Copy of death certificate

"No group of people has any influence on history unless it has common rituals that name and demarcate the seasons and the meanings of their lives, both individually and together. "

--Richard Rohr, Hope Against Darkness

In every known human society, rituals of death occupy a central and sacred place. Diverse in theology and practise, death rites hold several things in common: they evolve over time, and within a community context; they acknowledge mystery or superstition; and they offer concrete and skilful ways to make a transition or say goodbye. Depending on the culture, death rituals may have a greater focus on the living, the newly dead, or the long dead--whoever needs the greater encouragement to move to the next stage of the spiritual journey.

Rituals of death, like other life passage rites, reflect the culture in which they take shape. Deeply political, they reveal social, economic, and spiritual trends. Today, in the christianized north and western world, tasks of death and burial have become streamlined and generic. Often, they fall largely to multinational funeral homes, where a handful of professionals care for families they do not know. In Regina, Saskatchewan, one creative and cohesive family demonstrates that options still exist.

In autumn of 2002, the Moats family took turns sitting by the bedside of their father, husband and grandfather, Wilber. Weakened by age and a series of mysterious heart palpations, Wilber began to initiate, again, conversations about his death, funeral and burial. Though uncomfortable for some family members, these conversations were not unfamiliar to the Moats'. A lifelong CCF/NDP'er and a brilliant thinker, Wilber held informed opinions on most issues. In turn, he had encouraged clear thinking and bold conversation among his children and grandchildren.

In the matter of his death, Wilber asked family members to avoid involvement with a funeral home. His reasons were practical and ideological. "Dad couldn't see the value in spending $10,000 on a fancy casket, a limousine and all the fanfare, when the same money could be spent elsewhere," son, Lee, notes. "For the most part, we agreed with him." Wilber's motivation was not financial in the narrow sense. A man of high principles, Wilber was known throughout Regina and southern Saskatchewan for his social commitments, and kindness with money and time. Unshakable values allowed him to cut through the false rationale around death: namely "that the size of the funeral bill indicates the measure of love felt for the dead."

Early one Saturday morning in October, Wilber slipped into death. That day, his family began the rigorous task of following Wilber's last wishes. Says Lee Moats, "We navigated various administrative systems to get a Death Certificate and a Burial Permit, and retrieve Dad's body from the hospital. We planned a public Memorial Service, rented a church, arranged for the minister, and hired a caterer. We followed Dad's wish 'that no one make a profit' from his death."

Providing end-of-life care for Wilber was more than a duty, though, for the Moats family; more than a ragged fulfilment of last wishes. Says one family member: "I cannot imagine another way to obtain the closure and completeness that we felt after burying my dad." Adds daughter-in-law, Laurie: "There is no more powerful image than seeing a man's children lowering him into his grave." Son, Lee, summarizes: "Providing care was a time of great togetherness for family members. We were doing something real and tangible when the world seemed to be standing still. As well, experiencing the death first hand helped us come to terms with it."

Lee doesn't pretend to speak for all members of his extended family. As one might expect, there were varying degrees of comfort around Wilber's death rituals, and varying degrees of involvement. Indeed, the route chosen was not for the faint of heart. In the hours after Wilber's death, Lee Moats discovered that very few people have a full picture of the death and burial process in Regina. Gathering the necessary permits and certificates, Lee asked questions as he went. Clerks, administrators and even a Regina coroner seemed to know only their piece of the puzzle. Though helpful, these individuals prompted Lee to go the traditional route: use a funeral home and let someone else do the legwork.

According to provincial law, when a death occurs in Regina a physician or, in extenuating circumstances, a coroner must complete a Medical Certificate of Death with respect to the deceased. Typically, this certificate is forwarded to the funeral director who has taken charge of the body. The funeral director completes the Registration of Death with family assistance, and delivers the Registration of Death and Medical Certificate of Death to a municipal clerk at Regina Health. The clerk registers the death by signing and dating the record, and issuing a burial permit to the funeral director. He or she then forwards the Registration of Death and Medical Certificate of Death to Vital Statistics. Vital Statistics will send an Acknowledgement form to various parties. In Saskatchewan, every death must be registered with Vital Statistics.

Naturally, if a family chooses to do it themselves, they function as their own funeral director. "It is neither simple, nor impossible," says a Speers Funeral Chapel resource. "Getting the Medical Certificate completed can be complicated, especially if the death happens at home. But, it is definitely within a family's scope." Adds the funeral director: "Blank medical certificates can be picked up at Speers' in advance, if a family wishes to proceed independently." When the death is filed, burial permit in hand, the family member may proceed back to the hospital to obtain release of the body. Hospitals may require a declaration that the body will be treated with respect and buried in the cemetery specified on the burial certificate. Brief involvement of a funeral home will be necessary if the family chooses cremation or embalming, but neither is required by law in Saskatchewan.

After navigating these steps, the family may want to proceed with a service for the deceased. Here again, professional services are not required and no expense is necessary. However, a clergyperson can offer resources to the family in keeping with the spiritual tradition and practises of the deceased. For the Moats family, involving a Minister of Religion was a given. Wilber was an active member of a local United Church; equally, he was steeped in larger rural and faith-based communities, which retain a relative ease with death rites.

For many families, this spiritual link no longer exists and the service is a rote step, if not dismissed altogether. Says one Regina minister: "Increasing numbers of people no longer have a faith or family context where they learn a common body of songs, prayers, and stories. Without this, there is no link to the larger story, the bigger picture of how the Memorial Service relates to every other part of the deceased person's life. Without shared understandings, the service becomes more performance than participation; its essential meaning is lost."

Wilber Moats saw today's death, funeral and burial practices as one more sign of a disempowered and embarrassed citizenry. Hands-on involvement at the time of death is an ancient task, he used to argue, a basic task that actually makes us human. In the same vein, Lee Moats says: "Today, when a loved one dies, the surviving family members turn to complete strangers to provide care. The family experiences their loved one in a sterile and benign environment. Staying one step removed is said to be better for everyone. Well, it wasn't always so, and it's not so, now."

For the Moats family, hands-on care included tender and assertive acts. A large church service acknowledged Wilber's friendships and public life. At a smaller graveside service, Wilber's grandchildren sang unaccompanied, and wept unashamed as they stood in the wide open space between life and death. With carpenter's hands, son David had built his father's casket; now, family members lowered it into the ground, as wide ropes pulled hard against strong backs. Then, they filled the grave with dirt. It was a living ritual: slow, homespun and clumsy--yet formal, steady and sure. Passed on between generations, and learned through the hands. And the heart. Over years. Anyone can see that this is not the stuff manufactured at the last moment. This is the stuff formed in the time-worn fabric of family and community.

Dawn Rolke is a massage therapist and United Church minister living and working in Regina. She was honoured to know Wilber Moats during the last seven years of his life.