be when I died. He was old and rarely left Lismore, in case he died while he was away. He asked me if it bothered me that I wouldn’t be in the same place as my parents since I’d moved to Australia.

Where were they buried?

Where are their ashes?

When I said that we’d scattered them in our garden, and that we’d sold the property, he was shocked. On reflection I think he was spot on. What might I have learned by going back to visit the place where we’d let their remains go? How would those owners react if they knew that along with being proud owners of a modernist Johannesburg home, they are caretakers of my parents’ bodily remains?

I now know that loss can be thoughtfully marked in ways that are far from a marble dark cemetery. Through one’s own life. As a physical memorial. The memorial might be a venture like Catinalla’s, immediate and personal. It might be a lasting public legacy like the Gantner hut.

Now I can’t help thinking of all the goodness that’s been created in the world through people dreaming up plans not to lose the legacy of important people.

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In Facebook commentary by a victim’s partner, I read that Ballarat has an exceptionally high rate of suicide. It is higher than the overall average in Victoria or Australia. Coverage in Thursday’s Herald Sun suggests the likelihood of self harm as a result of suffering the St Alipius school environment.

My mind turns to the deep suffering when someone loses a friend or family member to suicide. And I think of suicide and friendship, and its role in the funerals I’ve helped to shape and facilitate after death by suicide. I’ve seen how much friendship groups add to the life celebration of the person who has died. Family has an assumed position in any death. But the position friends occupy is often very important.

The person who has died has been through a lot. Friends are often key supports. Sometimes there have been unsatisfactory family relationships at one time or another. The person may have fended for himself or herself, and chosen to live their life with friends. Sometimes the person who has died is young, and the sudden and shocking loss has to be absorbed by their peer cohort. 

Grieving with family and friends after death by suicide 

After a sudden death people speak of their sense of reality not lining up, or of not being able to bring it into focus.  

The funeral marks the start of grieving process. The more collaborative friends and family are able to be, depending on particular circumstances of course, the more satisfactory the beginnings of a grieving process are. This may be the most difficult event ever in some of the mourners’ lives. Hearing stories and witnessing the qualities of important bonds helps everyone to grieve.

Shock, anger, shame and confusion are difficult emotions to navigate. However a key intent with a funeral is firstly to find the individual and community story that people can take away and ‘live in’ in future. That story will be made meaningful in the way friends are included.  

‘What I liked about Steve’s funeral’ said Nicky, ‘is that the speakers painted an incredible picture of his unique contribution. Yet they didn’t shy away from talking about his difficulties.’ She paused. ‘He had the most interesting friends.’ 

Trusting conversations between strangers 

Another thing we want from a funeral is to create opportunities for connection between people who knew the person who died but don’t know each other. When I’m helping with planning, my aim is to create a space where people can trust in having a conversation with strangers. 

I look to set up the most favourable context for friends and family to feel that there’s a way of going forward together after death by suicide. I can be contacted through my website – it outlines more about how I work. Below I’ve listed a few useful resources.

Headspace’s resource You can talk about suicide

Beyond Blue’s Guiding their way back

Bereaving from Suicide a useful Canadian resource

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Yes, as with the 2009 ceremony the organisers got this one right. People left satisfied, heartened, and of course sad. A woman I spoke to said ‘That hit exactly the right note’.

Lessons from this ceremony

1. No one is more important than those who have lost beloved people. The ceremony needs to put them front of mind. The speakers’ role is to honour and remind. Words drawn from experience, from the heart do just this. The Governor Her Excellency the Hon. Linda Dessau AC had met with many survivors. Dr Kathy Rowe had lost her husband in the fires. Their opening words set the tone for the rest of the event.
2. The MC or celebrant knows it’s not their ceremony. MC Craig Willis was clear, straightforward and well briefed. He had a chair well to the side of the stage where he sat during the majority of the proceedings. This to me is the sign of a quality MC or celebrant at a ceremony.
3. A well balanced program with the right mix of speakers, music and reflection. The number of leaders at the commemoration was impressive. But the voice of the community from Jane Hayward, Principal of Strathewan Primary, was vital. Children came through those fires. Their participation through video footage and in person with their mentor Dave Wandon gave hope and inspiration for the future. CFA Chief Officer, Steve Warrington, brought the gravitas of being able to look back on the experience of the fires and forward based on its lessons. The Premier, Daniel Andrews and the Leader of the Opposition, Michael O’Brien, both read poems which provided food for thought.

