Suicide is the cancer of the soul. How do suicidal thoughts work? Saša Kasal and Roksana Táborská.
Saša Kasal and Roksana Táborská from the National Institute of Mental Health
Suicide is the cancer of the soul. How do suicidal thoughts work?
It changes with age: the younger a person is, the more at risk they are – people learn different techniques for coping with problems during their lives.
It changes by gender: more men commit suicide, while women more often self-harm (worldwide, there are 3 to 4 male suicides for every female suicide).
It spreads like contagion: if a suicide happens in one classroom, it is a risk factor for all classmates.
The surroundings can make it worse; it is enough to say, for example, “You can't do this to me.”
13,000 suicides in one year – roughly 4 deaths a day. Those are the figures for 2022. March and April are the highest-risk months.
Is it because of computers now? Not at all. Numbers have steadily declined since the 1950s and 1960s. They have only started rising again since 2019. Why?
There is never just one cause: covid, bleak prospects for the future, social media, long waiting lists for psychologists, addictive substances, even genetic predisposition.
What to do when someone confides in you about their intention to commit suicide?
Will a psychologist drop you?
Can the family be exonerated in any way?
We explored the stigma of suicide together with Saša Kasal and Roksana Táborská from the National Institute of Mental Health in our podcast.
We apologize to everyone for the lower clarity of the male voices. The original recording was heavily damaged, and what you are hearing is the result of a painstaking reconstruction.
How nature helps us in times of loss
When we lose someone close to us, the world as we knew it suddenly changes. Time seems to stand still. What once felt solid falls apart. What used to make sense suddenly makes none at all. The pain can feel heavier than we are able to bear. An emptiness forms. A silence that cannot be bypassed.
It is precisely in such moments that nature can become our support and sanctuary. It offers what we so deeply need in times of grief – silence, peace, a healing sound, a sight, and a touch. A space to rest. Closeness without words, without advice, without pressure. It helps us gently stay connected – with ourselves, with what was, and with what remains.
We, Funeral Guides, have now begun establishing natural burial grounds. That is why we dedicate much more attention to the connection between nature and mourning in our articles as well.
Nature accepts and heals
In moments of grief, nature can be the most patient guide. The forest, mountains, river, and open sky do not force advice or quick solutions upon us. They do not promise that "things will be fine again" nor do they provide instant guides on "how to feel good quickly." They do not judge, rush, or pressure time – they are simply there in quiet presence. They accept our sadness as naturally as morning mist or fallen leaves. And by doing so, they give us the space to simply be. To meet our grief, stay with it for a moment in the present, and pay attention to it.
During the grieving process, it can be difficult to stay in the present. Presence itself often hurts – we tend to reminisce, dwell in the past, feel regret, withdraw, numb ourselves, or avoid what we feel. Yet it is precisely then that nature offers one of its gifts. It helps us gently stay here and now – with what we feel and what surrounds us. It becomes a sanctuary even for the heaviest of emotions.
The peace, rhythm, and quiet strength of nature gradually guide us back to ourselves, into our bodies, and to our feelings. In the infinity of the sky, we can find calm and feel that it can hold even our grief. When we lean against a tree, we sense a quiet strength supporting us. In the solidity of stone, we find stability amidst an emotional storm. A leaf carried by a current of water can symbolically wash away a piece of our pain. And just as the earth accepts the rain, it also accepts our tears.
Nature seems to naturally attune to our pain without dismissing it or considering it too great. We can turn to it as a silent witness to our sorrow. And even though outwardly nothing seems to change, its presence usually fills us with greater lightness and peace. Perhaps it is in this quiet resting that a gentle wave of acceptance begins to awaken within us – as if we suddenly perceive everything with greater perspective and open up to accepting what is.
The body feels loss too
Grief does not reside only in the heart – it leaves traces in the body as well. In times of loss, people often describe chest pain, constricted breathing, insomnia, an upset stomach, anxiety, anger, or the onset of autoimmune issues. The nervous system, overwhelmed by intense emotional pain, shifts into a state of constant alert – as if the body cannot find peace, safety, or rest. And when the body is tense, it is difficult not only to function, but also to process grief.
And it is precisely in such situations that nature can help us significantly. Scientific studies confirm that spending time in nature harmonizes the nervous system: it calms breathing, lowers blood pressure and stress hormone levels, and boosts immunity and emotional resilience. It helps improve mood and eases anxiety – symptoms that often accompany grief. From Japanese tradition comes the term shinrin-yoku, literally "forest bathing." It refers to forest therapy, which originated in the 1980s as a response to the growing stress of modern life. It is not about performance or hiking – it is an invitation to slow down and be present with all your senses among the trees, light, scents, and sounds of the forest.
Nature quietly works on our physiology: it is enough to walk through the forest and feel the softness of the moss. To smell the pine needles. To stop by a tree and let patches of light filtering through the canopy fall on your face. To notice small insects making their way among the leaves. To feel the roughness of the bark with your palm and listen to the silence in which our breath slowly calms down.
