Día de Muertos

What is the Mexican Día de Muertos festival?

What’s this festival called and what is the translation?

Día de Muertos (also called Día de los Muertos) means the Day of the Dead. In reality it spans two days, and the real emphasis is on the Noche de Muertos (the night of the dead) when the souls of the dead are said to come for a visit.

When is it?

1st and 2nd November.

Where does Día de Muertos take place?

Mexico, and throughout Latin America – but its popularity is growing, not least because of the striking imagery of the sugar skulls and films like Coco, so it’s now common to find people holding Day of the Dead-themed parties in the US and Europe.

What happens during Día de Muertos celebrations?

Imagine if, when someone died, it wasn’t “goodbye forever”, but “see you in November”. That’s the central idea of Day of the Dead: the curtain between the worlds of the living and the dead flutter, and the dead slip through for a visit. In Michoacán, where I went to research my book, they see an arrival of butterflies shortly before the Day of the Dead. They announce that the celebration is about to come, and many people believe they are the souls returning.

How did it start?

Day of the Dead began as a monthlong Aztec festival, celebrated around what we would call June. But when the Spanish invaded, they forced it over to the dates of the Catholic All Saints and All Souls days in a colonialist attempt to pass it off as the same thing. Now, on 1st November, the souls of the angelitos come to visit, the ‘little angels’, meaning children and the unmarried (virgins, basically ––you can just see a little bit of Catholicism peeping through, there). The second night sees visits from the souls of adults. In practice, everything melds into one big celebration; families come together, and much as when living relatives come to stay, everything has to be perfect.

The sight of cemeteries

The cemeteries are an incredible sight: every grave is carpeted with marigolds, lit up by candles and watched over by families sitting up all night by the tombs, wrapped in blankets. It’s solemn in the graveyards, but it’s not a solemn occasion. Everywhere else it’s a fiesta, an overt celebration of life.


The nucleus of the Day of the Dead is the ofrendas, the offerings for the spirits. People build altars – in their homes, in shops, and enormous ones in the town squares – often decorated with marigolds and pictures of the deceased, but the most important element is the food and drink for the spirits, who arrive hungry and thirsty (if you’d like to build one at home, check out our how-to guide). Jamie our guide in Michoacán told me:

“When we put down ofrendas, we’re inviting the dead to visit. You can invite anyone you’re thinking of. They will come. And just remembering them is to ask them to come.”

What should I expect from Día de Muertos?

In the graveyards, a stunning display of candles, marigolds and families quietly having a lovely time. Also, expect way more tourists than you’d like, many of them rather rudely clicking photos in the faces of people nodding off at 4am. And, as with anywhere beautiful and tourist-heavy these days, there will be drones.

Outside the graveyards, expect an all-night party. The zócalo (town square) will probably have a stage and huge speakers blasting out music until late. Expect lots of eating, drinking, and general merriment.

What shouldn't I expect from Día de Muertos?

An early night.

What can we learn from this festival?

When I visited Mexico to research Day of the Dead for my book, at first I found myself feeling sad. An American tourist asked if people believe the dead are really visiting, literally, and Jaime answered that they do. I was still bereaved after finding my father-in-law dead after a week the previous year, and I found myself wondering how I was supposed to get anything from the ritual of welcoming dead relatives when I couldn’t bring myself to literally believe in it.

Ghosts and spirits

Which is my way of telling you I quite spectacularly missed the point. For my fellow cynics, atheists and party-poopers, I have an important message: Day of the Dead is not only worth the trouble if you literally believe in ghosts and spirits.

Here’s the thing: when someone dies, they leave for good; and rather inconveniently, the love you have doesn’t go anywhere. You’re stuck with it, sitting inside you with no outlet – which hurts, because, as Massive Attack so astutely pointed out in their 1998 song Teardrop, “Love is a verb, love is a doing word”. And as I visited more festivals for the dead, read about death rituals and interviewed people across multiple countries and in multiple languages, I began to realise the point of it all: Day of the Dead brings the dead to life simply by giving action to the love that remains. Welcoming a dead person for a visit, pouring them a drink, leaving them a snack; it’s about giving your love something to do, someone to care for, and somewhere to go.

