Bill Hulseman’s Reflections Guide Readers Toward Wholeness After Loss
How do we move forward after loss without leaving behind what made life meaningful? In his moving memoir, six to carry the casket and one to say the mass: reflections on life, identity, and moving forward, Bill Hulseman offers a tender yet compelling answer. With wisdom drawn from theology, ritual, and personal experience, he illuminates a path forward that does not deny grief—but honors it, integrates it, and transforms it into something holy.
From the opening pages, Hulseman makes clear that this is not a book about “moving on” in the traditional sense. Instead, it is about moving forward—intentionally, reflectively, and with great reverence for the past. Loss, he writes, does not simply remove someone from our lives; it reshapes the very architecture of our being. The task, then, is not to erase the pain but to grow around it.
One of the central metaphors in the book is the act of carrying. The title references the six pallbearers who carry the casket, but Hulseman expands this image to speak of the burdens we carry long after the funeral is over. These burdens are not only sorrow and absence, but also memory, legacy, and love. He asks: What are we carrying, and how can we carry it well?
Through a blend of poetic prose and pastoral care, Hulseman explores practices that enable this kind of carrying. He speaks of journaling, storytelling, liturgy, prayer, and even silence as tools for reflection and growth. His writing is gentle, never prescriptive. He invites rather than instructs. Each chapter feels like a quiet conversation with a trusted guide—someone who has walked the path of mourning and knows its terrain intimately.
Crucially, Hulseman frames grief not as a detour from life’s purpose but as a teacher. He writes about the clarity that comes after loss—the way it strips away the nonessential and focuses our hearts on what truly matters. In grief, we often rediscover joy, albeit in quieter and more profound ways. We become more attentive to kindness, more attuned to beauty, and more committed to meaningful living.
The book’s Catholic foundation adds richness and structure to Hulseman’s reflections. He draws from the liturgical calendar, especially seasons like Lent and Advent, to model how sacred time can hold our sorrow. The rituals of mourning—vigils, wakes, funerals, and anniversary masses—are not simply customs but spiritual tools. They provide rhythm and form to what otherwise feels chaotic and formless. They also remind us that we are never alone in our grief.
Yet six to carry the casket and one to say the mass is not only for Catholics. Its themes are universal, and its tone is inclusive. Hulseman’s reflections on community, memory, and renewal speak to anyone who has known loss, regardless of background. He writes with humility and hospitality, always honoring the reader’s journey.
What makes this book particularly compelling is its insistence that moving forward does not mean forgetting. Hulseman challenges cultural narratives that associate progress with detachment. He advocates instead for a spirituality of remembrance—one that keeps the dead close, not in a morbid or nostalgic way, but in a spirit of gratitude and continuity. The deceased are not obstacles to our healing; they are companions in our transformation.
This insight leads to one of the book’s most beautiful ideas: integration. Hulseman suggests that healing does not come from leaving the past behind, but from weaving it into the present. We integrate the stories, values, and even the quirks of our loved ones into our daily lives. In doing so, we carry them with us—not as weight, but as wisdom.
For those navigating the long road of grief, this book offers more than comfort. It offers a map. Not a map that avoids pain, but one that teaches us how to walk through it with grace, faith, and resilience. In Hulseman’s hands, moving forward becomes not an act of forgetting but an act of profound remembrance.
Learn more about Bill Hulseman and his body of work at www.billhulseman.com.