When Grieving Is Remote, and Hugs Come by Cell

The Fortune.com headline caught my eye on Friday, March 20: “Funerals in the time of coronavirus: How a pandemic is changing the industry.”

The article described a funeral service at a vast church, but attended by just 15 or so souls, all seated far from one another in this age of contagion.

Just as it has on American life, COVID-19 is reshaping the American way of death, disrupting yet another industry as families set small graveside services, postpone memorials and in some places turn to cremation rather than burial.

But what kind of bitter grieving is this, without hugs, handshakes or human warmth?

On Sunday, my 80-year-old father phoned to tell me my younger sister had died. I soaked in his grief over a 4G LTE network, unable to take his hand.

Kelly Massey Rigney was just 51, and this isn’t the place to do justice to her life, her hilarious stories told in a deep Arkansas drawl, or her innate kindness. It’s not the forum for recalling her devotion to family and to the students she taught before illness cut short her career at Spring Hill High School in Hempstead County.

But I can attest here to the real pain and isolation of suffering remotely, even with all the gadgetry that connects us today. My two brothers texted and called, and I even got updates from a niece discharged from the Peace Corps, returning from Africa. My brother was dividing his house, upstairs and down, to temporarily isolate her; my sister-in law wore gloves and a mask to the Little Rock airport to pick her up.

Welcome home, my dear.

Now is no time for face-to-face intimacies, no time to join hands in worship. “Don’t touch me; I won’t touch you,” Neil Diamond sings in an update of clingy old “Sweet Caroline.”

Stay safe out there! “Hands… washing hands..” 🎶 pic.twitter.com/QaRB1qZshp

— Neil Diamond (@NeilDiamond) March 22, 2020

My sister was not alone when she died, and her illness wasn’t viral.

My brother-in-law and father were both allowed into her room for the final moments; the hospital made an exception to its one-visitor-per-day coronavirus precautions.

There was no wake, no public viewing, no graveside service, no holding my grieving young nephews close. Eventually there will be memorials, hugs and mingled tears, but that all must wait.

My mother, who bore four children because she was determined to have a daughter, helped make the painful decision to put off any services. She’s a retired school counselor, dedicated to the common good. Instead, she responded to condolences on Facebook, and took real solace in them.

Funeral directors in Arkansas are helping families cope with new realities, and in some cases suggest recording or streaming family-only services. They are also working compassionately with mourners like us who have postponed physical memorial services.

Kenny Culpepper, funeral director at Griffin-Culpepper in McGehee and president of the Arkansas Funeral Directors Association, said families have been understanding about the need to follow government guidance limiting gatherings to 10 people. Most clients are choosing very small graveside services and putting off large events, he said.

“As funeral homes we deal with situations that come up daily, from weather to things like this, all kinds of situations,” he told Arkansas Business. “So we are flexible. It’s sad for the families that are grieving. But we’re here to help and counsel.”

He said funeral homes already observe strict sanitary standards, and that embalmed bodies pose no risk of spreading the virus. His funeral home has never been cleaner, Culpepper said, with vigilant sanitation of surfaces. “Every doorknob, anything that people might touch, is wiped down.” He said he hadn’t noticed any trend toward cremation as opposed to burial, something reported in other states.

The state funeral directors’ annual convention was canceled out of pandemic concerns. It had been scheduled for next month in Hot Springs, and may be back on before the end of the year.

The association is promoting alternatives like live-streaming over the internet. “Facebook allows simple ways for this to happen … if there are services being broadcast on these media with the family’s permission,” the association’s website says.

Meanwhile, social media are helping Arkansans share joy, as well as grief. A dear family friend was married the weekend my sister died, and well-wishers and relatives attended the wedding via Facebook. “The marriage, love and joy were very real,” one guest from afar observed, “even if the medium was virtual.”