In this silence, a deeper perception begins to awaken within us – we are not just thinking beings situated in nature; we are nature. Our bodies, like the trees, wind, and soil, are closely connected with the natural world. And it is precisely in this connection that our senses open up, our sensitivity to ourselves and our surroundings grows, our mood gradually shifts, and our body can breathe more freely again.
A conscious memory anchored in nature
Nature can also support us in anchoring a conscious memory of a loved one who has passed away. When someone dies, not only does their physical body disappear, but their place in our life changes too. They are no longer on the other end of the phone, at the table, visiting… and yet they remain. In memories, gestures, words, in what we took away from them – in our hearts. It is this inner presence that can be healing if we give it space.
Giving memory space means accepting that a relationship does not end with death, but rather changes its form. In the silence of nature, we can ask ourselves: What of what we lived together do I want to preserve? What do I want to carry forward as a memory, a gift, an expression of gratitude?
Nature offers gentle, concrete stimuli for this. A feather that we stick into the moss. A word whispered into a tree hollow. A leaf that we let float away down a stream as a silent message. A stone that catches our eye with its shape and into which we press the love we continue to carry in our hearts. A conscious memory can thus take on shape, voice, and expression.
The legacy of ancestors in the rhythms of nature
Our ancestors lived in close connection with nature and its cycles. Death was not a taboo for them, but a natural part of life. People said goodbye by a fire, with singing, in a circle of family and community. The body of the deceased was laid into the earth – in the forest, on a sacred hill, under a stone – in a place that was part of their life. Mourning had its time, space, and rituals that helped with the return to life.
Today, we can consciously return to this wisdom and build upon it. We can let ourselves be inspired by the acceptance of life in all its forms. We can seek kind and natural ways of saying goodbye. And we can lean on the rhythm of nature, which was here long before us and will remain long after us – on sunrises, changing seasons, the cycle of birth and departure. A rhythm that knows death as a part of life. A rhythm in which nature offers quiet support and a space where we are allowed to grieve at our own pace – without haste, with respect for what was, and with the hope that life will slowly find a new balance.
In times of loss, nature offers us quiet yet powerful support. It can carry everything that hurts us – tears, silence, and memories. We find support in it to honor the memory of our loved ones, to pause, listen, and rest. It can also help us reflect on our own mortality and find comfort in the knowledge that even though we are navigating the complex terrain of grief, we are not alone in it. We thus build upon the approach of our ancestors – with respect and humility toward life, in reconciliation with death, and by finding support in the rhythm of nature.
In the peace of nature and the repeating changes of its cycles, we find inspiration on how to navigate sadness, how to allow ourselves to experience pain while also being guided toward reconciliation – toward coming to terms with our loss. It gently leads us back – to ourselves, to life, to a new beginning. In its quiet rhythm, a gentle movement toward balance, renewed resilience, and wholeness can quietly be born. And that is precisely where its deep wisdom and comfort lie.
Final Farewells in the 19th Century
Many people today wish to die at home, surrounded by their loved ones. In the past, this was perfectly common—especially in rural areas, where a person’s passing was associated with a host of traditions and customs. These rituals were intended to symbolically sever the ties that bound the deceased to family and neighbors, while also welcoming them into the world of the dead. In this article, I explore how death and funerals were experienced in the Czech countryside during the 19th century. Many of the customs from that time survive to this day—albeit perhaps only in a simplified form.
Funeral ceremonies have always been accompanied by a whole series of rituals.
Dying
When someone was ill for a long time, neighbors would bring them all kinds of medicines, and the family would pray for their recovery. If the sick person felt that their final moments were approaching, they would say goodbye to family and friends, bestow blessings upon them, and give final instructions regarding the distribution of their estate. At the same time, however, this created an opportunity to pass on messages to those who had already died. People used their approaching death as an opportunity to send greetings to “the other world”—they talked about what had happened in the village; about misfortunes, the war, but also about those they missed.
“Aunt Hotáková pleaded: ‘Please give my regards to my husband—Martin—and tell him that our house burned down this summer… Tell my parents that Šimon was drafted this year and that he’s already enlisted in Pilsen.’ The widower, who had buried his wife five years ago, recalled poignantly: ‘Give my regards to my Manka, too; tell her I can’t forget her—I just can’t.’ All morning long, people came to the cottage with their sorrows and longings, and the old woman smiled, prayed, and promised that she would faithfully pass on everything…”
– Jindřich Šimon Baar of Postřekov in the Chodsko region. In: Navrátilová. 2004: 189.
Signs
When an owl hooted or a female dog howled in the yard, people used to say that death was approaching. In Central Bohemia, people imagined her as a female figure in a paper dress standing by the bed of the dying person. Other omens of an approaching end included a clock suddenly stopping or strange noises in the house—“like a rod striking a chest.”
