Text: Emilie Escher | Photo: Nina Slagmolen | January 9, 2024

After 11 years, she changed course, became a funeral director, and evolved into a champion of a new way of dealing with death: one that is much more mindful, sustainable, and less commercial than what we’re used to.

The switch to becoming an independent funeral director came as no surprise to her. 'It was a combination of things. I’ve always been very much engaged with death. I grew up in a rural area: many of my friends lived on farms, and lambs or other animals would sometimes die. For many people, that’s a reason to give it a wide berth, but I kept watching. Fascinated by the fact that death was actually a magnet for the life that followed.'

During her puberty and adolescence, death was no more a frightening phenomenon to her, quite the opposite. It felt more like a pleasant destination, something she could even long for deeply. It wasn’t for lack of warmth around her: that wasn’t the issue. She grew up in a loving family. She attributes her longing for death to several out-of-body experiences she had as a child, which can be compared to the experiences of people who were revived after cardiac arrest.

She read a lot about it and came to realize that what she had experienced as a child—and had never been able to make sense of—was comparable to a near-death experience. 'Out-of-body experiences can also happen to people without trauma, but through deep meditation.' I think we’re all capable of making a connection between life and death, but that there are fewer veils between them for children. I think that as a child, while playing, I entered a kind of meditative state, and I’ve never forgotten what I saw there.'

Thinking about it was especially comforting during her puberty and adolescence, because life was difficult for her. 'I suffered from depression between the ages of 23 and 32. Fortunately, that has lessened as I’ve matured and grown spiritually.'

'Instead of following ‘the rules,’ they made their own choices and created their own unique rituals.'

The idea of, as she puts it, 'really engaging with death'—making a career out of it—was fueled by the deaths of several young friends. 'Their funerals moved me, because they were taken over by friends who stepped in to support the parents.' Instead of following ‘the proper way,’ they made their own choices and created their very own rituals. ‘That’s another way to do it,’ I thought. More people should be able to experience it this way. It became the inspiration for my practice, Bij Afscheid.'

'A funeral industry has sprung up that pushes all sorts of things on us that we don’t really need—and that’s also harmful to the environment. People are rarely aware of the commercial interests behind it. Because death is still a taboo in Western society and people would rather not deal with it, they aren’t well-informed. So when someone dies, it’s overwhelming, and people tend to fall back on what they know. So it’s quite possible that they’ll remember a funeral insurance policy and call this phone number.

What people don’t realize is that they’ve ended up in a rather manipulative business model. There are kind, dedicated people working there, but the system is rife with conflicts of interest. Insurance companies also act as funeral directors, own funeral homes, crematoriums, and funeral car fleets, and have a stake in coffin manufacturers. 'We at WC-Eend recommend WC-Eend.' Even if you have funeral insurance, that doesn’t mean you’re obligated to have the same company arrange the cremation and burial. You can also just have the money paid out.

'I mainly try to make people aware of what they really need—and that’s very little.'

She sees it as her mission to educate people about this in all sorts of ways. She offers an online course at www.bijafscheid.nl and wrote the book *Uitvaart in Eigen Hand*(Taking Charge of Your Own Funeral), which is also—and especially—very useful to read even if no one has passed away yet. She gives lectures and trains new, progressive funeral directors in the field.

'I really don’t want people to be tempted into letting the funeral industry push all sorts of things on them, when there are so many wonderful alternatives. Actually, everything I’m doing is about systemic change—something I was already working on during my studies. Above all, I try to make people aware of this: what do you really need? And that’s very little. If you look only at what’s required by law, it’s the disposal of the body—whether through burial or cremation—and registering your death with the municipality. That might cost a total of 800 euros, while almost every funeral website tells us we’ll spend between 6,000 and 8,000 euros. Then it’s really hard to dig through all that to find out what the actual prices are.'

'I could really say: ‘Cut the crap! ’ You don’t have to be in one of those auditoriums at all.'

She dares to say that the most special funerals for her were those of people who had little or no money. 'That’s when I really felt valued. I could actually say: ‘Cut the crap! You don’t have to be in a funeral hall at all.’ We can gather together at home, or outside in the garden. You don’t have to be in a coffin—we can look in your own closet to see if you have a nice shroud, and if not, I still have a nice one in my own closet.’

That’s why she finds Islamic burial traditions so beautiful. In Islam, everyone is wrapped in the same white shroud, the kafan, usually without a coffin or bier. 'Because the essence is this: everyone is equal in death. A person is often carried into the grave by many hands. It’s completely different from one of those mechanical lifts. But familiar hands—those of cousins, children, and loved ones—laying you at the bottom of the grave—that makes much more sense to me. And according to proper Islamic custom, you also have your own kafan at home while you’re still alive, to remind you of death.'

If you ask her which method of burial appeals to her most, it’s a completely new one: composting, or 'return to the earth,' currently permitted only in a few progressive states in the U.S. and in Mölln, Germany, near Hamburg. Last year, she went there to take a look.

'There, the body of the deceased is placed in a cocoon made of chopped leaves, hay, and straw, after which it turns into nutrient-rich soil within 40 days. This soil is rich in nutrients and minerals and can be used to plant forests and gardens. In the U.S., regenerative reforestation projects have been launched using this soil. It is my greatest goal to make this possible in the Netherlands during my lifetime.'

'Natural burial is truly beautiful because you’re doing something to support native biodiversity and nature conservation.'

If it hasn’t yet been included in the Burial Act by the time her time comes, she’ll opt for a natural burial. Although, just like in a regular cemetery, the body is still buried very deep underground, which she finds illogical.

'Six Feet Under—do you know that show? That’s how deep a grave is, which means there’s absolutely no oxygen or soil life down there, and you don’t actually decompose. But natural burial is really beautiful because you’re doing something for native biodiversity and nature conservation.'

She’s seriously considering writing a dissertation on all these changing rituals, especially with the environment in mind. Back to college—and perhaps even the VU. 'When I was 21 and graduating, I thought: I want to get a Ph.D. someday; I’ll come back someday. I’ve always felt very comfortable at the VU. Everyone can be whoever they want to be there; the student body is very diverse, with many different backgrounds and worldviews. And I also really liked the building. I remember a lot of grumbling about the building, but I actually really love that brutalist style. And that lobby always gave me a very cosmopolitan feeling.'