Strathewen Bushfire memorial. Thanks to the Victorian Government for this photo.

I felt that the Didgeridoo by Gnarnayarrahe Waitairie and his collaborator made the ceremony, in the way their sounds seemed to capture a spiritual and heartfelt response from the whole country to the tragedy. Talking to a woman I’d never met as we left she agreed, saying ‘It was as if they were whispering to everyone saying “it’s going to be okay.”’

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Art and rituals deepen our understanding and give us a way of being in touch, communicating … even if it’s quite a difficult topic like death. I thought long and hard before finding the right name for my business and chose Kinship Ritual to speak of the kind of ceremonies and rituals I hope to help people create.

Art and Rituals: Condolences

This is the last opportunity to head down to Cafe Philosophique de la Mort in St Kilda. Big themes have gone down in this Philosophical Cafe of Death like ‘Rituals and remembering’ – sorry I missed it – ‘Condolences’ and ‘Grief’.

I was at ‘Condolences’. The title was enticing. It’s an old fashioned word, and for me rich in the deadly promise that one will say the right thing and provide comfort. Tomorrow night’s ‘Ageing and mortality’ will be interesting. Can you make it? Conversations always depend on who comes.

I’m accustomed to people getting together to talk about death through Death Cafe, and other public education I’m involved in. I know how important it is for people to feel comfortable and that they’ll be able to speak and be heard.

What’s different about this Cafe is the performance, spoken word – poetry and readings, and music that precede the conversation. Wonderful art and rituals. Through poetry I tuned in to a Muslim woman’s take on Condolence. I tried out being in the shoes of an organ recipient. I learned about the lineage of kora in Amadou Suso’s family – that it is his ancestral duty to perform his enchanting music. You might have heard him play his large stringed instrument on Triple J, at a dance event, the National Gallery or Deakin Edge.

The piece that rocked me was Sermsah Suri Bin Saad’s dance. You may have seen him perform in Bran New Day, at Fed Square, in the Fringe or on TV. Here in a little theatre in St Kilda was this dancer, painted up, imprinting on us what could not be said in words about being utterly lost. My sense was that there was only desperation; the spark had gone out of life. I felt that everyone in the room was awestruck and leapt into life again when the dancer found himself sufficiently to see out, rise and make connections.

Sorry and culture

So the performances weren’t all about condolence exactly. They gave us art and rituals. In conversation our group spent a long time on the topic of SORRY and how inept Australians are with condolences to Aboriginal people for their great losses. We spoke about words and how people do or don’t say things to people who are bereaved.

We thought about what to do if someone is very reclusive after a death? Some people thought texts were great. But a man in the group who’d lost his father spoke passionately about how sick it made him that people could even think of talking about the loss of his father through a pathetic, stupid phone with texts and how much he’d wanted to throw it away. He was not Anglo.

Yes culture was a big part of our discussion, and at times we asked people to speak in their language because we wanted to hear the sound.

All this and more is part of a Cafe – try and make the last one if you can! Art and ritual are powerful. Bookings here.  At the Alex Theatre with support from The Groundswell Project.

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]]> https://anniebolitho.com.au/death-conversation/ Wed, 18 Jul 2018 03:04:15 +0000 http://kinshipritual.com.au/?p=1469 I’ve run over 20 Death Cafes in Melbourne – that’s one ‘death conversation’ for each season for several years plus many open conversations and workshops about death, grief and loss for professionals like social workers, mental health, aged care and family violence workers. What kind of Death Cafe do I offer? Well, participants get a […]

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]]> I’ve run over 20 Death Cafes in Melbourne – that’s one ‘death conversation’ for each season for several years plus many open conversations and workshops about death, grief and loss for professionals like social workers, mental health, aged care and family violence workers.

What kind of Death Cafe do I offer? Well, participants get a chance to be together and explore experiences, values and views on death and grief in a safe setting. And to eat lovely food and see something attractive in front of them. Here’s a recent article in the Sydney Morning Herald by a journalist who came along.

