Happy Funerals, A Celebration of Life

I think I'm going to gatecrash a few funerals when I feel like being cheered up. This in response to the excellent article written recently by John Kelly and published in the Guardian. It reflects the move in recent times to see a funeral as a "time to be joyful" and a "celebration of life". The atmosphere is "Happy rather than mournful" and "celebratory rather than sombre".  After all, we're all going to die some time so let's just crack on and have a party when the next one goes. He had a good life, he was always a positive person so we'd better be positive as well on his death. 
The trouble is, we'll miss him and the world won't be the same without him. And we want an occasion on which to grieve. This, surely is also the purpose of a funeral. It's the time when we can show outwardly how much we would rather our departed didn't have to go right now, and that we'll miss them. Malcolm says "I don't want them mourning, I want them laughing". You can do both, and both are necessary. 
I've conducted a ceremony through which the widow instructed me to allow laughter the whole way through. She was bent over with grief on entering the crematorium, but the wacky choice of music and stories about her funny husband's life soon had her, and her friends and family, laughing. And that was fine for them and we all felt we'd sent him on his way appropriately.
Of course the modern funeral should have the fun and happy side of a person's life reflected, if that's what those left behind feel is appropriate, or what the departed expressly asked for. This is achieved through the words being said or, indeed, the shape or colour of the coffin, the way it's transported and so on. Another funeral I officiated reflected the 25 years of love between the widow and her husband. Here was a celebration of a late romance (they'd got together in their 50's), a celebration of time shared. There were some rueful smiles, but "happy"? I don't think so.
It's really not an "either/or" situation ("solemn rather than celebratory"), the two sit well together within one ceremony in the hands of a skilled celebrant who cares what the family wants, and has listened to what they have to say about their departed. 
Unusually, I seem to agree to some extent with a catholic priest on this one. Without belief in the afterlife, we're struggling to deal frankly with grief. I can't, however concur that "we are all sinners", a good number of us just don't buy that any more. Death Cafes, knocking down of taboos, and the option of having a secular service all mean that society is finding different ways to deal with grief.  Non-religious funerals certainly don't have to be "insipid". We need to ensure that we're not pressurised by any parties, be they media, church or funeral directors, to do anything other than get the funeral which will help us grieve and celebrate the life that has been lost. 

My Business is Treasured Ceremonies, please see www.treasuredceremonies.co.uk for more information

Reflections on Baby Naming Ceremonies

Baby Naming Ceremonies

The Nurture Show earlier this month was a new kind of event for me. I've been to wedding fairs to talk about my couples ceremonies but this was a day all about conceiving, giving birth to and nurturing babies and children, so I was talking to the parents about naming ceremonies. The genuinely caring nature of all the stand holders was obvious, most of the parents were carrying their little ones in slings of some sort or another, and everyone was relaxed and happy to be there. (Unlike wedding fairs where many of the men are there under duress!).

I was fortunate when I had my two in that I was very fit, understood my body and had access to a good NCT group which helped me have “good” births for them both (i.e. No drugs, no real trauma!). I'd have loved to have had access to some of the groups I saw today, such as the “Mama Tunes Singing”, Baby yoga and baby swimming sessions when my children were small.

I can honestly say, I also wish that I'd been able to have a naming ceremony for Alex and Charlie rather than christenings. I will admit now that I did have pangs of guilt having them christened in a church but I knew I wanted to do something special to introduce them to my wider family and friends, and I wanted them to have adults special to them (“Godparents”). Now, I would have a naming ceremony, and leave it to them to decide whether they wanted to join a church later in life. And I'd have called their special adults.....Guideparents? Significant adults? No, I favour “Odd parents”, definitely!

Baby naming ceremonies are a wonderful opportunity to introduce your baby “officially” to your wider family and friends. People often ask for sand pouring or candle lighting activities to enhance the significance of the day. On the day pictured, the family did both, so little brother was involved and baby Harriet had her own candle to remember her special day as well as having the “sand sculpture” made in her name. The parents and Guide parents all made their promises to Harriet, grandparents were also involved showing their support. This ceremony was held in the Emlyn Arms in Newcastle Emlyn, any venue is suitable, from a grand hotel to your own home. What's important is having a day to remember.

Being A Celebrant

7.1.15

Two months and three funerals on from my first diary entry, I may not have much more insight into what gives me the right to be a celebrant, but I do have insight regarding what it means to be one.`

I have performed funeral ceremonies for a man and a woman around their 80's and a woman who died aged 49.