At Easter, there used to be a procession to the cemetery on Palm Sunday (now known as White Sunday).
Reporting a Death
As soon as a person took their last breath, everyone sleeping in the house had to be woken up. If the head of the household died, his passing was also announced to the animals—the dog, the horses, the bees, and even the fruit trees. When the lady of the house died, the news was primarily conveyed to the poultry and livestock. Inside the house, clocks were stopped, mirrors and paintings were covered, the deceased’s eyes were closed so that he would not “spot” anyone else, and his chin was tied up so that he would not “swallow” anyone from the family. Everything was done with respect for the body, because it was believed that the soul remained with the body until the funeral. This was also why vessels were turned upside down, so that the soul would have nowhere to hide. In some regions, a window was opened after death; in others, it was closed—depending on whether people believed the soul should stay or leave.
Even today, in villages, the noon death knell can signal that someone has died. In some regions, it used to be customary to “ring the bell” a certain number of times—three times for a man, twice for a woman, and once for a child.
The family would then ask someone to go around to the neighbors and tell them what had happened. In return, the person received a small token of appreciation—a snack or some money—but was never allowed to enter the house. This custom was later replaced by an obituary in the local newspaper.
Placing the body in the coffin
Before the body was placed in the coffin, an older woman from the family or among the relatives washed it. Anything that came into contact with the deceased during this process was no longer used—it was burned or buried. The water was poured into an unused corner of the garden, a place where people did not normally go and where nothing was grown. The deceased was laid on a white sheet, or on a bier in a cool chamber, with the head turned toward the east.
The coffin was custom-made by a local carpenter and blessed with holy water before use. A family member dressed the body—often in a linen gown or a wedding dress—with the hands crossed over the chest and a holy image placed between them. A rosary, a cross, a prayer book, or personal belongings were also placed inside. The body was then laid out in the house. Shoes were not placed on the body—they were expensive and were passed down to others. In the 19th century, the coffin was usually black. For those who died unmarried, however, it was sometimes red.
Items that the deceased had loved—such as tobacco, alcohol, a book, photographs, or even musical instruments—were often placed in the coffin as well.
Lamentations and Final Visits
Neighbors and acquaintances came to visit the family and the deceased. They prayed, said their goodbyes, and holy water was placed next to the body for making the sign of the cross. Beggars were also invited to pray for the deceased, and female beggars—known as “mourners”—loudly wept for him. In some regions, the prayers lasted all night. Guests sang funeral songs with the family, and in addition to prayers, tea, coffee, light refreshments, and even alcohol were served. Guests often took the leftovers home with them.
Carrying the Deceased Out of the House of Mourning
The coffin was not closed until just before departure for the cemetery—so that everyone could say goodbye to the deceased right up until the very last moment. The act of nailing the lid shut was often accompanied by intense emotions, weeping, and wailing. The coffin was always carried out of the house feet-first—this was supposed to prevent the deceased from “returning.” This custom has survived to this day.
The threshold of the house had symbolic significance; it marked the boundary of the home. When carrying the coffin, the bearers would either swing it over the threshold three times, tap it against it, or make the sign of the cross over it. If a woman died during the postpartum period, women carried the coffin. Similarly, a married man was carried by married men, and an unmarried man by unmarried men.
The coffin was most often carried by men, usually married men. In the past, the coffin was carried on a bier; today, it is more commonly carried by its handles.
Funeral procession
From the house of mourning, the coffin was carried to the church or directly to the cemetery—either on a bier or on a horse-drawn cart. When traveling by cart, it was first backed up three times. During the journey, people prayed; in some places, a singer led the prayers.
At the edge of the village, often by a wayside shrine, those present would turn to the others one last time to ask for forgiveness:
“Neighbors, if the deceased wronged you in any way during his or her lifetime, I beg you, for God’s sake and for the sake of all the saints—once, twice, three times—to forgive him or her!” Those present respond in unison: “May God forgive him or her.”
– Žipek, 1895: 534. In Nešporová, 2013: 188.
If the church or cemetery was far away, young children and the elderly would accompany the procession only as far as the edge of the village.
Today, coffins are most often transported by car, but in the past, men carried them by hand, and only later were they transported by carriage.
A ceremony at the cemetery
Upon arrival at the cemetery, a religious service was held, during which the priest delivered a sermon, consecrated the grave, and the coffin was lowered into the ground. People usually could not hold back their tears—crying and grief accompanied the entire ritual.
To this day, it is customary to throw three handfuls of dirt onto the coffin—a reminder that we will all end up the same way someday. In some regions, the deceased’s bed was also made on the day of the funeral: if it remained undisturbed the next morning, it was believed that the soul had not returned.
In the past, the deceased was laid to rest on the very same day they died. However, there was a risk that someone might be buried alive by mistake—people used various methods to confirm death, such as dripping wax onto the chest or placing a feather against the mouth. It was precisely for this reason that a decree was issued in 1771 stipulating that every church must have a mortuary where the body would remain for at least 48 hours. In reality, however, this rule was not followed until much later.
