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I used to think online funerals were heresy – now I’ve completely changed my mind

If, for some reason, you can’t attend in person, surely joining virtually is better than nothing?

Ever been to an online funeral? I have and it was a revelation.
After my mother died, I was borderline insulted when a relative asked whether her service would be live-streamed. How dystopian is that? I thought. My mum’s funeral is not just a variant of “Netflix and chill”.
Well, I was mistaken. Finding myself on the wrong side of the world when someone special passed away, last week I was a virtual attendee at a service 2,000 miles away. To my surprise, it was a profoundly moving experience.
First, a caveat: I sincerely hope that this very modern way of paying one’s respects doesn’t truly catch on. Funerals are not really for the departed, they are for those who remain, and attending via Google Meets is not much use to the poor souls weeping in the pews. Moreover, it’s all uncomfortably reminiscent of the darkest days of the pandemic. Never again should anybody be forced to say goodbye to a loved one by iPad.
But what if, for all manner of reasons, you just can’t be there? Perhaps attending online is better than nothing?
It turns out that it is, though it would help if we could all agree on some etiquette.
Should virtual mourners sing along with the congregation, in the privacy of their own sitting rooms? Should we stand up when the celebrant asks real-life attendees to rise, or is that just weird? How about the dress code: if nobody can see, is there any need to wear black, or even look respectable? What if we’re overcome by a sudden urge to have a cup of tea? Would it be truly dreadful to put the kettle on?
I found myself wrestling with all these questions and more after logging on to the funeral of a young man I met only twice. At the age of just 24, Joshua Cullen was diagnosed with the “great white shark” of brain tumours: an aggressive form of cancer that would kill him within four years. Heartbreakingly, towards the end of his life, almost all his so-called friends deserted him. My article about his loneliness, and the wider phenomenon of so-called “cancer ghosting”, struck a huge chord with Telegraph readers, prompting a flood of personal messages to both Josh and his magnificent mother, Magdi. I was deeply affected by the morning I spent with him, when he had just two weeks left to live, and wanted to be part of his send-off.
Unfortunately, I was overseas. And so it was that I found myself logging onto a live link to Grantham Crematorium. What was odd was that I really felt as if I was actually there. I hadn’t reckoned with the emotional intensity of watching a funeral alone.
The truth is that I did make a cup of tea midway through – and felt horribly guilty. In the absence of a shoulder to cry on, it was the only comfort I’d get. And there’s the rub – because funerals are, above all, about gathering together. If we’re going down this route, can we please also have online wakes for the virtual attendees? I reckon we all needed a drink.

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