Your legacy will live on long after you’re gone. And although death is still seen as taboo in our society, communicating about how you’d like to be remembered  can make a difference to those around you.

Express my wishes

Festa dei morti

What is the Sicilian Festa dei Morti

What’s this festival called and what is the translation?

The Festa dei Morti, which means Festival of the Dead.

When is it?

2nd November

Where does Festa dei Morti take place?

Throughout Sicily – though the big organised event in honour of the festival, the Notte di Zucchero (the night of sugar), takes place in Palermo.

What happens during the Festa dei Morti celebrations?

Up until a few decades ago, Sicilian children didn’t receive gifts on Christmas morning, but rather on 2nd November – and the gifts were left by their dead relatives. On the morning of the Festival of the Dead, Sicilian children wake up and commence a treasure hunt to find what’s been left for them by their dead. Older Sicilians recall finding a pear or a chocolate, but over the years the toys have got bigger and more numerous – these days they might get a bicycle, as well as sweets hidden all over the house. The excitement isn’t only in the presents, but in finding them. Traditionally children would leave pairs of shoes outside their bedroom doors in the hope of finding them filled with sweets. Smart children set out their father’s shoes, the biggest in the house, to maximise the haul.


In recent years, the Festa dei Morti has been dwindling, largely because Halloween has taken hold. But now, thanks to the Sicilian actress Giusi Cataldo, the Festa dei Morti is being revived with a huge annual event called the Notte di Zucchero (the night of sugar) in Palermo’s historic centre.

What should I expect during Festa dei Morti celebrations?

The Notte di Zucchero brings the streets to life with art exhibitions, workshops, theatrical performances and storytelling. But outside of the Notte di Zucchero, the festival’s touch is light. Expect to see bakery windows full of frutta martorana (marzipan shaped and painted to look exactly like baskets of fruit), ossa dei morti (traditional Sicilian ‘bones of the dead’ biscotti), all flanked by the pupi di zucchero (‘sugar puppets’, medieval knights on horses carved from a smooth sugar paste and painted).

What shouldn't I expect from Festa dei Morti?

A huge party. While events like The Notte di Zucchero are gaining popularity, this festival is very much for families with an emphasis on children.

What can we learn from this festival?

I began the journey of writing This Party’s Dead sitting at my kitchen table after a shock bereavement had left me agoraphobic and in near-total meltdown. The way I’d been brought up to regard death with nothing but horror and disgust was probably no small factor in that reaction. I Googled “death festivals around the world” and assembled a list of seven festivals for the dead, places where they react to mortal terror by throwing a party. I read about Sicily’s Festa dei Morti with particular amazement and envy. I imagined growing up associating the dead with gifts and a sugar-fuelled treasure hunt, instead of an awkward silence, averted gazes and the obligatory muttering of ‘very sad’.

Halloween vs Festa dei Morti

It’s not surprising Halloween is sucking away all the spots in the media: Halloween is about fear, which, for the short attention spans lighthearted news spots cater to, is a better story than the point of the Festa dei Morti: love, remembering, and vanquishing the fear of death.


The terror of death is augmented as much by the way we talk about the dead as how we regard the possibility, or rather the certainty, that death is also coming for us. As a child, I frequently baffled grownups with the question of whether dead people are upset or angry about being dead. They didn’t seem to realise the question came from hearing them refer to dead people – not matter what the cause of death – with the prefix “poor”. Poor Jim. Poor Edna. Poor Henry VIII. Ok, that last one’s a joke – we don’t feel bad for Henry VIII for being dead, because it was long enough ago that his absence doesn’t stir up our mortal terror.