The first, for the man aged 79, was after a 6 year illness, and happened to be the husband of one of my neighbours, although I barely knew them. The wife was prepared for this event, and had been blessed to have had 26 years of very happy marriage with her husband. She obviously adored him, as did many others and the service had a theme of “our hero”. There had been issues surrounding offspring from the deceased's previous marriage so my instruction was to focus on the last 26 years. This led to a wonderful reflection on the love and romance experienced by the couple during this happy time of their lives. I led the mourners into the building to the strains of The Animals playing “The House of the Rising Sun”, how dramatic! It was clear that this was to be a celebration of a life well lived, and I couldn't have asked for a nicer person to have as a client for my first contract. There was laughter through the tears, and smiles through the hugs I received outside the crematorium. The second mourner, a niece, had previously worked in a crematorium in England and gave me a reassuringly big hug, telling me I'd done a “great job”

The next funeral followed only a week or so later, and was a very different affair. The family truly wanted a celebration of the life of their mother and wife who had been taken far too soon, aged 49. Her adult life had been dedicated to her children; the younger child, her daughter, being 19 years old. This is only a year older than my girl, and I admit I struggled to keep my emotions in check when I visited the family, and even more so in the crematorium. The music had been chosen by the

deceased before she died, and whilst the family wanted a celebratory tone, the music, as the daughter ruefully explained, would create a “sob – fest”!

And so it proved. We entered to “You're going to make me lonesome when you go”. Two women came to the front to express their love for their friend in short passages and I read a heart breaking paragraph written by the daughter. Dolly Parton sang “I will always love you”, and my voice wobbled all the way through, I think, but I forced myself to maintain eye contact even when most of the eyes were overflowing with tears. The final tune was a quirky number from Oh Brother Where Art Thou, chosen by the husband. He said they played it in the car and regularly watched the film. I saw his face crumple when the music started, and wondered whether he'll ever be able to listen to it again.

Today was the funeral of a lady who was 82 years old and had been suffering from cancer. There was an obvious rift among the siblings, and I had the job of creating a ceremony that would be approved at some level by all. One daughter explained that her mother had requested a small, private funeral, the other two siblings would have preferred something bigger, as their parents had been very well known in their equine profession. I was warned that we would come across this sort of scenario; it seems that funerals force families to communicate when in the normal course of life they will exist month to month (year to year?) with no communication at all.

The lady organising the funeral was concerned that her siblings did not express their emotions; neither, indeed had her mother. “She only told me she loved me 2 weeks before she died”....my unspoken reply to this was “well, she was middle class and English”, but I kept that to myself. I thought I could understand the rest of the family's impatience with having displays of emotion forced on them. I am aware, of course that I will never understand what is behind family interactions in my work. 

The ceremony eventually was written, compromises reached. It turned out to be very moving. At first, I thought I could feel an uncomfortable atmosphere, but as the tribute progressed, everyone relaxed and I could see nods and smiles of recognition as the lady was remembered. A feature of this funeral was that each person would lay a flower, with a message attached, on the casket. It was really, very touching, and I again had to check myself to hold back my own emotions. The poetry chosen all had a reconciliatory tone, and my heart went out to them all, I hope it worked. The music was gentle, classical and calming, as chosen by the daughter organising the event. Until the last tune, that is, which was the theme from the Horse of The Year Show. After what I interpreted as a shocked look on many faces, the desired effect was reached, and the smiles started. I can only hope that the siblings will find ways to smile together again in the future, now that their parents are no longer with them.

http://www.treasuredceremonies.co.uk/

Funerals; Looking for permission

In November I started to write a diary of sorts but it's taken until now to decide to publish it. I have written another entry already, and will add it to this site in a couple of day's time. I wonder whether anyone but my Mum will read it..................

Today is 3^rd November, a Monday, and 35 years since the death of my Dad. My employment for the last year finished on Friday so today I'm unemployed. Or am I in that clicheed place “Between jobs” although the jobs I hope for are self – employed, directing people through ceremonial rites of passage; baby naming, marriage or funeral.

I have decided to use the luxury of this unstructured time to read about and reflect upon what I can bring to those who seek my help in the final gift they can give their departed, a fitting funeral. A funeral director told me “We would find this job very hard without our faith”. So what right have I to approach it merely as a profession. If – when – I'm given the privilege to conduct a funeral ceremony for a bereaved family which does not have a religion to lean on, I want to have more substance than purely a “way with words”. It's for this reason that I intend not only to read about the subject of death and dying, but to record my thoughts as I go to try and make sense of it all for myself and therefore be in a better position to relate to those who ask me to travel a small part of their journey with them.

This morning I started to read the collection of essays “Writing on Death”, collected by Ru Callender. The first, by Emma George, is written a year after the death of her mother. She had already collaborated with the author on a book about funerals but found herself completely adrift on the death of her own mother. She writes a passage that was said to her by Thomas Lynch, the American undertaker and poet;

We deal with death, the idea of the thing by dealing with our dead, the thing itself. So whatever we do to accompany our dead to whatever the next thing is, the further shore, or the heaven, the Valhalla, or the void, it's our obligation, the living, to take them there, at least to the edge of it, whether the edge is a fire or a tomb. We should go there with them and say, “Now you go there, I go back to life”, that's a deeply human thing.

This is a good starting point on why I want to do this; to help people give their dead permission to leave them, and themselves permission to move on.