Reflections on Virtual Funerals
A shot of my uncle’s virtual funeral on Facebook.
In the last year, I’ve attended two virtual funerals -- one for my aunt who died in December 2020, and the second for my uncle, who died a little over a week ago. I wasn’t especially close to either of them, but they were my family. They were two of my dad’s three siblings, and watching the circle of people my dad knew or was related to shrink, has been difficult. It feels like losing pieces of him all over again. I’m also grieving the time that we could’ve had together; all of those times I said I would visit so I could become closer to the siblings who grew up with my dad. All of the potential for a relationship that just never happened.
My aunt and uncle both lived in Kentucky, and I live in Pennsylvania. Due to COVID-19, it wasn’t safe or reasonable for me to go in person for either service. Both funerals were livestreamed on Facebook which was something I never expected to see prior to March 2020. I am grateful that technology allows me to be there in some way, and to have those moments to hear about my family and observe this ritual. In both instances I was able to watch from the comfort of my home, texting with my siblings in our group chat. But there is obviously something missing from this format, which to me, is one of the most important and comforting reasons for funerals and memorials, and that’s the physical connection you have with others.
Instead of walking into a funeral home or church and being greeted by familiar faces, Facebook livestreams greet you with a black screen and text letting you know the video hasn’t started yet. Instead of being able to participate in the funeral and share your memories of loved ones, you are simply a bystander, watching the event like you would a baseball game. And at the end of the livestream, instead of physically acknowledging the transition by hugging others or continuing with small talk, the feed ends abruptly with “this live video has ended”, disconnecting you from the event as quickly as it brought you in.
As mentioned above, I wasn’t very close to these family members, but their losses are meaningful to me and are meaningful to people I love. And in all honesty, despite “attending” their funerals, their deaths are still so abstract. I saw my aunt and uncle mostly at large family gatherings, and because of COVID-19, I haven’t had the opportunity to be at a family event where their absence is truly felt. I still feel so disconnected to their deaths and am not sure if I have really absorbed the fact that they’re no longer physically with us.
Aunt Leanna
Uncle Bob
There are moments in grief, especially at the beginning of the mourning period, where we wake up and remember all over again that our loved ones are gone. (Even 9 years after my dad died, it still happens to me, albeit far more infrequently than it used to.) There have been several moments since December when I have to be reminded of the fact that my aunt is no longer alive. I am happy that virtual funerals give us the ability to “be there”, but I wonder how it prolongs our grief and mourning. Being unable to have the closure, comfort and togetherness that an in-person funeral allows, I feel like I am in a grief limbo, acutely aware that I am missing something, but not quite able to grasp the weight of that loss just yet. It doesn’t quite feel final.
I recently went back to view my aunt’s funeral, which is archived on the funeral home’s Facebook page, and admittedly is one of the benefits of a livestreamed funeral. I knew it would be there, but what I didn’t anticipate was how many other funerals would also be archived on their video page. There have been 44 virtual funerals through this one small funeral home since my aunt passed. I’m not sure if this more or less than this funeral home would have in a given year, but it was a strange experience to see them all lined up on the website. In many ways, it feels like a virtual cemetery, where you can see their names and details of how long their lives were. I scrolled by each one of these, feeling sorrow for their families, but also solace that their memory is documented and preserved for loved ones to revisit if they need to.
At the time when my aunt died, there was still an end to COVID-19 that was promised. There was more and more buzz about the vaccine and how it would bring some normalcy to our lives. I think I pushed pause on grieving for my aunt because I felt like sometime soon, I would be able to see my siblings, my cousin, and possibly even visit Kentucky to gain some closure. But grief doesn’t care about timelines, vaccines, or travel restrictions. With the death of my uncle, and the realization that COVID-19 will be part of our lives for much longer, I’m now holding two losses in my hands, and I have nowhere to lay them down.
I think it’s time I take my own advice and write a goodbye to my aunt and uncle. Maybe I’ll even use the “What We Didn’t” card. By acknowledging the relationship I wish we had, the grief that I won’t be able to build that with them, and taking my own time to say goodbye and observe their transition, maybe I will be able to finally have some closure to these far away, abstract losses. I hope that other grievers are able to find their own ways to say goodbye in this socially isolated time and that they are able to move out of grief limbo into a place where grief is a friendly creature and not such a burden.
