Looking for a new project to tinker with? How about building a coffin or urn – for yourself, or someone else?
Funeral homes offer a wide range of options, but sometimes nothing quite feels right. That’s when the option to build one yourself comes in.
Inspiration and blueprints
You can find plenty of inspiration for both coffins and urns on websites like Pinterest, through social media, or by doing a quick image search on Google.
Blueprints are often available for free, or can be purchased if you’d rather not draw up your own.
Before paying for any plans or templates,make sure to check:
That it’s actually designed for burial or cremation, not for display or theatre props.
That it’s intended for humans, not pets.
That it’s a tested design and not some AI-generated slop.
That it meets Swedish standards for coffins or urns (you’ll find these below).
Don’t be afraid to ask for advice!
I’ve been in touch with several coffin and urn manufacturers here in Sweden, and most have been incredibly kind and helpful.
If you’re unsure about something – ask the pros!
Here are a couple of contacts to manufacturers that I recommend:
Europa Kistan
https://www.europakistan.se/kontakta-oss/
Nilssons Trämanufaktur
https://nilssonstramanufaktur.se/kontakt
Regulations for a Home-Built Coffin or Urn
The Samrådsgruppen Begravningsbranschen Träindustrin (SBT) has compiled a document with specifications for self-made coffins and urns, available HERE.
Coffin:
Maximum dimensions:
Length: 210 cm
Width: 70 cm
Height (including feet): 60 cm
Feet: 5 cm high
Material:
Solid wood, particle board, hardboard, plywood or similar. Thickness: 10–15 mm.
Sealing:
The bottom and about 20 cm up the sides must be liquid-tight.
Finish:
Paint or lacquer should be water-based.
Interior:
Usually includes a mattress and sheet made of fabric, e.g. cotton. The mattress and optional pillow can be filled with wood wool or similar. The inside of the sides and lid can also be lined with fabric.
Urn:
Capacity: about 4.5–5 litres.
Cylindrical urn:
Inner diameter: approx. 16 cm
Height: approx. 25 cm
Square urn:
Base: approx. 13 × 13 cm
Height: approx. 28 cm
Cost: Buying vs. Building
Funeral homes offer coffins and urns in a wide range of styles, colours, and materials – from the simple to the luxurious.
A coffin usually costs between 7,000 and 12,000 SEK,
with simple cremation coffins around 5,000–6,000 SEK. More elaborate ones in rare woods can cost almost anything.
Wooden urns start at around 3,000 SEK and go up from there.
Building your own naturally depends on the materials and design, but a reasonable estimate is:
2,000–4,000 SEK in material costs for a coffin, and 500–1,000 SEK for an urn.
If you can reuse or reclaim suitable materials, it might even be close to free.
Love Isn’t Measured in Funeral Costs
Don’t let anyone – friend, family member, or funeral director – guilt you into thinking it’s stingy or disrespectful to be economical when it comes to a coffin or urn.
It’s the heart, not the price tag, that shows how much someone mattered.
And if anyone disagrees, send them my way – I’ll have a word with them. 💜
The Finished Coffin or Urn
Your finished coffin or urn must be approved by the burial authority, i.e. the Church of Sweden, before it can be used for burial or cremation. Contact your local parish and they’ll help you reach the right person.
You can store your finished coffin or urn at home – in the attic, a shed, or any dry, pest-free space.
Just remember to tell your family or friends about it, so they don’t get an unexpected surprise after the funeral!
Adding a personal ttouch – even if you’re not handy
If woodworking isn’t your thing, you can always let someone else handle the building – a friend or relative who enjoys carpentry, or a hired craftsman.
Building someone’s coffin or urn is an honour that many take on with great care and pride. If the person you ask declines, it just means the task isn’t right for them – don’t take it personally. We all have our own relationship with death, and that must be respected.
You can still be involved by painting, varnishing, or decorating the finished coffin or urn if that feels meaningful to you – without having to wrestle with tools and timber.
Can you buy a coffin and paint or varnish it yourself?
It’s possible – if the funeral home agrees.
If this matters to you as a next of kin, find a funeral home that’s open to accommodating your wishes.
You can also contact the manufacturer and ask whether it’s possible to purchase a coffin without going through a funeral home.
Europa Kistan sells directly to private customers upon request, which I think they deserve a lot of praise for.
Build Memories, Not Just Woodwork
So why bother building when you can just buy?
Because the benefits go far beyond the financial ones.
It can be an incredibly therapeutic process – for the person who will one day rest in the coffin, and for those who take part in making it.
Projects like this can open up conversations that never seem to find the right moment otherwise. It’s a chance to talk, to ask, to share – before it’s too late.
Of course, not everyone wants to make it a group effort. Some prefer to work quietly and reflect on their own – and that’s just as fine.
Creating with your hands is deeply healing. To build something when you yourself feel in pieces, or to add colour when everything feels dark, can be a small but powerful light in the midst of grief.
Would you like to build your own coffin or urn? Or help build someone else’s?
A short story with Quinley & Herrow
Who are Quinley and Herrow?
