Are we missing something?

Two things have happened recently which have made me wonder if we're missing something.

Firstly, the small person's funeral discussed in my last post.

It was, as expected, fairly intense and difficult. Just Mum and Dad were there. Some pictures were taken afterwards of the (very pretty) coffin with its floral tributes. I'll be honest, that always freaks me out a bit, but what else do they have?

We sat close to the coffin, on chairs in front of the first pew. It felt a bit "school master and naughty pupils" to have me at the lecturn under the circumstances.

I think it went okay. I found some lovely poems and readings. Everything I know about baby funerals was put into that one ceremony, just to stop it only lasting five minutes. The music had been changed (no, it's okay, I really don't need to know, Mr Funeral Director), but we got around that. At the graveside, I read the poem that the parents had written, and then we laid the little mite to rest. Then I went home and felt like s...t.

Please don't misunderstand me; I'm not trying to compare my "flatness" with the grief and sorrow that the small person's parents were (and no doubt still are) feeling, but it all felt a bit unsatisfactory.

Then, a couple of days later, I was in the vestry at a local crem, chatting to a retired C of E minister. He said that maybe we should "compare notes" one day. My observation was that he had the option of some pastoral care, whereas we tend to end our services as the limo drives away. This minister says that he always makes a point of calling the family a couple of weeks after the ceremony to see how they are doing.

This has been playing on my mind, as I felt that the parents of the small person really don't know how to grieve. They had never been to a funeral before (no, I don't know why they wanted me either, as I'm not sure that they are without a faith of some kind), and didn't know what to expect. That's not, in itself a problem. Between the FD and me, we can guide them, explain options, talk about what they may want to do. But that's just the ceremony. I got a strong sense that these two aren't sure what to do with their emotions, and are holding everything in, for fear of somehow "getting it wrong".

I hope that the unit where the baby died has some kind of counselling and "after care" service. They have a family, who I'm sure will guide and look after them. But if I was a vicar, I could go and see them, or ring them up, and make sure that they're okay, or even offer some advice, or details of people who may be able to help them.

So why don't I do that? So many reasons - I don't know who to suggest (although, yes, I could find out), I don't feel that I have the experience to do it, I'm a bit of a coward, I don't feel it's my "place", I don't know if I've got the emotional strength - it's hard enough doing the ceremony, without continuing that relationship, I don't feel that I know them well enough to offer advice....

I think it all comes down to "Who do I think I am, to take on that role?" If I was a vicar/priest/rabbi/imam.... I would have a "god given" right.

I'm not sure where to go with this. Do we need some sort of secular support group for the bereaved? I have a colleague who is also a Cruse counsellor, and so would probably have more practical advice to offer. But it comes back to the same question - is it our place? Or is it just the duty of all human beings?

No doubt I shall ponder this more, but for now I'm just floating it out there on the wires.

Love and peace to all.

The down side of being a control freak.

Many funeral celebrants have a touch of the control freak about them. This is not necessarily a bad thing, as it's why we panic about the details, and worry about getting everything right.

Having said that - bad moment this week, when I had a call from an FD. A family had been very happy with my ceremony (phew) but in the copy of the words that I'd given them, I'd spelt the deceased's middle name wrong. Of course, I corrected the words, re-printed them (two copies, as I understood that they wanted an additional copy for a close relative) and dropped them through the family's door within 24 hours.

Cue 48 hours of self-flagellation (and not in a good way) for having made such a basic mistake. This has always been a fear of mine. Back when I used to have a proper job, I was going for a promotion, and had to take some of those daft tests (psychometric?) where you have to answer 400 questions in half an hour, so that the people who have worked with you for three years can find out what you're like.

"Your attention to detail could do with some work," was the main negative comment.
"Mmm" I replied. "Didn't the fact that I forgot to put my name on the top of the form rather give that away?"

Anyway - I have resolved the problem as best I can, enclosed a letter of apology with the replacement copies and tried to move on. Occasional beating myself up will naturally follow in the dark days, but generally, I'll try to prevent the situation recurring, and get on with the next one.

As a control freak, there are times when I feel out of control. This is usually when a family has very strong ideas of how they want the funeral to go. If I think that they could do things better (I'm thinking in terms of "flow" and "mood" which are hard to create, easy to lose, and make a lot of difference, even if they sound poncy) then I try to tactfully make suggestions. However, if the family has a fixed notion of how things should be and don't like my ideas, then I am there to provide the ceremony that they want, and I will do my best within their framework.

This can take many forms:
"Can you read this message from Aunt Gertie?"
"Of course" (Only if I translate it from Chav into English first)

"Can we have the crescendo of the music just at such and such a point"
"I'll do my best" - I have been known to have copies of sheet music in the script with me, to help with my timing- my Nimrod/curtains moment was a triumph, even if I say so myself.

"Uncle Arthur would like to speak for fifteen minutes, about Dad's fascinating collection of pencil sharpeners, with particular reference to blade types."
"Of course." Even if I know that most people there would rather hear about something else.

Despite any misgivings, I willingly rescind my control freakery, however hard it may be - it's their funeral - I am merely the MC.


And then sometimes it goes the other way.

I have the funeral coming up of a very small person; born before their due date, deceased within days; the poor little mite never really had a chance.

I've done a couple of small people funerals before, but in both cases, the baby had been poorly since birth, and had lived long enough to give people memories and photographs. On one occasion, we talked about what the child had done for her parents, in terms of life experiences and what they had learnt about the kindness of others.

This family is very young, the parents of the small person don't want anyone else at the ceremony (no lecturn for me, I shall sit or stand nearer to them, as we go through the service). The parents have never been to a funeral before, let alone a funeral for a baby and so they don't really know what to expect.

