Does closing a grave mean we no longer care for our ancestors?

— What I have felt after watching over a cemetery for nearly thirty years —

“I am thinking about closing our grave, but I feel guilty toward my ancestors.”
When I receive consultations about closing graves, I often hear these words.

Closing a grave that has been passed down for generations.

Moving the remains of ancestors to another location.

Many people feel a sense of guilt about doing so.

I, too, understand those feelings well.

That is precisely why I felt a little sad when the term “grave closing” (hakajimai), which did not exist when I started this job, gradually began to permeate society.

However, now that I have been facing customers for nearly thirty years, I have come to see it from a slightly different perspective.

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Twenty or thirty years ago, many of the people who purchased graves were from “branch families.”

The eldest son would protect the family grave.
The second and third sons would have their own new graves.
That was a very natural form of family life.

At that time, when people built a new grave, they would often bring a little bit of soil from their family’s original grave.

They would quietly scatter that soil inside the new grave.
The ancestors’ remains were in the original family grave.
So, they wanted to welcome at least the soil from that land into their new grave.
They wanted to cherish their connection to their hometown.
I believe that was the sentiment behind it.

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However, today, we rarely see that scene anymore.
Instead, consultations about closing graves have increased.
The generation of eldest sons who once protected the family graves has aged, and it has become difficult to continue maintaining them.

Children live outside the prefecture, and the structure of families has changed.
As a result, more families are welcoming their ancestors’ remains to new places of memorial.
In the past, people carried the “soil” of their hometown.
Now, we have entered an era where people carry the “remains” of their ancestors.
Over the course of thirty years, I have witnessed this change.

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When I actually receive consultations, the choices are truly diverse.
Some people close a traditional grave and reinter the remains in a permanent kofun-style tomb.
Others move from a charnel house to a tree burial.
On the other hand, there are also those who choose to continue carefully maintaining the graves of both their parents’ families.

“Should we consolidate them into one?”
After struggling with that question, they reached a conclusion:
“We will continue to cherish the graves of both our families.”

Several times a year, they return to their hometown, combining it with a trip, to visit the graves.

They meet with relatives and press their hands together in prayer for their ancestors amidst familiar scenery.
I felt that this time is also a precious form of memorial for that family.

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Watching these families, I am taught one thing.
There is no single correct answer to memorial services.
Closing a grave is not necessarily the right thing to do.
Continuing to maintain it is not necessarily the right thing to do either.
Every family has its own history.
Every family has its own circumstances.
That is why I believe there is no single form of memorial.

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The term “grave closing” has a ring of “ending” to it.
But I do not feel that way.
When I actually interact with customers, the families who decide to close a grave are the ones who have discussed their ancestors repeatedly, worried, and taken their time.

“How can we continue to visit without difficulty in the future?”

“What form will ensure our children are not burdened?”

While repeating such questions, they find an answer.
Watching them, I feel that closing a grave is not about severing ties with ancestors,
but rather a time to rethink the form of memorial so that they can continue to cherish them in the future.

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Summary

I do not mean to encourage closing graves.
I believe that continuing to maintain a grave as it is is also a very noble choice.
On the other hand, now that family lifestyles have changed, I believe that rethinking the form of memorial is by no means treating ancestors poorly.

It is not about which one you choose, but whether the feeling of cherishing your ancestors exists within that choice.
Having watched customers at the cemetery, that is what I feel most strongly.
That is why I have never thought of closing a grave as an “ending.”
It can be a new step for a family to continue pressing their hands together in prayer and cherishing their loved ones without difficulty.
I have witnessed such scenes many times.