The Quiet Power of Vigil and Sitting With the Body

In the hours and days after someone dies, there’s often a rush of logistics;
phone calls to make and arrangements to consider.
In all of this, it can be easy to overlook something incredibly simple and deeply human:
the act of just sitting with the body.

Before commercialised death care became the norm,
it was common, expected, even, for family and friends to keep vigil at home.
The person who had died would be washed, dressed, and laid out in a familiar room,
often with candles or flowers nearby.
People would come and go,
bringing food,
sharing stories,
holding hands,
​sitting quietly.

Today, more families are rediscovering the quiet power of these old practices.

Step one: put the kettle on
When someone dies, my number one rule is this: put the kettle on.

Before you rush to make arrangements, before you ring a funeral director, PAUSE…
Make a cuppa…
Let yourself breathe…
Your person has died, and you are not required to hand them over immediately.

You can take a moment. You are allowed to.

Sitting with the body gives you time to process, to be present,
and to start the grieving process in your own way, at your own pace.

Time slows down
There is something profoundly grounding about sitting beside the body of someone you love.
The pace changes. There’s no rush to speak. No need to “move on.” Instead, you are simply with them,
bearing witness to the truth of their death, and beginning, in your own time, to say goodbye.

This can be particularly helpful when death has come suddenly,
or when the relationship was close, complicated, or layered.
Having time to touch their hand, brush their hair, or place a letter or drawing nearby
can do what words alone struggle to do.

A chance to begin grieving
Psychologically and emotionally, our minds often need time to catch up with the reality of death.
Sitting with the body can support this gentle shift.
It helps the loss move from the abstract (“They’ve gone”),
to the real (“They are here, and they are no longer breathing”).

This moment, however brief, becomes a threshold.
It is where the ritual of parting begins.
It’s where memories arise, where tears may fall,
and where laughter can unexpectedly bubble up as stories are shared.

A vigil can be whatever you need it to be
Some people light candles.
Some play favourite music, or read poetry.
Others sit in silence or rotate through quietly, each person having their own moment.
There is no right or wrong way.
What matters is that the time is yours.

And it can happen anywhere; at home, in a hospital room, in a chapel,
even at a funeral home (willing to support family-led care).
Some people spend hours.
Others find a few moments is enough.
Some invite others in; and
Some prefer to be alone.

Children can place drawings on their grandmother’s chest.
Friends can sit in easy silence, wrapped in blankets, through the night.
Families can gently help dress their person in their favourite clothes, adding a sprig of rosemary to their lapel.

These small gestures,
full of meaning,
full of caring,
begin to weave ritual into grief.

Not everyone will want this
And that’s okay, too.

Some people find comfort in stepping away,
in remembering the person as they were in life.
For others, the idea of being near the body may feel confronting or unfamiliar.
There is no obligation, no pressure,
only the invitation to consider what might bring comfort, meaning, and a sense of presence.

A quiet return to something old and wise
Reclaiming the practice of sitting with the body is not about romanticising the past.
It’s about making space.
Space for grief, for connection.
Space to be with death in a way that is gentle, unhurried and real.

You are allowed to take time.
You are allowed to be with your person.

Sometimes, it is in these still, quiet hours that the deepest healing begins.

Have you experienced a home vigil, or spent time with someone after they died?
What did it feel like for you?
Would you consider it for yourself?

You are warmly invited to share your reflections in the comments.