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After the funeral, the family invited the guests—relatives, friends, but also the priest, the professional mourners, the gravedigger, and the pallbearers—to the funeral feast. Simple foods such as porridge, bread, milk, and often alcohol were served.
A Posthumous Wedding
Wedding motifs often appeared in the funerals of unmarried deceased individuals—this was meant to complete the life cycle that death had interrupted. The deceased young man or woman was dressed in wedding attire, and one of their peers would symbolically take on the role of the groom or bride and walk behind the coffin. In some regions, the procession was accompanied by two figures—a white bride and a black bride. The black bride carried a broken candle as a symbol of a life cut short.
The bridesmaids often accompanied the deceased from the house, and the feast that followed was informally called a “věneček,” a “veselka,” or simply a “wedding.” People gathered there to eat, drink, and dance together. Bread was also served.
The tradition of white and black brides has survived to this day in some regions of the Czech Republic and Slovakia.
A Time of Mourning
The funeral was followed by a period of mourning; women wore black clothing or at least a black armband. For one year, no weddings were allowed, and the family did not attend dances or celebrations.
Excessive grief, however, was frowned upon—it was said to unnecessarily disturb the soul of the deceased. People mainly mourned on the anniversaries of death and birth, on All Souls’ Day, or at Christmas.
Visiting the cemetery on All Souls’ Day remains an important tradition to this day. In the past, special pastries made from white flour were baked for this occasion—they were called “dušičky,” “kosti svatých,” “caletky,” or “boží kosti.” These were distributed to children and beggars. It was believed that they, in particular, were close to the spiritual world and could facilitate contact with the dead.
Grave Maintenance
In the past, graves were not maintained as carefully as they are today. They were often overgrown with grass, and when the family mowed it, the gravediggers took offense—because they grew vegetables there, cut grass for their livestock, or grazed their animals.
Larger and more ornate graves began to appear toward the end of the 19th century, first in cities and gradually in rural areas as well. Most had only simple markings; inscriptions were rare. Wealthier families could afford a wooden or metal cross. In Central Bohemia, colored crosses were used—red for unmarried people and black for married men or women. Around the turn of the century, wreaths and the lighting of candles on the anniversary of a death or on All Souls’ Day became common.
Funeral customs in our country varied significantly from region to region. In fact, it is perhaps at funerals that the saying “Different regions, different customs” applies most. If you have experienced any other traditions that were observed in your area, we’d love for you to share them with us—please write to us at [email protected].
The author is Adriana Kábová, an ethnologist and funeral guide.
Sources:
KAŠOVÁ, Lucie. Funeral Rituals, Customs, and Traditions in the 21st Century in Jílové u Prahy. Master’s thesis, advisor: Pavel Hošek. Charles University, Protestant Theological Faculty, Department of Religious Studies, 2011.
NAVRÁTILOVÁ, Alexandra. Birth and Death in Czech Folk Culture. Prague: Vyšehrad, 2004.
NEŠPOROVÁ, Olga. A Century of Changes in Burial Practices: From Church Burials to Cremation Without a Ceremony. Český lid, 100, 2, 2013.
ŠROM, Boh. On Rural Life in the Jílové District, manuscript, 1895.
ŽIPEK, Josef. Superstitions and Customs Concerning Illness, Death, and Funerals in the Strakonice Region. Český lid, 4: 533–535, 1895.
Šechtl and Voseček Digital Photo Archive
“Philosophizing is a rehearsal for death,” says Plato’s Socrates, speaking through the Czech philosopher Tereza Matějčková.
We also (modestly) got a little philosophical and practiced dying in our new podcast. During the Christmas season, we’re often troubled by loneliness—but according to some philosophers, loneliness is a luxury of the modern age. Why?
Because it’s a chance to live your life on your own terms, rather than according to others. To act authentically for yourself, regardless of the wishes of your family or society. “To follow your own truth.”
But be careful not to confuse this with isolation: that, on the contrary, is the result of our breaking free from family ties. After all, as Georg Simmel said, it is only modern man who is beginning to die—precisely because he is aware of his individuality and finitude. He does not see himself as a mere continuation of his lineage.
According to Hegel, it may ultimately be the funeral itself that brings us back into the community. And if we fail to hold it, we harm ourselves: for in doing so, we undermine our own community and our own sense of belonging.
And last but not least: it has always been interesting to philosophy that humans don’t merely “fail” like other animals, but in some way take charge of that failure. We often say that we’re fighting something—whether it’s other people or diseases. But we go even further. We learn from these experiences and correct past mistakes. We hurt ourselves, but at the same time we forgive ourselves and grow from the experience.
We grow through conflicts, and family conflicts are what “shape us together” and bring us all closer. And at Christmas, this is more evident than ever.
