25 Nov Surprise Gifts of a Zoom Memorial Service

by Penfield Chester, Hospice Volunteer

I groaned inwardly when I first heard we were to have a zoom service for a beloved relative. Then my reasonable side caught up with me to help approach the date without very high expectations for yet another zoom meeting.

What I came away with was so much gratitude for being able to hear what everyone shared—stories, appreciations, poems, and lots of tears. Besides that (which is common in our usual memorial gatherings), I realized I appreciated how this format was able to include people from all over the country (and some outside of the country) without the strain of travel. And, most important, I saw how they had the option to weep with abandon (being muted and also able to turn off their video if desired).

Services in the flesh of course give us the live touch and feeling of support, but so often we see people refraining from tears in a service, holding back, rather than letting loose with the purging of deep grief that ultimately heals. In these times when we can’t safely gather in person, there was an unexpected gift of allowing people to participate in a way that suited their needs in a way we don’t usually have.

I was moved by how much the zoom meeting meant not only for me but the more intimately bereaved. I was at Jessie’s house, downstairs on my own computer with my sister upstairs moving in and out of her mother-in-laws’ room to be by her side when needed. This was a sudden, unexpected death: Jessie’s husband had died in their bed without any previous warning.

What I observed following the hour-long zoom session was Jessie watching the slideshow of him and his family over and over and exclaiming with joy at each image. She shed waves of tears during the time when friends and family were sharing and then with the photos there was this fresh slate of love and gratitude for her beloved husband. Her appreciation lasted through another day, sometimes blessed with tears, also bouncing back to all that she loved about him, and a few confessions about what she didn’t. It made me reflect that since the zoom service was recorded, she could listen and watch again as another gift—so often the shock that the intimately bereaved experience during in-person services can cloak the memory of what the gathering meant, and who said what precious words of comfort and love.

I cannot tell you how many times Jessie exclaimed over the next few days her gratitude to my sister and her family for arranging the zoom. I could see some of the important aspects that made this zoom funeral work. One is that they had a facilitator who acted as a “memorial celebrant” (who happens to live in Ireland but that doesn’t matter on zoom as long as you can figure out the time zone issue). The other crucial person was the zoom techie—the one who holds the space of explaining how zoom works to newbies and reminding others how to mute, unmute, raise their hand and ask questions or make comments on chat. Even those of us who have spent too many hours on zoom meetings for work will find, in a time of high emotion, that this facilitation is crucial. The other gift that this zoom memorial had going for it was the technological wizardry of how to put music and slides on. This takes more experience and knowledge than many of us have to offer in a zoom session, but it’s worthwhile to seek out if you plan one.

So the hugs are missing, but in a time when we can’t hug those outside of our immediate household, this format offered more than I would have ever imagined.