In Coffinfolk Café’s stand alone short stories, you’ll meet two most unlikely friends:
Quinley – Coffinfolk’s café host. A young woman who loves life just as much as she loves exploring the cultural heritage of death and sharing advice, information, and insights that can help people – whether they are facing their own encounter with Death or living with grief.
Herrow – Death himself. He may look frightening in his black cloak, but beneath the bones is a kind soul who enjoys a cup of coffee and sharing experiences gathered from every corner of time.
You can find a longer introduction + a short story about their first meeting HERE
Gunnar's resting box
Narrated by Quinley
Dry autumn leaves and sawdust crunched beneath my shoes as I followed Gustav out to his workshop.
I’d seen him sitting at the café earlier, sketching something in his notebook, but the moment I came over to his table he’d snapped it shut. Ever since his mother passed away, he’d been so quiet during his visits, so when he actually asked me to come by his house, I was both thrilled—and, I’ll admit, terribly curious. He said he had something to show me.
It was beautiful. Almost too beautiful to bury.
I ran my hand across the white-lacquered lid of the coffin.
“Good enough?” Gustav asked, arms folded across his chest. His gruff tone made the question sound more like an accusation.
“It’s perfect.” I nodded toward the coffin, its sides covered in a sea of hand-painted flowers. My finger traced one of the curling leaves. “I can tell who you got your green thumb from.”
Gustav snorted, a crooked smile tugging at his lips as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his worn jeans.
“Check the inside.” I lifted the lid. The interior was lined with purple cotton fabric.
“I had to visit every fabric shop in town to find the right shade, but it was worth it.” His voice carried a hint of warmth again, a flicker of the old Gustav.
“She’ll rest like royalty in here.” I patted his arm.
“Wanna try it out?” Gustav raised an eyebrow.
“Quality inspector Quinley, at your service!” I bowed, kicked off my shoes, and laughed as Gustav scooped me up to help me climb into the coffin, which rested on his workbench.
I looked up at him as he leaned against the edge, forearms resting on the rim. He blinked quickly, his mustache twitching. Then he turned away and cleared his throat.
Trying to lighten the moment, I sighed dramatically. “Sorry to say, but you’ll need to build another one.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Because I’m not getting up from here without a proper fight.”
“Is that so? Then how are you going to get your present?”
All right, fine—his mother could keep her coffin after all. My curiosity got the better of me again. I sat up, and with a laugh Gustav helped me down.
As I slipped my shoes back on, he walked over to another workbench and picked something up.
“As a thank-you… for everything,” he said, handing me a small white box.
When I took it, I realized it was a tiny coffin—a miniature replica of the one he’d built for his mother. On the lid, he had painted a stylized image of me and Herrow, along with the words “Amor feti” (“Love your fate”). On the sides, lilacs and juniper branches were painted in the same flowing style, with the phrases “Memento mori” (“Remember you must die”) and “Memento vivere” (“Remember to live”).
Now it was my turn to blink away tears.
“Thank you. I love it.” I held the gift to my chest.
Gustav shrugged, his hands slipping back into his pockets.
“It just… feels good to work with my hands. To make something beautiful. Something meaningful. Always has. Carpentry, painting, gardening… gives the mind some room to breathe.”
After the funeral, Gustav told me—beaming—about all the kind words people had said about his work.
He’d even gotten a few requests to build more coffins, though he didn’t think they were serious. Probably just compliments, he said.
Gustav’s gift now sat on the café counter, and I smiled every time I saw it.
I had just refilled his coffee cup when I heard one of the guests at a nearby table let out a small groan.
She was hiding her face in her hands, while her brother sat beside her, gently rubbing her back. On the table in front of them were a dozen open catalogues.
I strolled over.
“Is everything all right? Can I get you anything?”
The brother looked up at me with a tired smile.
“Thanks, we’re okay. It’s just…” He sighed deeply and gestured toward the catalogues. “Our dad’s funeral. So many decisions.”
I nodded and took a small step back.
“Just let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
The sister lifted her head.
“Dad was… quite the character.”
“To say the least,” her brother added, trying to stifle a laugh into his coffee cup—which made her laugh, too.
“We want a coffin that says, ‘Here lies Gunnar!’—not just another dead man.”
“Dad liked to stand out,” the brother said. “He deserves a resting box that shows it.”
I nodded again.
“Ever thought about building one yourselves?” They exchanged a look.
“The will is there, but not the skills,” the sister said.
“Or the tools,” her brother added.
“Well, others do,” I said with a grin. “I have an idea. Be right back!”
Gustav was sitting with Herrow, talking about his plans for next season’s garden.
I plopped down in the chair across from him.
“Gustav, how would you feel about helping a unique man get an equally unique coffin?”
Gustav glanced at Herrow, then back at me.
“It would be an honour.” He leaned back, chuckling. “Never thought my career would take me here—but I’m not complaining. Quite the opposite.”
“…And I never thought I’d meet Herrow and end up working here at Coffinfolk,” I said with a smile. “Yet here we are.”
In the blink of an eye—at least for us living ones—the Reaper had crossed the room and returned, carrying the little coffin from the counter. He set it gently on the table between us and pointed to the lid.
“Amor feti — love your fate. You’re exactly where you’re meant to be, my friends.”