At the end of a Death Cafe I ask people to write a word or a phrase that the time talking together has evoked. Today I opened the folder they sit in on my shelf, and had a look. I had the idea I might put every single one that’s been added in, in one death conversation after another, into a post. But there are just too many! All I can do is give you a flavour – what people say about death cafe may surprise you.

Kindness
Precious Life
Giving
Real!
Ripples
Connection

At each death conversation there is someone who writes Connection. I offer ceremonies and funerals through Kinship Ritual. I’m glad when a participant experiences this sense of kinship at an event.

Sometimes the pieces of card I hand out have a lot of space on them and people to write a phrase.

Talking death brings interesting people together
Freedom is ever-evolving, it is never really over
Living for its own sake
Death is part of life, we need to talk about it
Life is too short not to live it to the full.
Beautiful stories shared.
Death is not the end
The importance of living in the here and now.

When I see in the bunch of cards how many references there are to life and how we live, I remember the stories that have been told in different sessions. I’m heartened. At the 2018 Winter Solstice Death Cafe a young woman spoke movingly of how her father’s death had changed her understanding of life and how she would live in future. That was what had made her come along, to be with others who wanted to face the reality of death. Two women talked of their husbands’ deaths and both had warm and humorous stories of how these companions stay with them in a vital way.

When anyone holds the idea that death is opposed to life it’s hard. In a death cafe conversation participants come to a nuanced perspective of the way life and death sit together, and how life and death weave together. Perhaps that led to someone writing Not to live with death dictating choices.

I no longer remember the circumstances, conversation and stories on the occasion someone wrote: There’s no shame in fear. On reflection though I know that facilitated exchange between participants can validate all kinds of experiences. Perhaps those words came from someone who had an experience of losing an important relative at a young age, who was isolated and frightened, and came to feel that there was inevitably something terrible to fear about death. Sharing that story led him to understand that he was just a child then, or that others had also been strongly influenced by experiences they were unprepared for.

Among the cards there are questions, not many, but one person has asked: Why? Another asks: What is the place of meaning?

I’m grateful to have been part of so many rich conversations, in which groups of strangers inform each others’ understandings, in an atmosphere in which death is both ordinary and in some way sacred. Thanks to Jon Underwood for advocating for this hospitable style of open conversation about death through the Death Cafe movement. What people say about death cafe is It’s good to talk!

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]]> https://anniebolitho.com.au/poetry-at-end-life/ Tue, 22 May 2018 02:30:03 +0000 http://kinshipritual.com.au/?p=1456 If you couldn’t make it to the ‘Poetry at End of Life’ workshops earlier this month don’t worry. We’ll be putting them on again as part of the suite of workshops on death and dying that Kinship Ritual offers. Meanwhile some poetry highlights, and a snippet of what we shared. Beloved poems Everyone brought a […]

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]]> If you couldn’t make it to the ‘Poetry at End of Life’ workshops earlier this month don’t worry. We’ll be putting them on again as part of the suite of workshops on death and dying that Kinship Ritual offers. Meanwhile some poetry highlights, and a snippet of what we shared.

Beloved poems

Everyone brought a poem. Some of the books were worn and treasured and falling apart.

So a great mix of poems:

Denise Levertov The Avowal

Louis MacNeice Fanfare for the Makers

Wallace Stevens Departmental … hilarious! (sorry I can’t find it online)

Mary Oliver When Death Comes

… and a poem from an old and unique book, and a poem someone had written, and number of poems by heart.

Being read to is a wonderful ritual. Can you read it again please?

How we die

The poem most hotly discussed in the workshops? You guessed it … Do not go gentle into that good night. Wonderfully the person who brought it to one session was Welsh (or part Welsh!).

People had a range of views on this poem:

Don’t read that to me when I’m dying! It expresses everything that’s wrong about our culture’s attitude to death and dying.

It’s a passionate poem – it invites us to think about life and death with passion.

Thomas could not let his father go. He’s talking about himself.

Always old, always new

I forgot to mention that someone brought Leonard Cohen’s ‘Book of Longing‘. I went and reread it afterwards. What about these lines?

