On a spring weekend in Boise, Idaho, more than 100 people gathered at Ember Maucere’s home for a three-day party filled with live music, dancing, food and art.
They weren’t there for a wedding or birthday. They were there because Maucere, 56, was dying — and she had invited them to celebrate her life with her. People showed up in colorful outfits, ready to take part in a silent disco, performances from local artists and group meditations.
“We would just look around and see everyone smiling and crying,” said Griffin Mullin, 28, the eldest of Maucere’s two sons. “It was very healing.”
Last December, after several years in remission, Maucere learned her breast cancer had returned and was spreading aggressively to her lungs and bones. Doctors told her she might have six to 12 months to live. Within weeks, she began planning what she called a “restival” — a festival and a final moment of rest shared with those she loved most.
“She wanted to have one big old party to bring all of her closest people together,” said Janaya Edmonds, 29, a longtime family friend. “She wanted to look death in the face and accept it and honor it.”
Maucere died April 29, about a month after the party. She did not have a funeral; in her mind, her son said, she had already had one.
“That was it, that was the whole point,” Mullin said. “She wanted it to be a celebration rather than the traditional dressed-in-black funeral.”
Maucere is part of a small but growing number of people who are choosing to hold “living funerals” — memorial gatherings that take place before a person’s death. It is an opportunity to celebrate a life, share memories and say goodbye.
“We all just held each other, and we processed the grief as it was happening,” Edmonds said. “There was so much love that there was no space for the isolation or trying to avoid it.”
Some research suggests such gatherings can have mental health benefits for the person dying and those around them. They can foster connection and community, reduce loneliness and offer a sense of closure. And they provide something traditional funerals cannot: the opportunity for a person with a terminal diagnosis to see the impact they had on the lives of others, while giving survivors the chance to share their gratitude face-to-face.
Many people plan these events with the help of death doulas — nonmedical professionals who provide emotional, physical and spiritual support during the dying process.
“Living funerals have absolutely risen in popularity,” said Donna Walker-Muhammed, a death doula based in Alexandria, Virginia. She has helped plan five events — sometimes called FUN-erals, pre-funerals or living wakes — over the past few years. “It’s a way of honoring a life in real time and not just honoring the memory of a person.”
Walker-Muhammed said the practice is part of the broader death-positive movement, which encourages open conversations about mortality.
There is no single model for a living funeral — it depends on the personality and wishes of the person hosting it. Some events are small, intimate gatherings; others are elaborate. They can have religious components, but they are generally secular, emphasizing individuality over traditional rituals. Regardless of the nature of the event, the underlying objective is the same: a desire to be present to say goodbye.
“I truly encourage people to live life for as long as they have life,” Walker-Muhammed said. “We’re not gone until we’re gone.”
When Kelsey Kappauf’s father, Steve Runge, was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer in 2020, she said the idea of planning a living funeral initially made her family uncomfortable — especially her mother.
“It was really, really difficult for my mom to reconcile what was happening,” said Kappauf, who lives in Dana Point, California. “She was a bit hesitant and eventually came around.”
Rather than calling it a living funeral, “we framed the gathering as an honoring of my dad’s life and my mom and dad’s love,” Kappauf said. “My dad was more proud of his marriage than anything in his life.”
With her parents’ 35th wedding anniversary approaching, about 70 family members and friends gathered for a vow renewal. Although her father was weak, he and his wife shared a final dance.
“Everyone knew that this was goodbye,” said Kappauf, 37. “After the dance, everyone was able to go up to him and tell him what he meant to them in their life. … It was tender and profound and beautiful.”
She said the event served as a salve for her family and others already grieving.
“There’s something really special about gathering as a community and remembering that we’re not alone in our grief,” Kappauf said. “It invited people to be honest about the fact that my dad was dying. And when we can be honest about death, it invites us to be more intentional about life.”
Her father died six weeks later at age 60. That experience, she said, led her to become a death doula.
“Amid the pain of death, there’s also beauty, and it can be a really incredible opportunity for us to live intentionally,” she said.
Laura Lyster-Mensh, the death doula in residence at Congressional Cemetery in Washington, said funerals in general are becoming less traditional and more personal.
“Funerals of all kinds are becoming a lot more like weddings,” Lyster-Mensh said. “I really think we’re kind of shifting in society how we do rituals together and what it means to individualize your ritual.”
Still, the idea of a living funeral can be unsettling to some.
“I see a lot of denial from family members,” Lyster-Mensh said. “A lot of people find it hard; they don’t want to think about death.”
Others embrace the idea more fully.
When Tanner Martin was facing a Stage 4 colon cancer diagnosis at age 29, he and his wife, Shay Martin, decided to plan a living funeral with a “Hollywood premiere” theme.
“Funerals aren’t happy, but a living funeral is,” said Shay, whose final months with Tanner were previously covered by The Washington Post.
Held at their local theater in Draper, Utah, in May 2024, the event brought together about 250 friends and family members to watch a film chronicling Tanner Martin’s life.
“Tanner was able to see a lot of the people that just love him and support him, and he didn’t have to be dead for that to happen,” Shay said. “We knew he was going to die, and it just felt good that he had this really happy memory with all of these people.”
A living funeral at 29
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She said she recommends the approach to others facing terminal illness.
“Tailor it to who you are as a person, and you’ll feel good and authentic,” she said.
That is what Maucere set out to do — create a final gathering that reflected how she lived. For her son, the weekend felt like an extension of her.
“She was the most positively bright light I’ve ever known,” Mullin said.
On the final day of her restival, guests shared fond memories and kind words about Maucere. As people spoke, Mullin said his mother was looking out with pride at the room she had filled.
“I was puffy-eyed the whole time, but it wasn’t really sadness,” Mullin said. “It was more a show of gratitude.”
In the weeks since his mother’s death, he said, he often returns to that moment in his mind.
“She was beaming,” Mullin said, “with appreciation for life.”
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