Yesterday, as part of our congregation’s All Saints Celebration, we dedicated a memorial garden at our church. It was a rainy day and the planned outdoor gathering was moved inside and incorporated into the worship service before the closing hymn and benediction. As a newcomer to the church, I don’t know all of the background on the memorial garden. It is a beautiful area with a solid stone bench, an engraved stone, plenty of shade and careful landscaping. At the dedication it was explained that the garden is a place where cremains can be scattered, with an area of wood compost that will be maintained in perpetuity so that there will always be a place where more ashes can be added. There are no markers with specific information on those whose remains have been scattered there, but there is a plaque in the church to which names can be added in years to come.

The dedication and the All Saint’s Celebration created discussion for a small group that I host following worship. One participant told of the church where she grew up that had a cemetery. In that part of the country, church cemeteries are the norm and she grew up with the impression that all people were buried in church cemeteries, including those who had not participated in churches during their lives. Another reported of a cemetery where some plots were designated “perpetual care” while others were not. It isn’t completely clear what made the distinction, but it is thought that the perpetual care plots probably cost more. The discussion ranged from community to family traditions about death and the memory of loved ones. Some participants had used the resources of ancestry.com to trace details about their families, based upon public records such as death certificates.

I am interested in conversations about customs surrounding death in part because death is a topic that is often avoided. In my years as a law enforcement chaplain, I had a lot of conversations about death with those who had witnessed trauma, but almost all of those conversations were about the death of others. It is a rare experience to have a conversation with someone about their own death unless an illness or other event causes an increased awareness of mortality. I know from spending time with law enforcement officers that they do think of their own deaths from time to time, but it is very rare to hear them talk about death as a personal reality. They speak of the deaths of others, but are not quick to talk about the simple reality that we are all mortal.

I recognize the same tendencies in myself. I have made dozens of death notifications to family members. I have supported families who have lost loved ones to suicide. I have facilitated support groups. I have gone with coroners on death investigations. I have received coroners’ training about investigation procedures. I have helped zip up body bags. I have sat with deceased people in hospital rooms. I have been present at the death of several people. My life’s experience has brought me face to face with the reality of death on numerous occasions. But I don’t often think or speak of my own death. Of course I know that I will one day die. But I don’t have desire to know the details of that moment.

Talk of dying often brings up bucket lists. People have a sense that there are certain things that they want to do before they die. There have been several movies and stories about people who, upon receiving a diagnosis of a fatal illness, make all kinds of changes in their priorities. They pursue dangerous adventures and have experiences that they otherwise would not have had. Some become careless with financial management. Others maintain a specific list of things they want to accomplish or experience before they die. I don’t have a bucket list of which I am aware. I have been very fortunate to have a wide variety of experiences in my life. I have the luxury of living close to family and have been blessed with wonderfully supportive church communities. I know that my family will be loved and cared for when I die. I also know that there is no certain way of knowing in what order we will die.

There will be things about my death that will surprise me. I don’t know the details. I can make a few plans. We have wills and we intend to have new wills drawn up soon because state laws vary and we now live in a different state than when our wills were created. We also are at a different phase of our lives with a different number of grandchildren, so an update is in order. Because illness often precedes death, we have had careful conversations about end of life decisions and have been careful to get medical permissions and durable powers of attorney for health care decisions in place. I do not, however, want to tie the hands of my loved ones by getting too specific with directions that might encumber them. I don’t mind their knowing my favorite scriptures and hymns as a guide to planning a memorial, but I don’t want to leave behind obligations. I have told them my feelings about my remains after I die, but I have also told them that I want them to be free to make decisions. There are so many options available these days. Is aquamation preferable to cremation? Should remains be scattered or buried? Is the memorial garden preferable to a wilderness location? I don’t know the answers to these questions, but I trust my loved ones to make good decisions. I know of people whose remains have been blasted in canons and incorporated into fireworks. I’m not excited about some of those possibilities and I’d prefer a low-budget option, but I’m not going to eliminate options from my family’s consideration.

I don’t think that I am avoiding talk about death, but I don’t feel a special pressure to make it my only thought. There is so much about living that engages and interests me that I have no lack of ideas to ponder or topics for conversation. It is, however, good to have the opportunity to talk with others. The dedication of a memorial garden and the observance of all saints’s day are such opportunities. I’m grateful for them.