So, if you want to take a moment this Christmas season to gather your thoughts, find some peace, reflect, and escape the hustle and bustle of modern life, Tereza Matějčková recommends philosophy. And you can start with our podcast featuring Tereza herself!
Search for us on Spotify:
DVTV: A funeral should begin on a sad note and end on a happy one. Oleg Vojtíšek in an interview with Daniela Drtinová
The Czechs have pushed death aside.
When we appear on various media outlets, we get asked similar questions over and over again by the hosts:
Are most deaths really without a funeral? (A large percentage are.)
What does a traditional Czech funeral look like? (There isn't one.)
How Do Funeral Services Work? (Some Are Better, Some Are Worse)
What can you do with ashes? (Basically anything, but with respect and with permission)
Everything points to the fact that death is a taboo subject in the Czech Republic; there are plenty of myths circulating about it, and in reality, most people have no idea what happens after a dead body is discovered.
That’s why we’re glad to see Ms. Drtinová on DVTV genuinely seeking the truth, discussing ethics in the funeral industry, and helping us unravel this great mystery that surrounds death and burial.
“No one is afraid of getting pregnant just by talking about sex, but when people start talking about death, everyone is afraid they’ll bring it on,” said our Oleg.
So if you, too, don’t want everything to just run its course after the death of a loved one, start preparing now. For example, by watching us on DVTV.
Close Encounters: Tereza Kostková and Oleg Vojtíšek, Czech Radio: We’ve Shielded Young People from Death
😱“Are most deaths here really without a funeral?!” Tereza Kostková asked in astonishment on the program *Blízká setkání* on ČRo Dvojka, where our Oleg was a guest.
We often see people who still break down in tears even twenty years after the death of a loved one.🥀 Without a funeral, you won’t be able to find closure, and it will torment you for the rest of your life—especially if the death was sudden and unexpected.
The reasons vary: from traumatic experiences at the crematorium to financial considerations. And sometimes it’s also due to a well-intentioned idea that actually leads to disaster—so as not to traumatize children 👶. We’ve raised an entire generation of people who have completely blocked out the idea of death. And when it does eventually hit them, the impact is all the worse and more profound. 🔪
So how can we conduct funerals with integrity?
🏡A beautiful spot that will lift your spirits.
👨👨👦👦On a day that works for everyone who should be at the funeral and wants to be there.
💌So that it can help you let go of your guilt or finally say what you’d otherwise keep thinking about over and over again.
Burning messages or sending them via balloons or paper boats is not esoteric at all. On the contrary, it is a very tangible and easily understandable way to bring our relationship with the deceased to a close and then watch as they leave us—because that is the reality. ⚫
👂If you want to explore the topic of Czech funerals the way Tereza Kostková did, tune in to our show “Blízká setkání” on Český Rozhlas.
A Beautiful Funeral? Yes, It's Possible. By Oleg Vojtíšek for Marianne magazine.
To borrow the words of Oleg Vojtíšek, their organization strives to transform something that was perceived as depressing, bad, and terrible into something beautiful that helps and brings reconciliation.
"Fortunately, today you can organize a memorial service however you like," says Oleg Vojtíšek, founder of Pohřební průvodci, in an interview with Marianne magazine. Those who have done so all agree that it was a beautiful experience.
“A personalized funeral helps,” says Oleg Vojtíšek, founder of Pohřební průvodci, an association that helps bereaved families organize a more personalized final farewell for their loved ones, confirming my assumption.
“It should take place at a location connected to that person—somewhere they loved or where we want to go to remember them. For example, by a river, in a park, or at a villa.”
"With the people he loved and who loved him—or even those who didn't, but who want to make peace," he continues.
“What brings me the greatest joy is that people come up with their own ideas about where the ceremony will take place and what will happen during it, and they call us with a specific vision, which we simply help them refine and bring to life. The result is truly their own ceremony—a personal one that reflects how the deceased lived and how they lived with him or her,” she notes optimistically.
How did Tereza prepare herself for the death of her five-year-old son, Kryštůfek? And how did she prepare him?
Kryštůfek had a clear diagnosis: DIPG. A brain tumor. In the brainstem. 100% mortality rate.
We thought long and hard about the story of Tereza and her son Kryštůfek because it left us with deep feelings of admiration and emotion. When Oleg first heard about it from Tereza over a cup of coffee, he decided that a story like this needed to be shared.
Because it’s the story of a very brave little boy and two parents who went through hell together but came out the other side. Kryštůfek was only four when half his body became paralyzed. Then came the diagnosis, radiation therapy, a brief improvement, and a rapid decline.
His mom, Tereza, and his dad, Dan, stood by his side the whole time and held his little hand right up until the very last moment, before he drove off in a black Hyundai van—a vehicle he would never have gotten into on his own, as Dan joked in that tense moment, because he didn’t like that brand. After all those tear-filled nights, what else was left for them but a little humor?