When discussing the treasure hunt on the Festa dei Morti, dead people are referred to as “my dead”, “your dead” – as in, “What did your dead bring you?” “My dead brought me a tricycle!” They also aren’t spoken about as entities with all their power removed, but rather as having an incredibly important role in the festivities. And while the adults know they’re really the ones buying and hiding the gifts, this is a tradition which emphasises remembering dead relatives in a way that’s joyful, instead of wasting all our focus on the sad fact of their absence.

If you could leave one thing to be remembered by, what would it be?

Make a deathwish

Purepecha altar for Day of the Dead

How to build your own Day of the Dead altar

Day of the Dead Altar Building

This time five years ago, Day of the Dead found me bereaved, far from home, and methodically beheading flowers. It’s ok, I’d been asked to.

I was staying at a B&B in Pátzcuaro, Michoacán, and as I was there researching Day of the Dead for my forthcoming book, I volunteered to help build their altar. I cut the heads off marigolds, leaving an inch or two of stem, then a guy called Luis weaved them onto a frame, while a Canadian woman hauled in more whenever we ran low. Once the structure was built and set up in the hotel breakfast room, people wandered in and out adding the touches that would transform it into an altar.

Before I get into how you can build a Day of the Dead altar at home, I should point out that there is no hard and fast method. Mexico is an enormous country with various cultures, over 60 indigenous languages and hundreds of dialects; so unsurprisingly, a Day of the Dead altar in a northern desert town will look different to one in the lush mountains of Oaxaca. In Morelos, where I lived for two years, sugar skulls were a common sight on altars, whereas in other areas it’s frowned upon.

I’ll be passing on the method favoured by the Purépecha community indigenous to Michoacán, but keep in mind it’s about honouring the dead, not just achieving a ‘look’. If you have access to a stalk of sugarcane and want to construct an arch woven with golden flowers, have at it – but just as you’re no less married if you say ‘I do’ in jeans and Crocs, you can have a Day of the Dead altar without all the bells and whistles (though if the person you’re honouring liked bells and blew a whistle, by all means chuck ‘em on there).

What you'll need

Day of the Dead Altar essential 1

Table (and a candle)

You’ll need a surface for your altar, ideally with more than one level. You could just place a box on the table so you can display pictures of your dead above the candles and offerings. Some altars have multiple levels starting at the floor like a little flight of stairs.

A candle will light the path home for the spirits.

Purepecha altar for Day of the Dead

Day of the Dead Altar essential 2

Pictures of the dead

Who are you honouring? Put their picture on the top level. You could just have one photo, several pictures of the same person, or even crowd it with everyone you’re welcoming for a visit – this could just be family and friends, but I’ve known people to include pictures of people they never knew but whose loss they feel keenly anyway, like David Bowie.

Offering for day of the dead

Day of the Dead Altar essential 3


The ofrendas (offerings) are the nucleus of Day of the Dead – namely, food and drink. The idea is that the dead have come a long way, so arrive hungry and thirsty. In Mexico altars are usually adorned with fruit and pan de muerto (bread of the dead), an intensely sweet, sugar-encrusted roll; and a bottle of beer, or shot of tequila – but you can leave out anything the person liked to eat or drink.

And yes, it’s fine to eat the food after the festival is over, but where I lived people wrinkled their noses at the suggestion, since the belief is that the dead suck all the nutrients out of it.

Day of the Dead Altar essential 4


This is by no means essential, but some people like to leave out things that signify or belonged to the dead person, like a stack of cards or a piece of their jewellery.

Day of the Dead Altar essential 5

The four elements

In the Purépecha tradition, home altars have to include representations of fire, earth, air and water. The drinks you leave out represent water, and the candles provide fire – as do sticks of incense (and though it’s pricey here in the UK, if you can get copal incense, the aroma will transport you to Mexico instantly).

Fruit offering for day of the dead

Fruit represents earth, and the best way to represent air is to hang something off it so it can blow in the wind – a lot of altars in Pátzcuaro shoot two birds with one stone by hanging bananas off the edge of the altar.

