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A couple of weeks ago, we got a call at work that a woman named Christy* had a malamute dog who had passed away, and she needed us to pick him up and take him to the crematory. So a coworker and I climbed into the Explorer, one of our two work vehicles, and drove down the road out of the city, through the outskirts of town, to her ranch in the country. Christy has an adorable red-sided, sharply peaked farmhouse surrounded by fenced-in plots of land where her horses grazed in the midmorning sunlight. There was a bite in the air, but it wasn't cold. When she saw us driving down her long gravel driveway, she came out of her house and opened the gate for us. Her other malamute, Kallu*, the deceased dog's sister, was gentle and came up to greet us, and then clung protectively to Christy’s side. She was huge, wolf-sized, but not lean like wild animals. She had a rounded, well-fed figure, and her fur was fluffy and clean.

Something I didn't expect when I started working at the pet funeral home was how much it would cause me to consider my beliefs about death and the afterlife. I knew I would usher the animal dead through their transformation and transition; I knew I would help individuals and families make memorial decisions while they grapple with fresh grief, and hopefully help them find comfort in that process. I saw myself as a purveyor of healing, not as a student. But, of course, I'm learning through my work as well.

When my grandpa died, one of my uncles gave his eulogy that centered on how they'd bonded by working on cars together from the time my uncle was a little boy. He specifically remembered my grandpa asking him for a wrench, right down to the size, and later placed a wrench of that same size in my grandpa's casket to be buried with him. Others in my family placed a fishing pole, a pocket knife, and other objects that represented my grandpa's hobbies and important memories of him for the living. Regardless of our beliefs of the afterlife, something in all of us didn't want him to go into it without the things he treasured. When my grandma passed, we did the same for her.

It's not just my family that's done this, and I've seen in my occupation that people don't reserve it just for their human family, either. Some of my favorite moments at the pet funeral home and crematory where I work are when people bring their pet's favorite things to be cremated with them.

I thought I'd do something a little different this month and share a couple of prayers I make to my psychopomp Gods and the dead. These prayers, made at my psychopomp altar or ancestor shrine, are a major part of my practices as a pagan and as a death care professional. These prayers supplement and aid my professional work, and my profession is an act of devotion to those whom I worship. I think it's important for people to feel that the work they do is sacred, and worshiping the Gods and spirits of that work is one way to experience the sacredness of how we earn our living. Prayers focus our thoughts and remind us of our purpose, providing a quiet moment to remember why we do what we do, anchoring us to our values and the Gods and spirits whom we love.

Nighttime Prayer to Psychopompic Gods and Spirits

O Rosmerta, Our Lady of Roanoke –
Mother of marshes and junctions,
Gracious Hostess of the living and the dying,
the coming and the going, Plentiful Sustainer –
and Mercurius Psychopompos –
God of the roads and rails, fleet-footed and cunning,
Guide into the Otherworlds, Knower of the ways –
and Genii Cuculatti, Messengers and Gift-Bearers,
and all my helping and guiding spirits on this path,
Teach me to be a better servant,
Fill my body with strength to bear the dead,
Show me the ways so that I may guide them;
Fill my mouth with words that comfort the grieving,
Help me make spaces for them to rest and be nourished.
Thank you for entrusting this sacred work to me.
May my words and deeds honor and please you
in the coming day.

Something that I love about cremation, aside from its relative low cost, is the variety of memorial options that are available. In the past, the living just had a few options: burying the cremated remains, keeping the urn at home or in a niche in a columbarium, or scattering the remains. But now, there are a number of creative and heartfelt options for those who want a deeper, more tangible connection with their loved ones' cremated remains.

Cremation Stones

This is a product we offer at the pet funeral home and crematory where I work. While we don't make the stones ourselves, we can send them off for our customers, or they can choose to do it themselves. When the company who creates the stones receives the cremains, they refine the granule remains into a super-fine powder and then add a binding agent that transforms the remains into a clay-like material. The clay is then worked into smooth pebble shapes that fit comfortably into the palm of the hand and heated in a kiln. How many pebbles are created is based on the volume of cremains, which varies from person to person (or animal to animal). One company, Parting Stone, estimates 6-10 stones for cats; anywhere from 5-35 for dogs; and around 40-60 stones for humans.

I’ve begun training as a cremationist, and while it can feel overwhelming at times when faced with all the things I have to learn, I really enjoy it. I like how hands-on it is, and how the steps in the process utilize different skills and actions. Cremation is a deeply spiritual act to me. I physically care for the dead and participate in their transformation, assisting the Fire in releasing their spirits from their physical forms.

For the past several months, I've found myself struggling with fresh ideas for Hob & Broom, my previous blog here on PaganSquare about hearth and home traditions. While my hearth cult is still a deeply important spiritual foundation for me, I felt that I'd exhausted all my resources for it and there was nothing left to write about. But I think it's closer to the truth to say that my interest has shifted, and has been shifting for quite some time.