Open House at the Crematorium

If I told you that, every year, we take our children to spend an afternoon at the crematorium, what would your reaction be? 'Curious'? 'Morbid'? Or perhaps a little uncomfortable?

I understand. Death is the great taboo of our society. We hide it, we whisper about it, we conceal it behind euphemisms. However, there is an annual event that has changed our way of approaching this subject as a family: the crematorium open house.

Far from the sad decorum of the ceremonies we know, this place opens its doors to explain, demystify, and, above all, to answer questions. Here is why, for us, it has become an essential experience.

We often think we are doing the right thing by protecting children from death. We tell ourselves: 'They are too small,' 'It will traumatize them.' But silence is, in reality, the fertile ground for anxiety. What we don't understand is frightening.

By offering them a neutral space, without the weight of grief or the immediate loss of a loved one, we allow them to explore the concept of finitude with scientific curiosity. There, no heavy speeches. We find workshops, artists exhibiting their work (I, by the way, have a magnificent one in my living room!), board games, and spaces for drawing.

It is educational, it is concrete, and it is even joyful.

What strikes me the most at each visit is the striking contrast between adults and children. We, parents, often arrive on the defensive, hearts a little tight, projecting our own fears onto our children.

Them? They are… simply curious.

They are not shocked by how an oven works or by the symbolism of ashes. They ask direct questions, without filters, with a fresh perspective, having no fear of asking the unthinkable ('What if you're fat, is it longer?' question asked by Miss M two years ago). They want to understand the 'mechanism' of the cycle of life. They don't look for complicated metaphors; they want the truth.

And this truth, when it is shared with kindness, calms them. They realise that death is not a monstrous entity hidden under a bed, but a natural process, a passage.

By participating in these days, we are not celebrating death. We are celebrating being alive. These moments remind us that time is precious. That asking questions, even the ones that might be uncomfortable, is a form of respect for life. The activities: drawing, board games, discussions, and conversations with the staff, who always show incredible humanity, transform an abstract fear into concrete knowledge.

There is nothing morbid about this approach. On the contrary, it is a deeply human one. By helping our children get used to not fearing the inevitable, we are giving them a precious key for their adult lives. The day they are faced with a real loss, they won't be helpless. They will know that death is part of the landscape, that it’s okay to talk about it, and that they have the right to ask questions. We go back every year. Not out of masochism, but because it’s instructive. Because it’s well done. And because we have fun while learning! https://dyingforlife.co.uk/