Day of the Dead Altar essential 6

Flowers, preferably marigolds

Flowers represent the fragility of life, and I like to imagine they symbolise the dead blooming again, if only for this brief visit.

The flower of the season is the marigold. Its vibrant orange is everywhere during the season of the dead: we see it on pumpkins as Halloween muscles in, on the autumn leaves as they flutter to the ground. In Mexico, it’s the flor de muertos, the flower of the dead, and the scent (especially strong when you squeeze the petals) is said to help guide the dead to the living world. Known as cempazúchitl (also spelled cempasúchil), it combines the Nahuatl words for ‘twenty’ and ‘flower’; the word ‘twenty’ was used to represent ‘many’, so the likely translation is ‘flower with many petals’. Those many petals come in handy as they can be arranged to make a path to the altar, or a border, or just scattered for decoration and aroma.


Day of the Dead parade with marigolds

Tips on finding marigolds

Despite being native to the Americas, they’re often sold under the name ‘African marigolds’. I haven’t always found it super easy to find fresh marigolds in the UK, as they’re often unavailable or sold out. But don’t despair, you could always buy artificial garlands and store them away the rest of the year like Christmas tinsel. You can also get real dried marigolds on Etsy – or my sneaky tactic is to scatter marigold-petal tea for the colour and fragrance.

Happy building, and Feliz Día de Muertos!

Altar to remember people after their death

Death in different cultures

The biggest lessons other cultures can teach us about death

It all starts with the fear of death. Perhaps it was inevitable that after my fiancé and I found his father dead after a week I would end up anxiety-ridden, agoraphobic, and then somehow travelling the world visiting seven festivals for the dead. Tale as old as time, right?

I began the journey (to Mexico, Nepal, Sicily, Thailand, Madagascar, Japan and Indonesia) with a burden of misconceptions and the vague notion that my deep terror of death was misplaced. Now, four years later and on the cusp of publishing the book that sprang from it all, here are a few of the biggest lessons I brought home.

# Death lesson 1

Death is normal. Who knew? (Seriously, did anyone know?)

Life has a 100% mortality rate, yet each time it’s presented as if something has gone terribly, terribly awry. In films we watched as kids, death was a punishment for baddies. Then we all grew up to discover we’re bound for a baddies’ ending. Thanks, Disney.


The idea that death is a normal, ordinary thing only occurred to me in Nepal during the annual festival of Gai Jatra, during which everyone who’s lost someone that year joins a city-wide procession. After the sudden death of his son, King Pratap Malla (who ruled Nepal from 1641–74) invited everyone who’d been bereaved that year to the palace. The Queen, who had been utterly inconsolable, watched as the palace became crammed with people. Because the biggest lie grief tells us is that we’re alone, and the visual trick of seeing thousands of people who have been through it too still holds today.

My god, I thought, as I stared across the crowd, all bouncing and dancing and singing to let the spirits know it was fine to go on to Heaven, I think death might be…normal?!

# Death lesson 2

We’re afraid because we link death with a loss of power

And sure, it’s true, if you want to get all literal about it: when we die, many believe we go to an afterlife or reincarnate – but as for this life, we’re done. Our projects are finished, our power is gone.

Unless you die in the Highlands of Madagascar, or in Tana Toraja in Indonesia, where the dead are seen as the intermediary between people and God. You want good grades, health, a windfall? You pray to your ancestors.

Where death is associated with a gain in power, suddenly not only are the dead remembered with fondness, their actual corpses are invited to the party. In Madagascar they’re exhumed and wrapped in a fresh shroud. In Tana Toraja, they’re exhumed, dressed in smart new clothes, held in poses for photos and are brought onto FaceTime calls with family who couldn’t make it.

death festival in Madagascar

# Death lesson 3

You can have a continuing relationship with a dead person

Death festival in Madagascar

They say “grief is love with nowhere to go”, and we nod along sadly, as if all over the world there aren’t rituals and festivals and events with the clear purpose of giving the love somewhere to go.


