Losing a loved one is always difficult, but when my grandmother passed away, the depth of my grief was eased by the beauty and tradition of her funeral. Rooted in Japanese culture, her farewell followed centuries-old customs that brought both comfort and reflection.

The Morning I Learned of Her Passing – Reflection on Her Life

The morning I learned that my grandmother had passed, it felt as though the world had stopped.

I immediately informed my workplace of the news, took a couple of days off, packed my suitcase, and left the house.

On the long journey to my grandmother’s home, I reflected on her life. I can confidently say I was her favourite grandchild. She was my safe place.

She helped raise me when I was little, and visiting her was my favourite thing in the world. My parents built a house about three hours away from hers by car, so we didn’t live close. I would visit her once a month, or sometimes every three months. Every time I saw her, she greeted me with a big smile, rushing to the entrance, saying, “Is it you, Sheena? Oh, welcome back! Thank you for coming, I’m so happy to see you! Come, tell me your stories.”

We would chat for hours, enjoying sweets together. She often took me on trips across Japan with her siblings or friends, as travelling was her passion. She was strong, loved conversation, money, and delicious Japanese food and sweets. My grandmother raised four children with my grandfather, who passed away far too soon, over 40 years ago. Together, they were dairy and rice farmers, leading a life full of ups and downs.

She lived through the war, losing her father to it. After the war, she went from being wealthy to poor. She married and moved to a town where she knew no one, starting a dairy farm with my grandfather. Tragically, they lost their first child. Their house later burned down, but despite everything, she raised four children while working tirelessly. My grandfather passed away from lung cancer far too early, leaving her to continue raising the family alone. Although she never travelled abroad, she went to Singapore to help her son with his business.

When my mother, her only daughter and favourite child, married my father—a foreigner—my grandmother didn’t initially approve, but she still supported us. When I was born, I quickly became her favourite grandchild. She continued farming and even took me on trips with her friends and siblings. Even when diagnosed with cancer herself, she never showed any weakness, as she hated hospitals.

For about five years before her passing, she attended a day service. Eventually, the pain became unbearable, and she was hospitalised. On the day she collapsed, she was supposed to go to her day service. She had anus cancer, and the strong painkillers caused memory loss. After being bedridden for weeks, her muscles weakened, and she gradually lost her appetite. She no longer resembled her old self, although she still remembered me.

There was a dramatic improvement when the doctor reduced her pain medication. She regained her appetite and began to look healthier. I was able to speak with her one last time over the phone when my mum visited her (my mum visited every weekend). After her last meal—a full dinner, which surprised the nurses and doctors—she passed away around 9 p.m. No one knows the exact time as she wasn’t found until hours later.

And that’s her story.

Losing her was one of the hardest experiences I’ve ever faced, but in the end, she left quietly, peacefully, in the night without alerting anyone, just as she had lived—independently and strongly.

---

Arrival in Grandmother’s City and the Weight of Tradition

When I arrived at the nearest bus stop to my grandmother’s house, it began to rain heavily. It felt as though the skies were mourning with us. Upon reaching her home, I found all of my relatives already gathered. I was nervous about seeing my grandmother because it meant I would have to confront her death. I wasn’t ready to face that reality—it felt too difficult.

Eventually, I gathered the courage to enter the room where she “slept.” My aunt encouraged me to see her. Her peaceful face, resting in her casket, looked as though she was merely asleep. In that moment, I couldn’t stop crying. It was the first time I had cried in front of my relatives, and the tears just wouldn’t stop. She looked beautiful. She was dressed in the finest kimono my mother had chosen for her, her face made up perfectly. I felt a deep sadness that her spirit couldn’t see how beautiful she looked because, although her body was there, she truly wasn’t.

I deeply regretted not visiting her often during the four weeks she was hospitalised. The last time I spoke to her, four days before her passing, she had happily told me she had recovered. I promised her I would visit in ten days. I was too busy with work and blamed my job for not seeing her sooner. Later that night, it brought me some comfort to think that she was returning to be with my grandfather and other loved ones.

This marked the beginning of a deeply spiritual journey through the customs and rituals that shape the Japanese perspective on death.

A Traditional Japanese Funeral

In Japan, a traditional funeral is a multi-step process that begins with the otsuya (wake), followed by the ososhiki (funeral ceremony), cremation (kasou), and the eventual burial of the ashes in a family grave. The otsuya is particularly significant, held the evening before the funeral to allow family and close friends to spend one final night with the deceased. It’s a deeply personal moment, offering a chance to reflect and pay respect. My mother stayed with my grandmother at the funeral ceremony site overnight, grieving and spending her final moments with her. I knew she had been crying all night, as her eyes were still filled with tears the next morning.

Understanding Death in Japanese Culture

For families rooted in Buddhism, like mine, death is not viewed as an end but rather a transition. In Buddhism, life is seen as impermanent—everything in this world changes, and death is merely a continuation of the soul’s journey. Through ceremonies and the chanting of sutras, the spirit is guided toward peace and enlightenment.