A story like theirs can actually help—both Tereza and those of you who are going through a similar situation, or someone close to you. Or it might just make you stop and think about whether that argument with your husband over the unwashed dishes was really that bad.
Can a relationship be “fixed” by the death of a child?
How do you talk to a child about their own death?
And will banning crying help?
With powerful stories like this one, it’s hard to give advice on what to do and what not to do. And we don’t really want to do that anyway. We feel that we’re merely intermediaries through whom Tereza can share everything she’s been through—and yet managed to overcome—so that her story might reach those who need to hear it.
It was truly an honor that Tereza accepted our invitation to appear on our podcast and talk about all these topics. She spoke frankly, without mincing words. And you can listen to it on our Spotify.
What does All Souls' Day mean to us today? Benedikt Mohelník and Oleg Vojtíšek, Czech Radio, Vertikála
“From a believer’s perspective, we are indebted to our ancestors; it is thanks to them that we are here. We live on credit from what we receive from previous generations. Saying goodbye to that person is the bare minimum we can do to repay that debt, and at the same time, we are creating value for the future—for those who will come after us and live on our credit,” said Benedikt Mohelník, director of the Dominikánská 8 platform and editor-in-chief of Salve, a journal of theology and spiritual life.
Our Oleg Vojtíšek was in a debate with him on the program “Vertikála” on Czech Radio.
And they discovered something interesting: religious rituals and our alternative ceremonies can go hand in hand. After all, the purpose of art is not to destroy traditions, but to update them.
Take All Souls’ Day, for example. It’s typically observed at a cemetery by laying flowers in a small family gathering. But you can also invite friends and colleagues—perhaps on the anniversary of a loved one’s death—so you won’t be alone. After all, tradition calls for remembering the deceased—it doesn’t have to be on that specific day at that specific place.
For traditions to serve us well, it is a good idea to adapt them to our needs in the modern world. Neither we nor modern church leaders are opposed to this.
How does Halloween help our children?
Why is it necessary to arrange a funeral?
And last but not least: Did they cut Oleg out when he completely forgot what he actually wanted to say?
Find out in the new issue of Vertikála.
How to Talk About Death and Why Are We Afraid of It? Adriana and Oleg for iGlanc.
“Grandma went to heaven.”🌌
How many times have you resorted to saying “she’s in heaven” when your child asked you where Grandma had gone?
We think this will make the child feel better, since they're still too young to understand the complexity of death. And most importantly, so they won't be afraid that death will happen to someone else.😱
But we don’t even consider the fact that around the age of ten, a child will inevitably come to understand death on their own—we’re just wired that way. By filling their heads with false ideas, we only make it harder for them to grasp the concept of death.
What are the right and wrong ways to do this? We asked our colleague about her own experiences:
🐶When the family dog died, my parents didn't say anything about it for three days. When I started asking about him, they said he had simply passed away.
💔She remembers very clearly the moment when she became aware of the reality of death: she must have been around nine years old; she was in her bedroom, getting ready for bed. And suddenly it dawned on her that her parents would die one day, just like in the action movies on TV where parents fall asleep in the evenings. She spent the rest of the night crying. She never confided this to her parents.
❤️🩹A few years later, however, she went through the death of her beloved guinea pig, just as one should. She cared for it while it was sick and fed it with a syringe when it could no longer eat. After it took its last breath, she and her dad held a small ceremony. She buried it in its favorite little house.
Children—even the youngest ones—are smarter than we think.👶 If we can’t talk about death ourselves, we’ll only create a barrier—and children will keep the questions that trouble them to themselves, until death becomes nothing more than a concept that they completely suppress. 💨
🙌To help children develop a healthy relationship with death, we have to start with ourselves. In their new article, Oleg and Adriana discuss how to talk to children about death and how to come to terms with it ourselves.🙌
We adapted Mexico's Día de Muertos into the Czech "Ceremony of Remembrance"—with Petra Ponocná
💀Do they celebrate death in Mexico on Día de Muertos?💀
Is it a fascination with death that makes us constantly commemorate old wounds every year?
❌Not at all. On the contrary: here, we’re not even able to talk properly about a friend’s death, even after a year. We tuck photos into albums, lock away our memories, and throw away their clothes. And God forbid their spirits should ever come back to haunt us.
In Mexico, on the other hand, people set up an altar for the deceased. They bring their favorite items and treats to their graves. They use sugar skulls to lure them back so they can celebrate with them and see that they haven’t been forgotten.
We've been talking for a long time about how cemeteries should be brought back to life. 🪅And in Mexico, they know exactly how to do it! 🪅
🧡They decorate the graves with colorful flowers.
🧡During the Day of the Dead celebrations, there are taco stands at cemeteries.
🧡The mariachis are playing.
🧡And families stay overnight there.