In Mexico, they welcome the souls of the dead by setting out their favourite food and drink. In China (and Thailand, where I celebrated with my extended family), they picnic in the cemeteries and burn paper money, a kind of divine postal system of sending gifts to the dead.


And in Tana Toraja, I watched a woman sit by her long-dead grandmother and take in the dramatic mountain view. She then turned, spotted some dust in her hair, and brushed it away.

No one told me how ridiculous it would seem that this could ever be called ‘morbid’, ‘ghoulish’ or ‘macabre’. No one told me how visible the love would be.

# Death lesson 4

The policy of silence does nothing but harm

Ok, I’ll acknowledge the short-term benefit of not talking about death until we absolutely have to: for that moment, we don’t have to feel a twinge at thinking about something we’ve been told is fearsome. We can kick the can down the road. And who doesn’t love those few moments before someone forces you to pick up the can? Ooh, those can-free moments are like a carnival cruise.

How shrewd of our repressed society to teach that there’s something distasteful, even shameful, about bringing up something people would rather not discuss anyway. Talking about money is vulgar, tacky, gauche. Talking about sex is uncomfortable, rude, a bit much. And talking about death is, apparently, ‘morbid’ – alright, if a guy is licking his lips while talking about the intricate details of bloating and decay, I’ll agree that’s a bit morbid, and no way to conduct yourself on a first date – but it shouldn’t be gasp-inducing to discuss the inescapable fact of your own death, or your wishes for what happens afterwards.

Dealing with death denial

But death denial isn’t just silly; it’s violence. Shouting down our parents and grandparents when they mention they won’t be here one day may seem like a way to say, “I love you and I want you here”, but the knock-on effect of the policy of silence is heartbreaking: people with terminal illnesses in Britain often find themselves deserted by friends and family who “don’t know what to say”, or “want to remember them as they were”. While writing This Party’s Dead I had the opportunity to chat to Laura Green, a lecturer in palliative care at the University of Manchester, who told me when people are dying they are “almost treated as though they’re dead bodies, even though biologically things are carrying on”. They die social deaths before their physical deaths, simply because we don’t have the emotional equipment to face it.

Final thoughts

The western way of grieving

If my brief were to defend our way of death over what I’ve seen at the festivals, I’ve got nothing. Because in places that hold celebrations for the dead, people remain part of the community long after their physical deaths. The love that sustained them in life is still there, bringing them meals, buying them clothes, brushing the dust out of their hair.

Talking and planning for death

Talking about death isn’t easy. We often think it’s something that happens to someone else, never to us. We’re invincible. Only we’re not.

If there’s one lesson other cultures can teach about death is to embrace it. It will happen to the best of us. And talking and planning for what should happen when we’re no longer here, can help us lead a fuller life.

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Featured Deathwish of the Week!

Featured Deathwish of the Week!

“I want my ashes to be scattered over the site of Maine Road in Manchester by Liam Gallagher whilst he ironically sings Live Forever”

<b”>- Will McCondach

Why the hell was a 21 year old drawn to life insurance?

Well according to a report published by the British Pregnancy Advisory Service, Gen Z (one of the terms used to describe people born after 1996) drink less, take fewer drugs, and have made teenage pregnancy a near abnormality.. Most shockingly, for me anyway, is they apparently prefer juice bars to pub crawls…

So what are they doing instead? The answer – Social media. They can be found switching between Snapchat, Twitter and Instagram. Will first saw an ad for life insurance whilst scrolling through memes, which piqued his curiosity enough to click it. Deathwishes?! Yes I’ll have some of that.

‘The sign up process was a piece of piss, I answered a few questions and then got an instant quote’ also he goes on to say ‘the visuals on site are completely different to other life insurance companies, not that I’ve looked at many. Nothing monotone, making it a cool experience’

So why a deathwish… ‘the deathwishes are so easy if you want your family to have a bit of cash when you die. Also you can make your death a celebration of your life rather than something depressing, who wants that?!’ It seems the younger generation would prefer a bit of revelry around their funerals.

