There’s a growing trend that impairs the grieving process.
It is now common to forego a funeral or any kind of ceremony when a loved one dies. Some say it’s too sad, or it’s too expensive, or it’s simply unnecessary.
A funeral or memorial service doesn’t provide closure. It signifies the start of mourning together and seeking solace from others.
When my 23-year-old son, Jordan, lost his life in a workplace accident, I entered a dimension of grief completely foreign to me.
But it never crossed my mind to skip the funeral. Intuitively, I knew we needed others to share in our tears and our memories of Jordan.
The physical presence of family, friends and acquaintances touched me deeply.
But as the weeks and months passed, I grew restless. One ceremony didn’t feel adequate.
An idea was formed.
A public invitation welcomed others to join us by donating towards a memorial courtyard at the university Jordan graduated from. Family, friends and acquaintances expressed their empathy by taking part.
The Jordan Thiessen Courtyard at Trinity Western University is a hidden gem providing a multi-purpose outdoor space for students.
On Jordan’s first birthday in Heaven—September 14, 2013—a second ceremony took place 950 kms from home.
Under blue skies on a warm fall day, a ceremony and reception with 100 guests exceeded my expectations.
While it wasn’t a funeral, this meaningful ceremony held many of the same elements – music, prayer, scripture, photos and memories of Jordan.
I thought we were done with ceremonies.
But a year later, a “chance” meeting with two strangers—who’ve now become friends—sparked an idea to hold one more ceremony.
“Three ceremonies! Who does that?”, I wondered. “I guess we do.”
We held the third ceremony at the restaurant Jordan worked during high school and summer breaks during university.
At Phoenix Grill, Jordan’s culinary and relational skills saw remarkable growth.
Our family frequently dined at Phoenix Grill when Jordan was cooking. Sometimes he pretended not to see me proudly waving at him. I loved watching my son in the busy, open kitchen, suited up in his black uniform and his signature grin.
On a frigid January evening in Calgary, the caring people who mourned with us warmed our hearts.
With old and new friends, we gathered for a special dinner at Phoenix Grill in Jordan’s memory. Sharing delicious food and funny stories about him marked this ceremony.
Each event gave us an opportunity to talk about the significance of Jordan’s brief life and the ways he touched the lives of others.
The people who attended each ceremony allowed us to teach them how we were processing Jordan’s death. Their presence validated our loss and lent us hope on a path to healing.
Almost 10 years have passed since the third ceremony. I haven’t thought about the significance of those gatherings until recently.
Last month in my grief training with Dr. Alan Wolfelt, my ears perked up when he shared this:
Ceremonies help us acknowledge the reality of death, remember the person who died and provide a time of social support.
I usually recommend that families affected by traumatic death hold three ceremonies spaced out over a period of about two years or more. Time alone does not heal grief; active mourning does.
~Dr. Alan Wolfelt
Maybe the idea of additional ceremonies for your loved one who passed away is a new thought.
It’s not for everyone.
But consider it—especially if you feel stuck in your grief. Create a meaningful ceremony, a memorial experience, that feels right for you.
It may provide the divine momentum needed to move toward healing. And that would make it very worthwhile.
Shirley Thiessen
Grief coach, author, and speaker helping you bring hope to broken, grieving hearts.
