While direct cremation may remove the external rituals of farewell, it does not remove the human need to grieve - to pause, to acknowledge, to honour. The question remains: when the structures we once relied upon are absent, how do we hold space for loss?
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In recent years, direct cremation has grown in popularity and now accounts for 1 in 5 funerals in the UK. It is simple, private, and, for many, a welcome alternative to the formalities of a traditional funeral. Some arrange this through their local funeral director, while others choose national providers like Pure Cremation. In both cases, the cremation takes place without a ceremony, and the ashes are returned to the family, often in silence.
And yet, while direct cremation may remove the external rituals of farewell, it does not remove the human need to grieve—to pause, to acknowledge, to honour. The question remains: when the structures we once relied upon are absent, how do we hold space for loss?
Jayne’s husband, John, had chosen direct cremation with Pure Cremation. It was a decision she respected and upheld. But when she thought about his ashes being returned home, the home they had built together, the home that still held his presence in a thousand quiet ways, she found herself standing at a threshold she had not expected.
It was not the finality of death that unsettled her, but the lack of recognition that it had happened. There would be no moment of pause, no voices speaking his name, no collective act to acknowledge that the man she had loved was now held in her hands as ashes.
So, she reached out to me to help her create a moment that had, until then, been missing.
Together, we shaped an online gathering—a quiet, reflective space and an open invitation for the wider family to join if it felt right for them. Not everyone chose to, and that was perfectly okay with Jayne. She understood that grief is deeply personal, and there is no single way to navigate it. What mattered was that the space was there for those who needed it.
During the ceremony, I spoke these words:
“Funerals not only honour the dead, but help support the living as they start to move forwards in their lives. This is intended as a collective pause, a virtual communion to draw a circle of support around each of you as individuals, and as a family as you come to terms with a new reality.
Today marks the point in time where John’s ashes have come home.
We are at the point in the year where the days are short. The sun rises late and sets early. The leaves have fallen from the trees. We retreat into the cosiness of our homes, shutting out the outside world.
Like animals, we hibernate.
But as sure as day follows night, we understand that it will not be this way forever.
Come springtime, the days will stretch out, new life forms, our world transforms once more. We put our trust in the natural order: that springtime follows winter, autumn follows summer.
And, when springtime does arrive, John will be remembered by the wider community of people who loved and cared for him. He will be memorialised through stories, memories, creative expression and through song. He will be remembered for his achievements, his passions and his legacy.
...So until then, we hope it is enough to spend some time in collective reverence, to remember the man, the husband, the father and grandfather. To raise a glass, and toast to a great man.”
John’s ashes were now home, but more than that, Jayne had found a way to mark his presence, his absence, and the enduring love that remained.
Afterwards, Jayne wrote:
"I recently had the experience of having a celebrant for the return of my husband's ashes after a simple cremation, and I can't say enough good things about it. From the very beginning, the celebrant was incredibly sensitive and understanding, making what could have been a tough day feel more personal and heartfelt.
Kate approached my request with such creativity, finding unique ways to honour my husband's memory that truly resonated with me… It made the whole experience feel special and meaningful."
Ritual has long guided us through life’s most profound transitions. We light candles. We gather. We speak names aloud. These acts do not change the fact of loss, but they help us to carry it.
For Jayne and her family, an online gathering was the ritual that was needed in that moment. For others, it may be something different. Some choose a quiet moment alone; others gather in a local pub, raising a glass and telling stories deep into the night. Some hold a firework display, a joyful explosion of light in the sky, a fitting tribute to a life lived boldly. Others choose to mark the moment with music, with dancing, with a feast in honour of the person who has died.
There is also the question of when to come together. Some families feel the need to gather in the immediate days after a death, holding space for grief while it is still raw. Others, like Jayne, find that the return of the ashes is the right moment - the point at which absence becomes tangible, and a new reality sets in. Some wait for a significant date: a birthday, an anniversary, or the first Christmas without them. There is no rulebook for this, only the quiet pull of what feels right.
There is no single way to say goodbye. What matters is that we do.
If a loved one has chosen direct cremation, but you find yourself in need of a moment of remembrance, know that you are not alone.
There is space to create something meaningful, whether through a small gathering, a personal ceremony, or a moment of stillness that belongs only to you. If you would like to explore what that could look like, I would be honoured to help.
Because grief does not ask for permission. It only asks to be met. And in meeting it, we honour the ones we love.