Will was attracted to the deathwishes and put down exactly what he wants to happen when he dies, even if it is a bit fantastical. ‘My deathwish is based around my love for Liam Gallagher/Oasis – I’m literally obsessed with the guy, my mates take the piss all the time especially when I’m wearing top to toe Pretty Green. I’d love Liam to scatter my ashes over the site of Maine Road in Manchester, maybe he’d breathe a bit of me in… Maine Road was where Oasis performed one of their most iconic gigs ever. ‘Live Forever’ was a celebration of all the greats who have died so I want to be included in that list because I’m a bit of a cocky git like Liam, the main man himself.’


It’s not all rockstars and football though. Will, it seems, is a sensible Gen Zer after all and also chose a cash payout for his parents,


‘Although you can’t put a price on life, let alone your sons -and I’m a pretty awesome son to be fair! I want to have the peace of mind knowing that if I do die, my family would be financially stable for the rest of their lives and could treat themselves to some Pretty Green bucket hats in my honour!’

Image of Deathwishee

Will – far left (with his comment below after answering our Qs)

‘Boom! I actually felt professional writing that, I felt real responsibility hahahahha’

Play dead

So, Spot’s finally bit the dust? Condolences. We’re the first to point out that death is a natural path of life. That being said, we also know that nasty sting when it’s a beloved family pet. Nowadays we’re pretty much desensitised to watching humans die on-screen. However, if anything happens to an animal, most of us transform into snivelling wrecks. There’s even a website called DoesTheDogDie.com that helps you avoid movies and TV shows where animals die. (*Spoiler alert* – Marley & Me has no heartwarming resolution in the third act).

Some people may think that this avoidance of the inevitable is a tad much, and we may be inclined to agree. Here, we’ll take a look at the lessons we can learn from human grief resulting from the death of a pet.

Own your grief

As a nation famous for both its emotional constipation and love of animals, the death of a pet puts us Brits in a pretty awkward position. Traditionally, we’re not expected to grieve for a pet like we would for a person. This can make the process even more difficult, since we may feel as though we have to justify the depth of our grief. Some may raise their eyebrows at someone sobbing over a dead goldfish but who are they to underestimate such an attachment?

Let’s be real, many people are muppets. Our pets, on the other hand, give us the kind of loyalty and unconditional love that we rarely see in our fellow man. That’s a tough thing to lose, so don’t allow your feelings to be written off as silly or over-sentimental.

What we’re trying to say is, do what you need to do. Want to hold a furry funeral for Fluffy? Go for it. Want to send Nibbles down the U-bend on his own little Viking funeral? Crack on. Want to immortalise Taffy with taxidermy? Hey, who are we to say you shouldn’t.  Take inspiration from this Dutch artist who believe turning his dead cat into a drone was a fitting tribute to his late friend. (The airborne cat was rather aptly named Orville).

It’s not your fault (hopefully)

When we lose a pet, we don’t just lose a companion, we also lose someone who was our ‘responsibility’. Getting over guilt can, therefore, be a big part of the grieving process. This particularly applies to when you make the decision to put a pet ‘to sleep’. Unless you’re a megalomaniac – you probably didn’t relish having to make this decision. We want to hold out hope that our pet will pull through, but deep down we often know it’s the kindest thing to do. Finally, and we hate admitting it, but the vets are bloody expensive. Turns out you can put a price on a pet’s life if it’s an extortionately high one.

When a pet dies, it’s natural to be plagued by ‘what-if’ scenarios. What if I’d kept the cats house-bound? What if I recognised the dog was unwell just a few days sooner? What if I’d just forked out that extra few grand? Owning your emotions is a big part of the grieving process. However, you’re not going to move on if you’re constantly racked with guilt. Unless you were the one that ran Trixy over, then by all means beat yourself up.