Let’s compare this to the Czech All Souls’ Day🥀—can you imagine not just going to lay a flower on a grave this year, but instead cooking the deceased’s favorite meal and going to the cemetery to chat with them? Playing music and dancing? Sharing memories with others who come there? Probably not. But you could, for example, invite your family over and remember the deceased together. Whether on All Souls’ Day or at another time—and whether with our help or on your own. Get inspired by us here, for example: https://www.pohrebnipruvodci.cz/obrad-vzpominani
In our culture, grief is an illness that needs to be treated and that has a clearly defined end. In Mexico, no one expects grief to end with a funeral and for everything to go back to the way it was before; on the contrary, people return to it every year, naturally, just as it should be in life.
On top of that, we here also think we’ve invented self-help groups—for example, for victims of car accidents.
Yet in Mexico, there are nationally designated days for various specific causes of death, allowing people to share their experiences with others who have suffered the same fate.
🇲🇽 There’s so much to say about Mexico. We just talked about it on our podcast with our colleague Petra Ponocná, and if you’re interested, tune in on Spotify. 🇲🇽
Czech Television: Adriana Kábová on Lucie Výborná’s “Výborná Show” — Why Did She Buy Suits for Dolls?
📺 Our Adriana was a guest on Lucie Výborná’s show, *Výborná show*.
👦 They filmed this a while ago; Adriana isn't pregnant anymore—she gave birth to a cheerful little boy!
👨🚀 There, you'll find out, for example, where her husband is really from.
🌏 How long is the body of a deceased person kept at home on the Indonesian island of Sumba?
🌍 How the flu is treated in Madagascar.
🧸 Why she bought suits for her dolls.
💀 And, of course, why she became a funeral director.
Caring for Parents After the Death of a Child: Alena Peremská
This podcast with Alena Peremská begins by discussing what has changed over the past 10 years. And fortunately, everything has changed. It used to be normal not to talk about the death of infants—it was a taboo; the babies weren’t shown to their parents, weren’t given names, and weren’t buried. “It” was supposed to be forgotten quickly.
So what's the right way to do it? Let's take it step by step.
How should bad news be delivered in a hospital? Isn't it better to say nothing? After all, if I don't say anything, I won't make things worse.
It isn't. If you don't know how, just approach it personally, humanely, on your own behalf. There's nothing wrong with crying—on the contrary, if you cry, it might actually be the greatest gift you can give that family.
How can you preserve—or even create—a memory of a child?
Take a photo together (seriously, we’ve had the best experiences with this). Ask for a memory box. Make footprints in it, give the baby a stuffed animal… We know from experience that this doesn’t traumatize the family.
How do you say goodbye?
First, at the hospital: The hospital should allow you to say goodbye to your baby in private. You can dress the baby and prepare it for burial… but you can also do this later at the funeral home.
And then hold a funeral, a ceremony. Let the child go, say goodbye. It will be a great help to our mental well-being, but also to the child’s soul. And if it helps us, we can even have the child baptized—we don’t think it matters whether the baptism is valid, but if it helps us, the Lord understands.
What should you do with the child then? Where should you put the child?
Parents often choose cremation and then keep the urn at home so that their child is always with them. That’s fine (we just recommend not keeping it in the bedroom). After some time, however, it’s a good idea to move the urn to a more permanent location. You can hold a “secondary funeral”—bury your child’s ashes in a cemetery or in the garden, scatter them in a meadow, or release them into the sea.
The podcast ends on a very personal—even touching—note, so it's really worth listening to all the way through.
TN.CZ / NOVA: Interview with Oleg Vojtíšek on the role of funeral directors
🖤 What is the point of a funeral, anyway? Oleg Vojtíšek spoke about this on TN.CZ.
1️⃣ First, you must realize that the deceased is no longer here, that this is truly the end of their earthly journey. That is the only thing a funeral in a funeral home or crematorium can provide. But nothing more.
2️⃣ A good funeral will help you say what you didn't have time to say or couldn't say.
3️⃣ Come to terms—with death, with the deceased, with relatives, but also with yourself.
4️⃣ Try to seek forgiveness—if I owe something to my late father, I should repay it to his widow or son.
5️⃣ Involve those around you in the grieving process—such as coworkers or neighbors.
6️⃣ And celebrate your loved one’s life—we’ve already acknowledged that they’ve passed away, but now we should celebrate how they lived and how we lived with them.
A good funeral helps you say goodbye, find peace, take a deep breath, and move on. Because the funeral is just the beginning of the grieving process.
Zdenka Volavá, Director of Dlouhá cesta: How does a relationship change after the death of a child?
Zdenka is a mother whose 21-year-old son passed away. And since 2022, she has also been the president of the organization Dlouhá cesta. Dlouhá cesta supports families who have lost a child—regardless of the child’s age or the cause of death. In this podcast, we introduce Dlouhá cesta. But we’ll also focus on the difficult topic of changes in a romantic relationship following the death of a child.
