rewrite this title She invited her friends to come together to make her casket

When MaddyChristine Hope Brokopp received her terminal cancer diagnosis, one thing she was sure about was that she wanted to make her own casket. Brokopp is in her 50s. She’s undergoing treatment for her cancer, but it’s not clear how much time she has. An online search turned up an artisan in Massachusetts who could help her realize her dream — and even bring along some friends to do it with her. The artisan in question, Mary Lauren Fraser, is a casket weaver.

Winter is still in full swing on Valentine’s Day in Massachusetts’ Pioneer Valley when Brokopp and her friends make the road trip from Pennsylvania. They park their caravan of cars on the packed snow outside Fraser’s workshop, at the border of the tree line. Fraser welcomes them with a kettle of peppermint tea, and shows them around the space where they’ll spend the next two days working on the object that will be used to lower their friend into the ground.

Most of the friends already knew each other, but they each come from different periods of Brokopp’s life. Cynthia Siegers is one of Brokopp’s oldest friends, and she flew in from the Netherlands to participate. In addition to Valentine’s Day, today is also Siegers’ birthday. “The strangest birthday she’ll ever have,” Brokopp jokes.

Fraser’s workshop has a bookshelf with two sections: basketry (with books on willow and weaving) and death (with books by Elizabeth Kubler-Ross, Sherwin Nuland, and others). Around the room there are circular trays, baskets, baby bassinets, and a few finished caskets that Fraser keeps leaned up against a window. “Everybody’s seen a wicker basket in their grandmother’s house,” Fraser says, referring to the look of the completed caskets. The woven sides and lids of her caskets are affixed to pine boards. She specializes in making both caskets and “burial trays” — which are like caskets, but with a woven back, and no lid. Brokopp has chosen to have a tray.

Fraser has already lined up the five pine rods (“the ribs,” she says) that will become the bottom of Brokopp’s burial tray. “MaddyChristine is five-five, so I’ll make the tray five-seven, or five-eight,” Fraser says as she draws a line in pencil at the end of the center rib.

The weaving begins

On the first day of weaving, Brokopp and her friends take turns placing branches of willow between the ribs of pine. Brokopp volunteers to go first. Before the weekend, she wasn’t sure how she’d feel working on her own casket.

“I like the material, I love how it feels,” she says, pressing her palm against the rows of willow, “because it’s cool, and it’s wet,” she pauses. “But I’m not really feeling a lot of emotions, or anything.”

Brokopp knew it might be hard for her friends to say yes to her invitation. But to Brokopp, it wasn’t so much about focusing on her death as it was an opportunity to bring her friends together. “I just wanted to have a fun time doing this. And I realized that’s okay too. I don’t need to be crying here doing this.”

As they work, they eat chocolate and talk about their drive to Massachusetts, and their kids, and their plans for spring. They crack jokes and tell stories. In many ways, the friends say it feels like an ordinary weekend. “Yeah, it just seems like a team-building exercise that we’re doing together,” says David D’Amico, slotting in another piece of willow into the back of the tray.

There’s also a sense, Brokopp explains, that the whole exercise feels a bit surreal. “It’s just, can I really comprehend that I’m making my tray — my casket?” Brokopp says. “I don’t know that I can.”

Sitting with Brokopp on the couch, Nita Landis reaches over and takes her friend’s hand. “I don’t think any of us can.” The other friends keep weaving and laughing about something. “We were — Pam (Clayborne) and I were saying on the way up, we know what we’re coming to do, but there’s just no way to imagine the moment when we lay you on that tray, because that’s not where we are right now.”

After a few hours of work, the friends get ready to head to their hotel for the night. D’Amico finishes his thought. “Maybe tonight it’ll hit some of us— what we just did today. But right now, it just seems too far removed.”

Maybe tonight it’ll hit some of us — what we just did today

On the morning of the second and final day, the tray is lying on the table at the center of the workshop. Fraser has woven long pieces of willow into the sides, which stand up straight like tall grass. The friends get to work. Today, unlike yesterday, they’re able to all weave at the same time, each friend braiding a section of the tray.

After a short while, Brokopp takes a seat on the couch. “I’m feeling quite tired from yesterday.” The day on her feet had left her exhausted. “So, probably just watching more than I’ll be doing anything.”

The friends do their best. But, it’s much trickier than yesterday. Fraser says that actually, every part of weaving is difficult, technical, and time-consuming. Fraser prepares the willow by soaking it in water and wrapping it in wool, sometimes even freezing it to keep its fibers from drying out. And the weaving itself involves special types of braiding — “waling,” and “randing,” among others, to wrestle the willow into patterns that are both beautiful and structurally sound. The only reason the friends get to do any of the weaving processes is because Fraser is giving them the easy parts.

But even then, Fraser spots a mistake being woven in and has to stop them to fix it. She gently calls out their “mishap,” and the friends jokingly throw blame around the room while Fraser undoes their work.

Taking the casket home

The friends came from far to do this. They cautiously weave, quietly focused, while Brokopp watches them from the couch. “It’s such a generous gift that they all made the drive,” she reflects, and for a minute the rattling, creaking sound of willow branches fills the room. The friendship of it, she explains, is what makes it feel so special. “They’re making something that I’m going to be in.”

Finally the long strands are clipped, the handles are put in place, and the hood is expertly curved and sloped over the head of the tray. All that’s left are the final touches. Fraser turns to Brokopp. “Do you think you want to lay in? Try it on?”

“I thought about it,” Brokopp says, “And, I think that I do not want to try it on.”

“Yeah, makes sense,” Fraser lets out a chuckle. Landis, standing with her arms crossed next to Brokopp, agrees. “It’s not time yet.”

The completed burial tray is a long basket made of light browns, oranges, and greens. The texture of the willow is broken up by a white cotton rope stitched into the side, to make six handles. With Fraser’s help, the friends lift the empty tray off the table, and carry it out of the workshop together into the snow. “ It is my wish that we all talk about death a little bit more easily, because we all face it,” Brokopp says. “I knew some of my friends would struggle with doing this, and I asked them anyway, and they came anyway. So it’s a gift that they’ve given me, and I hope I gave them a gift also.”