Honey, I traumatised the kids

Death is probably one of the most uncomfortable subjects to talk to kids about. It’s up there with the ‘special hug’ and the fact that Father Christmas isn’t real. Deep down, no-one wants to be the parent who makes their kid aware of the concept of mortality. They’re also likely to have a whole bunch of questions, most of which will be unanswerable – “Where do we go when we die?”, “Are you and Daddy going to end up in the ground with Fido?”, “Will we flush grandad down the toilet when he dies too?”, you get the picture.

Parents have developed quite a few tricks to avoid telling the kids that the family pet has died. Did they run away? Did they go and live on a farm that has an incredibly strict door policy? Don’t even get us started about trawling around pet shops for a good ol-fashion switch. Take the opportunity to be honest and let the kids know what they’re going to learn about anyway. Another bit of advice – don’t say they ‘went to sleep forever’. This will probably scramble their brains and make bedtime a nightmare.

Each kid will grieve for a pet differently. For instance, they may want a funeral. You can eulogise about all the fond memories cleaning up poo while your child was busy playing Fortnite. For some kids, the prospect of a new puppy will help them move on in a flash (yes… fickle). Others may need more time before they can expect a new companion to fill the void. Regardless, the family will learn some important lessons about grief that will last a lifetime.

At DeadHappy, we want to encourage honest and open conversations about death. This helps us provide life insurance that best meets the needs and requirements of normal people. Having a frank discussion about death means we can ensure that your wishes are respected. So, do you have a deathwish? Tell us what you want to happen after you die, and we can make it happen.

Competition's stiff

According to ONS figures, the upcoming month of March is the most fatal period of the entire year, with more deaths worldwide in the third calendar month than at any other time.

Grieving family members might be able to seek solace in the fact that there are hundreds of funeral home names which have a sense of humour. But which are the funniest, we wondered?

We compiled a list of all the wild and ridiculous names out there, and then asked people to rank what they thought were the funniest, and these are the results…

Minge Funerals

When taking over Minge Funerals from Claude and Elizabeth Minge, Sally Harrington and her husband Scott decided the Minge brand and values were too important to change. Located in South Australia, they continue to deliver burial or cremation services at the generous Minge Chapel which seats over 150 people. Spacious, right?

Amigone Funeral Home

Located across 14 locations serving Western New York State, Amigone funerals begs the question, are they really gone?

Slaughter & Son Funeral Directors

Not to be mistaken for a butchers shop (pretty easy mistake), Slaughter & Son Funeral Directors is located in Chicago, Illinois. Despite this being a pretty awkward word to associate with funerals, the directors still manage to bring in customers who seem oblivious to the rather hilarious name.

Hollerbach Funeral Home

We may be wrong, but we don’t think that the dead can exactly ‘holler back’? Perhaps in 1926, when the Chicago based funeral home was established, ‘holler’ didn’t have quite the same meaning then as it does now…

Bruce & Stiff Funeral Home

Sorry, Bruce and what? We know that your company name should reflect the profession you are in, but surely this funeral home in Virginia has taken that just a little bit too literally?

Downer Funeral Home

Funerals can be a bit of a downer, can’t they? Nick J. Downer, owner of Downer Funeral Home in Connecticut, obviously agrees. What we want to know is, did he go into funerals because of his surname, or is it just a bit of an unhappy coincidence?

Go As You Please Funerals

This might be a bit tricky for some of the guests, but Go As You Please seems to offer an open door policy to funeral seekers. Claimed to be the largest independent Funeral Directors in the North East, the company prides itself on its flexible nature to deliver.

Resurrection Funeral Home

Do our eyes deceive us or is this funeral home offering a path back to life? This parlour in Michigan provides both funerals and cremations – if you have both together, does it come with a free resurrection? Asking for a friend.

Cease Funeral Home

Perhaps a play on the word deceased, or perhaps derived from their embalmer Ed Cease, this funeral home is enough to make anyone take a double look. Founded in 1901 in Minnesota, this is one of the oldest funeral homes on our list. Really, if you ask us, that’s more than enough time for a quick name change…