Jamie was buried at home on her rural property with the help of a supportive local mortician.
Jamie lived her life with a respect for the environment. She wanted to show that same respect in death, too. When she was near the end of her time in this world, her partner Eric contacted local funeral director Elizabeth Fournier to walk him through the steps to ensure a smooth transition.
She’d always spoken of being buried under the oak tree in their backyard, Eric told Elizabeth. “I really didn’t take her too seriously. But you helped the family down the street and they said we can actually do this?”
Elizabeth ran through a few questions to make sure their property complied with county regulations: they were in rural Clackamas County, which would make it easier; they owned the land, so wouldn't need permission from the landowner; they had a suitable spot with at least an acre 30 feet from a public right of way; and so on. She offered to call the county zoning and planning commission for due diligence and explained that he wouldn’t be able to deem this a “cemetery” or charge anyone for a burial space.
Elizabeth met up with Eric to take a look at the property. She says, “I don’t feel 100% sure about advising someone on a backyard burial unless I can fully see, smell and survey the space.” It was a lovely day. Birds were chirping and the whiff on the air was a heady fragrance from the rows of lilac Jamie had cultivated. Elizabeth assured Eric that Jamie would have a sendoff fitting for a woman who collected cans to recycle before it was cool, and who never took a drink from a Styrofoam cup.
Jamie died of complications from cancer the next morning before sunrise. Eric was blindsided by how quickly she went. He had hoped to have the grave pre-dug, the casket made by an old carpenter buddy of his, and their house painted lilac lavender in her honor. He was grieving over his Jamie being gone and all the things he wanted to do for her but just couldn’t make happen.
Over the phone, Elizabeth encouraged him to stay with his beloved, to talk with her about all of the beautiful things they had done in this lifetime, and to tell her about all of the even more amazing things they would experience when they would meet up again. Then she asked him to put their neighbor and best friend Natasha on the line. When Elizabeth had visited the prior day, Eric had introduced her to Natasha as “the town mortician lady.” Together, they worked through the details of family notification, ceremony preparation, and having someone come out to use Eric’s tractor to dig a grave.
When Elizabeth arrived later in the day she found a hubbub of activity. Jamie’s brother ambled over, carrying a small tree. “Will this be okay?” he asked. “I wasn’t sure what would be best for the top of the grave since I don’t think we want any headstone. I just want her to have something nice. And for Eric to be able to come out here in the evenings and know that she's with her lilacs and this tree, and that she'll provide the nutrients for new life and food and shelter for all the birds out here.”
Inside was one person washing dishes, another braiding flowers to make a lovely crown for Jamie, one tuning her guitar for the celebration’s acoustical accompaniment, Natasha painting Jamie’s toenails a delicious shade of purple, and Eric sitting beside his beloved, holding her hand and softly singing.
A little later, Jamie’s tribe of women bathed her and gently applied oils before wrapping her in her favorite lilac-colored, hand loomed rug. When the sun was getting low in the sky Eric affirmed he was ready. Her brother arrived at the perfect moment with a long cart to wheel his sister out of the house for her last ride. They carefully placed Jamie in her chariot and processed to the gravesite to the sounds of Cat Stevens’ “Where Do the Children Play” on guitar. Friends gathered and flowed over to the open meadow near the lilacs.
At the hole they lowered Jamie and gingerly tossed lilac boughs on top of the purple shroud. After a half-hour of singing as the sun set, Jamie and Eric's shovel-bearing son, slowly taking time to mark this moment, broke down in tears. Arms held him, as arms held the person holding him. A perfect chain of bodies was formed and it was hard to tell where one stopped and the next started. After some time, he primed the area right next to the grave and they planted the tree, all eyes watching the sweet leaves stir in the slight breeze.
Jamie lived her life with a respect for the environment. She wanted to show that same respect in death, too. When she was near the end of her time in this world, her partner Eric contacted local funeral director Elizabeth Fournier to walk him through the steps to ensure a smooth transition.
She’d always spoken of being buried under the oak tree in their backyard, Eric told Elizabeth. “I really didn’t take her too seriously. But you helped the family down the street and they said we can actually do this?”
Elizabeth ran through a few questions to make sure their property complied with county regulations: they were in rural Clackamas County, which would make it easier; they owned the land, so wouldn't need permission from the landowner; they had a suitable spot with at least an acre 30 feet from a public right of way; and so on. She offered to call the county zoning and planning commission for due diligence and explained that he wouldn’t be able to deem this a “cemetery” or charge anyone for a burial space.
Elizabeth met up with Eric to take a look at the property. She says, “I don’t feel 100% sure about advising someone on a backyard burial unless I can fully see, smell and survey the space.” It was a lovely day. Birds were chirping and the whiff on the air was a heady fragrance from the rows of lilac Jamie had cultivated. Elizabeth assured Eric that Jamie would have a sendoff fitting for a woman who collected cans to recycle before it was cool, and who never took a drink from a Styrofoam cup.
Jamie died of complications from cancer the next morning before sunrise. Eric was blindsided by how quickly she went. He had hoped to have the grave pre-dug, the casket made by an old carpenter buddy of his, and their house painted lilac lavender in her honor. He was grieving over his Jamie being gone and all the things he wanted to do for her but just couldn’t make happen.
Over the phone, Elizabeth encouraged him to stay with his beloved, to talk with her about all of the beautiful things they had done in this lifetime, and to tell her about all of the even more amazing things they would experience when they would meet up again. Then she asked him to put their neighbor and best friend Natasha on the line. When Elizabeth had visited the prior day, Eric had introduced her to Natasha as “the town mortician lady.” Together, they worked through the details of family notification, ceremony preparation, and having someone come out to use Eric’s tractor to dig a grave.
When Elizabeth arrived later in the day she found a hubbub of activity. Jamie’s brother ambled over, carrying a small tree. “Will this be okay?” he asked. “I wasn’t sure what would be best for the top of the grave since I don’t think we want any headstone. I just want her to have something nice. And for Eric to be able to come out here in the evenings and know that she's with her lilacs and this tree, and that she'll provide the nutrients for new life and food and shelter for all the birds out here.”
Inside was one person washing dishes, another braiding flowers to make a lovely crown for Jamie, one tuning her guitar for the celebration’s acoustical accompaniment, Natasha painting Jamie’s toenails a delicious shade of purple, and Eric sitting beside his beloved, holding her hand and softly singing.
A little later, Jamie’s tribe of women bathed her and gently applied oils before wrapping her in her favorite lilac-colored, hand loomed rug. When the sun was getting low in the sky Eric affirmed he was ready. Her brother arrived at the perfect moment with a long cart to wheel his sister out of the house for her last ride. They carefully placed Jamie in her chariot and processed to the gravesite to the sounds of Cat Stevens’ “Where Do the Children Play” on guitar. Friends gathered and flowed over to the open meadow near the lilacs.
At the hole they lowered Jamie and gingerly tossed lilac boughs on top of the purple shroud. After a half-hour of singing as the sun set, Jamie and Eric's shovel-bearing son, slowly taking time to mark this moment, broke down in tears. Arms held him, as arms held the person holding him. A perfect chain of bodies was formed and it was hard to tell where one stopped and the next started. After some time, he primed the area right next to the grave and they planted the tree, all eyes watching the sweet leaves stir in the slight breeze.
Names have been changed to honor the family’s privacy. Adapted with permission from Holly Pruett Celebrant, A Burial Outside the Box.
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