And death is old
But it’s always new
I freeze with fear
And I’m there for you

I see it clear
I always knew
It was never me
I was there for you

I was there for you
My darling one
And by your law
It all was done

Don’t ask me how
I know it’s true
I get it now
I was there for you

Poetry at end of life workshops

Such rich themes, such wonderful people. If you’re interested in hosting a workshop in your organisation or at home, get in touch.

 

 

 

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]]> https://anniebolitho.com.au/ritual-residential-aged-care/ Mon, 09 Oct 2017 17:50:11 +0000 http://kinshipritual.com.au/?p=1352 In residential aged care facilities staff see people they’ve got to know pass away. It’s how it is. In some organisations they will get the opportunity to go to the funeral. But what are other common practices at the time of residents’ deaths? How do they support resilience in staff, residents and resident families? Do […]

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]]> In residential aged care facilities staff see people they’ve got to know pass away. It’s how it is. In some organisations they will get the opportunity to go to the funeral. But what are other common practices at the time of residents’ deaths? How do they support resilience in staff, residents and resident families? Do they lay out bodies for families to view?

With interests and skills in this area, we undertook a research scan to provide the sector with insight into different organisations’ rituals, including when a resident dies. Respondents come from facilities in metropolitan Melbourne, from affordable to high end. Roles range from lifestyle coordinators and workers to clinical care coordinators and care managers. We have also talked to educators in the field.

 

We asked about rituals each organisation has in place, including rituals for death; policies around death and dying; roles and responsibilities; and what things the respondent values or would like to see done differently when a resident dies.

Early findings highlight that almost all facilities have similar well-defined rituals around major events such as Mothers’ Day, Anzac Day, and so on.

What is notable is that rituals relating to death differ widely. But across the sector there is still a degree of what one respondent called ‘hiding and pretending’, and a culture of avoiding the subject of death, especially with residents. This leaves both staff members and residents uneasy and confused since they know someone is missing. When there’s an opportunity to share elements of the person’s life story, that really helps. The findings indicate that there is welcome practice change in some organisations, with some introducing clearly defined rituals, for example for removing a body from the home.

The majority of respondents see an ability to be open about death as essential for resilience for staff and residents. Leadership by executive staff is also seen as essential, with training and adequate staffing levels contributing to good practice.

Thanks to everyone who has contributed, and we look forward to sharing more detailed research results later this year.

This post was originally published in Ageing Industry Network Newsletter Issue 8, October 2017.

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]]> https://anniebolitho.com.au/rituals/ Fri, 08 Sep 2017 03:55:09 +0000 http://kinshipritual.com.au/?p=1311 This weekend I’ll be presenting at the first Melbourne Festival of Death and Dying. My topic is Rituals of Laying Out and Vigil. I’m an educator and my goal is to help people to learn more about end of life practices they’re unfamiliar with. I wonder how you respond to people being laid out after […]

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]]> This weekend I’ll be presenting at the first Melbourne Festival of Death and Dying. My topic is Rituals of Laying Out and Vigil. I’m an educator and my goal is to help people to learn more about end of life practices they’re unfamiliar with. I wonder how you respond to people being laid out after death, and if you’d attend a workshop? You might think of laying out as being something that Catholics do, or that nurses do, or that people from other cultures do. You might not think of laying out as something that any family can do.

As consumers, Australians are poorly educated about funeral or end of life options. Many have little practice with the physical reality of death. A new acquaintance and I were talking over a cup of tea. ‘I’m 53 and I’ve never seen a dead body,’ she said. ‘I know very little about death and when my parents go, who knows what we’ll do?’

When I run workshops for organisations, I know who will be there. But I’m not sure who will come to my workshop on Sunday. I don’t know what experience they might have had. Something will have drawn them to it. We’ll find out about this early in the workshop. If there’s anyone who’s been strongly drawn to the workshop, yet feels very nervous about dead bodies,I’ll reassure them that that’s not at all unusual. Throughout, I’ll be talking about laying out and vigil as a love project, a final gesture of care towards a loved one.

Washing away, creating relaxation and comfort

Laying out a body is a time when close people can be part of a transformative process. If there has been long illness all the struggle can be washed away. If there has been an accident, that reality can be taken in a little more gently. If the person is very old and has been living in the garments of age, they can be dressed beautifully.