“If someone had shown me this ten years ago or even five years ago, I would have said: ‘That’s not me at all; I’ll never act like that; I’ve never acted like that.’ But after that loss, I did act that way, and I actually didn’t recognize myself. So I feel like my husband, for example, had to get used to the new me far more than I had to get used to him.”
Artificial intelligence is bringing the dead back to life. A funeral director warns why we should let the deceased rest in peace
Today, companies promise us that they can recreate our deceased mother, daughter, brother, father, or grandmother. In other words, they’ll create a digital avatar with whom you’ll be able to text, talk, see each other on video, and even meet in virtual reality. The death of a loved one affects us like few other things do. We miss their presence; we want to talk to them one last time, see them one last time, bring them joy, say what we didn’t get to say, or make amends for past wrongs—all to ease our conscience and know that everything is right between us and the deceased.
Funeral directors call it a “digital ghost.” All you have to do is fill out your personal information, upload photos, videos, or a voice recording, answer a few questions, share your social media profiles, and pay a few dollars. And just like that, after a few clicks, your loved one “comes back to life” and is here for us again. Is this science fiction, a dream, or reality? True innovation would be if we stopped fearing death so much and were able to say goodbye to our loved ones with peace and understanding. But no, we want to physically involve technology in it as well. Funeral director Oleg Vojtíšek, however, warns the bereaved against exactly this—he sees it every day in his practice: digital ghosts do more harm than good.
How can we support parents who have lost a baby? And what phrases should we avoid at all costs? By Adriana Kábová for Maminka.cz
The topic of death is often swept under the rug in the Czech Republic, and the death of an infant is perhaps twice as much of a taboo. Unfortunately, for many parents, it is a harsh reality. The following tips are based on the experiences of funeral directors and, above all, on the recommendations of many parents who have experienced the death of a baby and encountered various reactions from those around them. Some of these reactions were very helpful, while others only rubbed salt into the wound. Keep in mind that everyone experiences the loss of a child differently, and the points mentioned below are by no means a one-size-fits-all guide.
But you certainly can’t go wrong by having a sincere conversation with the parents and asking them what makes them feel comfortable and what doesn’t. They’ll surely appreciate that more than if you remained completely silent about the death of their baby or even started avoiding them. It’s also important to mention that each parent probably grieves differently, and it’s possible that different things you do will help the baby’s mother and different things will help the baby’s father. And don’t be afraid of their emotions and tears—they’re often the main path to healing the deepest grief.
Kateřina Svobodová is a tour guide at Prague's cemeteries.
Kateřina studied art history, and cemeteries are full of art.
Art in its original setting, in a natural space, not in a gallery arranged according to a curator’s vision.
In a beautiful setting, surrounded by nature, in silence, in harmony with both nature and the city around it.
But these days, funerary sculptures are hardly ever made anymore. What can be done to bring them back?
And can creating a grave statue help one come to terms with the death of a loved one?
After all, we've had several clients who made their own coffins, and it helped them.
We made urns out of LEGO with the children.
And speaking of children, we see it as a major problem that they’ve never been to a funeral or seen a dead person—and that’s where society’s collective repression of death begins.
So how about we help them become familiar with death by taking them to the cemetery?
For example, in a history class: Let them see Božena Němcová, Neruda, the Čapek brothers, Dvořák, and Smetana at the Vyšehrad Cemetery. And everything else along with them.
It sounds natural and even inexpensive.
So, while recording the podcast, we came up with the "Kids at the Cemetery" project.
In any case, come join Kateřina for a tour of the cemetery; you can find the dates in her Facebook group “Všem tafofilům” or on the Hrbitovy.cz website.
Czech Radio Radiožurnál: Adriana Kábová as a guest on Lucie Výborná’s show. After a bizarre experience with a funeral home following the death of my child, I decided to change the funeral industry in the Czech Republic.
Adriana Kábová is an anthropologist and funeral guide.
While researching Indonesian cultures, she came across traditional funerals in which animals are sacrificed. “Although my research topic wasn’t originally funerary practices, in Indonesia I attended funerals first and foremost,” she explains.
After experiencing the death of her own baby, she decided to change the funeral industry in the Czech Republic and became a funeral director.
What does this job entail?
And how did she cope with the loss of her child?
"Death is not the opposite of life; it is part of it," says funeral director Oleg Vojtíšek on Český Rozhlas Plzeň
The Funeral Guides Association routinely organizes funerals in nature, but also in places like a villa or a lounge. “Planting trees has become a long-standing tradition. A tree is a beautiful, living memorial; it provides us with shade and moisture. We have to care for it a little, and as it grows, we come to terms with our loss. Or we have clients write down on paper what they didn’t have time to say to the deceased; we fold the papers into little boats and set them adrift on the river. Messages can also be written on balloons that we release. One of our specialties is that we can release the deceased’s ashes into the stratosphere inside a balloon,” explained Oleg Vojtíšek.