For families that follow Shinto traditions, death is also seen as a return—specifically, a return to the realm of ancestors. Shinto emphasises respect for the deceased, and rituals are performed to honour the spirits, keeping them close to the family through visits to the grave and offerings of food, flowers, and incense.

The Funeral Meeting and Vigil ( Otsuya)

At the funeral gathering, I realised how many lives my grandmother had touched. What my uncles and neighbours said stood out to me: they said, ‘Health is the greatest wealth.’ It made me reflect on my own health as well. It was my first time experiencing a traditional Japanese funeral, and every detail was carefully planned, allowing us to honour her memory properly.

While the Shingon Buddhist monk chanted (which was surprisingly soothing), we performed the ritual of moving the charcoal three times, offering our prayers. One phrase the monk said really stayed with me: “The world is impermanent.”

Impermanence: In Buddhism, this refers to the idea that all things are constantly in flux, never staying the same. Nothing is eternal or unchanging. This view, known as “mujōkan” (無常観), highlights the fleeting nature of life and existence. All things are constantly being born, changing, and fading away. In particular, it refers to the transience of human life and its fragile nature.

The monk also spoke about the four sufferings of life: birth, old age, illness, and death. He mentioned aibetsuriku (the suffering of parting from loved ones), saying that losing someone you love is one of life’s greatest pains. As he spoke, I felt as though he was describing my own situation, and I couldn’t stop the tears from falling.

As the evening came to an end, the sky lit up with a breathtaking sunset. It felt as though my grandmother was sending her thanks and her love to those gathered, directing us farewell.

Cultural Mourning and the 49-Day Tradition

One of the most profound and touching aspects of the grieving process in Japan is the tradition of mourning for 49 days. During this period, it is believed that the spirit of the deceased remains close to the living world. At my grandmother’s wake, the Buddhist monk reminded us, “For the next 49 days, please keep the deceased in your heart and continue your prayers.”

The 49th day is an important Buddhist ritual called Shijukunichi, marking the final memorial service held 49 days after a person’s passing. In Buddhist belief, after death, the soul undergoes a series of trials every seven days, and the 49th day marks the final judgement. It is on this day that the soul’s destination—whether it ascends to the Pure Land or is reborn in one of the six realms—is decided.

For the family, the mourning period is marked by rituals, prayers, and offerings. It is customary to refrain from attending celebrations, offering gifts, or making shrine visits during this time. Daily prayers and offerings are made to honour the deceased, with special focus on preparing for the 49th-day memorial service.

On that final day, the soul is believed to complete its journey, leaving the liminal space between the living and the afterlife. It is a solemn but meaningful time for the family to reflect, pray, and say their final goodbyes. For me, the practice of mourning for 49 days gave a sense of continued connection to my grandmother, as though I was still sharing moments with her even after her passing. On the 49th day, we believed she would finally be ready to ascend to heaven, offering a sense of peace and closure.

A 1000 Yen Note and a Final Gift

While going through her belongings with family, I found a 1000 yen note tucked away in her old wallet which was a present from me when I was little. My mother said “Keep it. Sheena, she will be happy for you to have it.” It felt like a final gift from her—a reminder of the life and love we shared. I will cherish that note forever. My grandmother had always been fond of simple pleasures—money, gossip, sweets, flowers, and, most of all, her family. That note, now preserved, will forever be a reminder of her vibrant spirit.

The Final Goodbye and Cremation

The ososhiki (funeral ceremony) was deeply emotional. Buddhist chants filled the air, guiding her soul on its journey. The cremation process, kasou, followed. In Japan, family members take part in gathering the bones of the deceased after cremation, placing them into an urn. It was a heart-wrenching but healing moment—a final act of love.

The journey concluded with one last ritual at the temple, symbolizing the completion of life’s circle.

Reflections on Life and Death

This experience made me reflect on my own life. How do I want to live? How do I want to be remembered? Like my grandmother, I want to leave behind a legacy of love and kindness. I also wondered what her final moments were like—was she at peace? Did she feel our love surrounding her?

A Path Toward Healing

While I wish I had one last conversation with her, I don’t feel the regret I’ve felt in the past with other losses. Perhaps it’s because, through the 49 days of mourning, I had time to say goodbye. Grieving in this way—allowing the rituals and traditions to guide me—helped me process my emotions and find peace.

Final Thoughts

As I reflect on my grandmother’s life, I’m filled with gratitude. 

The tradition reflects the heart of Japanese culture: the importance of family, respect for the deceased, and the understanding that life is fragile and fleeting. The experience brought me not only closer to my family but also closer to understanding the deeper meaning of life and death. For those 49 days, I carried my grandmother in my heart, reflecting on her life, her strength, and the legacy she left behind.

And in the end, as we said our final goodbye on the 49th day, I understood that though she was physically gone, her spirit would always remain close, guiding us as we continued to walk through life.

---

Film recommendation to get a deeper understanding of traditional funeral in Japan

Departures / Okuribito (送り人) 2008