Vikerraadio program "Teise mätta otsast" addressed changes seen in the funeral industry down the years, joined by folklorist Marju Kõivupuu and funeral director Tarko Tuisk.

Kõivupuu noted funeral and cemetery culture has been in a state of constant evolution over the centuries. So in present-day Estonia, a shift can be identified in which religious funeral traditions, having been interrupted during the avowedly atheist Soviet era, have led to funerals which have increasingly become just a service. "Modern people have distanced themselves from death during the rapid pace of development which has affected our society," Tuisk concurred.

Decades ago, people would tend to say their farewells to the departed, for example on the veranda of the family home. Relatives washed the body themselves and said their goodbyes over a period of several days. Nowadays, people tend to resolve the situation by purchasing death care services, as even the very mention of death makes them uncomfortable. As a funeral director, Tuisk said he sees a conflict between people's real mortality and society's denial of that mortality. "We are aware of our mortality from the outset, and from the very first day we start fighting against it," he observed.

From classical concert to ballerina

According to the "Teise mätta otsast" guests, thanks to advances in healthcare and the weakening of family ties, Estonians have increasingly come to conceal death. The elderly and the terminally ill often spend their final days in care homes or hospitals; this removes the process of dying from the public arena and makes death as a process a very clinical thing. Funerals also may no longer bring families together. "I would venture to say that young people born in the 2000s or a little earlier have probably never seen — even in the small towns or townships, let alone in Tallinn — a funeral procession moving from one place to another," said Kõivupuu.

While the end of life for many people comes in medical or care institutions, mourners are increasingly expressing a preference for life-affirming and personalized farewells. People have boldly replaced the traditional mournful violin music with more joyful solutions. "For example, a couple of months ago we had a ballerina perform next to the coffin at the Memoris Crematorium (in Tallinn – ed.). [...] The deceased was literally a ballet enthusiast, and wanted that," Tuisk explained.

Mourners often want to celebrate a life lived with dignity. According to Tuisk, the purpose of a funeral is not simply to be sad, but to dedicate a moment to reflecting on the life of the deceased. "It gives the final overview of a life lived with dignity. However dignified it may have been, the farewell should reflect that," he outlined. The funeral director also gave another example of a personalized funeral. In this case, the trucker's classic "Rekkamehe argipäev" by Meie Mees, a song from the early 2000s, was played, simply because it was the deceased's favorite: "Everyone sat at the funeral with happy faces. I always say that one eye cries and the other eye laughs."

Kõivupuu agreed that back in the Soviet period, funeral song sheets tended to rather resemble a classical music recital. "We have gotten used to the idea that classical music is associated with death for many people. It has to be, how should I put it, serious, but in an almost artificial sense," she reflected. In other words, people often think they have to play a part at funerals, remaining deliberately restrained. Yet even here mourning culture is actually changing.

'Mother, when will we go water the dead?'

Urbanization and the acceleration of the pace of life impact grave maintenance as they do many other areas of life, and death. Tuisk said he conducted a study of over 300 participants and found that, on average, Estonians visit the graveside only once or twice a year, primarily for All Souls' Day (November 2), and also at Christmas. Younger people admit that visiting cemeteries is difficult, yet they do not wish to purchase maintenance services.

Kõivupuu identified another inevitability of our modern era, the dispersal of Estonians: "The closer [to Tallinn], the more people are scattered, not only across Estonia, but we can already begin talking about how a person can manage to return to their homeland at all [to maintain the grave]."

According to Tuisk, relatives are increasingly choosing tree burials, for instance, or memorial parks, as maintenance-free alternatives. Instead of a traditional grave plot, relatives plant a tree that symbolizes the cycle of nature and does not require constant tending. This approach has changed the meaning of the farewell, shifting the focus from finality to new life. "People automatically assume a funeral is something final. But if you go to plant something, you can take the children with you," he explained.

However, involving children in the grieving process is still difficult for many families, as death is not something which gets talked about in many homes. According to Tuisk, getting youngsters to understand what death is can start off with small activities, for instance explaining the life cycle of an insect. "If you whack a butterfly with your hand, it won't be getting up again, no matter how much you blow on it," he put it.

Kõivupuu also pointed out the need to normalize and internalize the topic. "It certainly shouldn't be done in this way, where, you know, it's just 'come here my child, today we're going to be talking about death.'"

The guests recommend turning cemetery visits and remembrance into a natural family activity. Children adopt new customs well if parents allow them to take part in the process. Practical activities, such as planting a seedling or watering flowers, can help to dismantle fears and cultivate a calmer attitude when it comes to the end of life. "I really liked how one of my younger offspring once said: 'Mother, when will we go water the dead?'" Kõivupuu recalled.

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