‘I had come into the room with a body that had been through so much. She looked beat up, cold, lonely, and pained. Once she was dressed, in her own clothes, she looked so cozy, warm, relaxed, and comfortable. She looked like herself. But it wasn’t her,’ says Nora Menkin on the National Home Funeral Alliance website.

Being at home

Rituals of laying out and vigil put the person at the centre, looking like him or herself, but it’s not him or not her. The vigil might be in the lounge, perhaps in their room, perhaps in a room that’s been specially set up for the purpose. Having the chance to lay out the body is the norm for Muslims. Visiting someone who has died is what Greeks do. Any family can create rituals of laying out and vigil. These practices unfold the reality or death and mortality. For this person. For ourself. For us. I’ve never spoken to a person who’s been to a well set up vigil who hasn’t described it as having made a difference to their ability to accept what has happened.

In our practice we like things to be practical and attractive. For many I speak to, the first thought is about how to keep a body cool. At the workshop I’ll be demonstrating how. A vigil is a meaningful and beautiful experience. Any family can choose to do one. One thing I’ll say in the workshop is that there are a few things you can think about ahead. This will make it much easier for the family and organisers of these rituals. I’ll also speak of how vigils can happen at home, in a hospital or an aged care facility. Hope to see you there.

 

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]]> https://anniebolitho.com.au/donating-your-body-to-science/ Thu, 07 Sep 2017 03:17:59 +0000 http://kinshipritual.com.au/?p=1306 I met Jack Bolt to find out something about donating your body to science. Jack’s wife,  Kathleen died in 2015. ‘My wife and my son and I had discussed the subject of death as a matter of fact that needed to be faced. Neither Kathleen or I felt we needed a funeral. But we were […]

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]]> I met Jack Bolt to find out something about donating your body to science. Jack’s wife,  Kathleen died in 2015. ‘My wife and my son and I had discussed the subject of death as a matter of fact that needed to be faced. Neither Kathleen or I felt we needed a funeral. But we were concerned with what we’d do with our bodies.’ Unlike many others they’d looked at options directly.

When I spoke to him, Jack had recently attended a powerful ritual, the Commemorative Thanksgiving that the University of Melbourne holds each year, for the families of people who’ve donated their body to science. The Victorian body donation program is coordinated by the University of Melbourne.

Commemorative Thanksgiving program

‘I had no idea that there would be this event at all,’ Jack said. ‘It was at Wilson Hall which is pretty big, and a least a half to three quarters was set up with chairs. In the front there was a row of tables right across the width of the stage. On each table were glass jars with tealight candles, and in front of each a handwritten card, with the name of the donor.

‘As you came in you were met by students with the question: Are you family? Please go up to the front …

‘On each seat was a program, with a wonderful poem. Nothing was sombre. The Professor who spoke didn’t approach it as a chore. Rather the event was filled with life.

‘We were invited to talk to students afterwards while having refreshments. I got a good chance to talk to a young man about the importance and necessity of body donation.

‘He told me: “Photos and screen images can only show you something abstract. It’s not until you see the body in front of you, and have to make an incision … it really comes home to you.”’

You can’t learn everything there is to learn on YouTube.

Jack and his wife Kath had seen a program on Catalyst about the need for bodies to help medical professionals in their training. This led to them making arrangements with the University of Melbourne Body Donor program. Jack speaks very highly of the coordinator.

‘They agreed to take our bodies. She told us that this isn’t always the case. She also explained that once someone has made the donation the program doesn’t tell anyone what institution the body was ultimately donated to. It was donated to the University of Melbourne. Full stop. Amen.’

‘Kath died at St Vincent’s and I’d given the information about body donation on admission. I was with her when she died. I held her hand.

‘I asked the Sister if there was anything I needed to do? She assured me that the hospital would contact the Body Donor Program and they’d arrange transfer by a funeral director. I went home and waited to be in touch with our son overseas, when he was home from work. It was exactly what we wanted.

Thinking of donating? You can find responses to frequently asked questions here, and a contact to the wonderful coordinator.

Kathleen and Jack, 2008, with thanks to Jack Bolt.

 

 

 

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