They have left the entire thing in my hands, and I'm finding it terrifying. I'm fairly happy that I'll find the right words, I have some beautiful poems, and ideas of my own that I think will work well. I'm even feeling okay about delivering the thing, although I will allow myself a few hours "recovery time" afterwards. But the responsibility is resting more heavily on my shoulders than usual.

I can normally say that "we give back to the family what they give to us" in terms of tribute, choices of readings or poems, anecdotes and contributions. In this case, they didn't have much to give. One of the parents openly said that they are trying not to think about it, as it's all too upsetting. It's an understandable position.

I met the family, stayed with them for 15 minutes (which is shameful, but they really didn't have much to say to me), found out all I could, and offered them to call me at any time with any thoughts. It felt unsatisfactory to me (but hopefully not to them - they seemed keen for me to go) and I hope to make up for it on the day.

So every time in the future that I feel that the control is taken away from me, I shall look back on this situation and remember that having full control isn't always fun, either.

Getting scared and getting it off my chest

I wonder if I'm "stable" enough for this job.

Oddly, not for the actual work - there are times when I get very upset over the circumstances and the people that I'm dealing with, but I'm happy to sit at my keyboard and have a good cry that seems to get most of it out of my system.

No, my concern is the up and down nature of the workload. I get in a right old panic if I haven't got anything lined up, and am convinced that someone is out there doing all of the ceremonies that I could be doing.

The problem isthat I think I could be right.

There is a chap, very well known around town (used to be in the local media) who seems to be getting quite a few ceremonies. He seems particularly good at getting the high profile ones (young, tragic deaths, that type of thing).

The place where I live is very territorial and this chap is well known so it's not surprising that people will be comforted by having him looking after them. But this is all making me feel impotent. I'm trying to promote myself, to get myself known, but I don't want to start "stalking" the local FDs.

I feel back in the situation that I was in over a year ago - happy to stand and fall by my work, but feeling that I'm not getting the opportunity to prove myself.

This is what I mean about my instability. A phone call or two with a ceremony and I'll be back on form; the insecurity dragon will be sleeping again. And I am fairly confident that thanks to the work that I've done in the past, there are one or two FDs at least who have me at the top of their list, if someone wants a non-religious funeral.

These feelings always seems to rear their head on a Saturday morning, when I don't feel that I can do anything constructive to help my situation for at least 48 hours.

Oh well -there's always chocolate. That seems to slay the dragon for a while.

100 not out

Much has happened since the saga of Margaret.

Well, another 30 ceremonies (including three weddings) so I’ve now done more than 100, and I’ve quit my day job. Does that count as “much”?

Yes, it’s scary-town in the world of X.Piry, as I decided to finally give up the meaningless world of finance. About a year ago, I made the decision, and have been planning it in that time. This basically meant not spending money on books and chocolate as I usually do, and saving my cash instead. Purchases have been restricted to the “sensible” category, such as a new suit, printer consumables and reams of paper.

And now the deed is done (although I may be called back to my old job on a “consultancy” basis. Terms are still to be decided, but it will be a better hourly rate than I’ve ever got from them before!). It’s exciting and scary. Mostly I’m excited and I immerse myself in work (ceremonies, or the other bits and pieces that I do that earn me threepence h’penny, but I enjoy). Occasionally, I think about it, and get scared. But fortune favours the brave and the decision has been made, so the only way now is forwards.

So what about the ceremonies? The three weddings were fun. They were all very different as one would expect from humanist ceremonies. One couple wanted traditional vows, another read poems to each other, the third had a hand-fasting ceremony. Luckily a friend of theirs wound the ribbons while I read the words, so I wasn’t trying to wrestle script and ribbons at the same time. All three went well, and I met some lovely people in the process.

As for the funerals, they have also been varied and interesting.

There was the day when I had two family meetings dealing with young deaths, one through illness and the other through accident. That was a tough day. I’ve realised the importance of building in a little “recovery time” after the particularly tragic cases. Also true after another baby ceremony.

There have been the families who seem so grateful that I’m embarrassed, and the ones that make me feel that it doesn’t matter what I do for them, it will never be good enough. There have been the families who, desperate for some control over the unfamiliar situation in which they find themselves, have grilled me to establish my credentials, my level of experience and my ability to do the job.

There was the one I tried to do partly in Welsh (there’s lovely) and the ones where it felt like I cared more than any of the mourners.

And there was the worst one of all (thus far).

The job satisfaction in this, for me, comes from the fact that I feel I’ve helped people in some way, that I’ve taken just a little bit of the worry away from their horrible time. (Yes, this is about my ego, but we all have to do what we do to get by and to feel okay).

When the circumstances of a death are particularly awful, things can be so much harder. At funerals for suicides, naturally emotions run exceptionally high. The family meeting had gone well; there had been tears, of course, but also some laughter. On the day itself there was a huge amount of tension, but we manage to release a little of it with funny anecdotes and happy memories.

And then we had the committal words, the final farewell, but without the curtains closing. After the words had been said, one of the mourners, very closed to the deceased, screamed out, and the sound echoed around the whole chapel (including from my ears to my boots and back again). Family members grabbed the person, otherwise they would have been at the coffin (which wasn’t going anywhere, but still...).

We calmed down, I asked everyone to sit. But then when I looked back at my script, I thought “if I try to read a word of this, I’m going to break down.” I took a slow breath, and managed to get started again, but felt completely bloody useless.

Afterwards, when everyone had gone to the flower area, this mourner also went back towards the chapel, but thankfully by then the wonderful backroom boys had prepared it for the next service, and it was just sitting in empty quiet repose.

This experience stayed with me for days. If I tried to talk to anyone about it for weeks, I couldn’t do so with dry eyes. Every now and again we need ceremonies like that to remind us of the enormity of what we do, but they are very hard to get through.

On the plus side, I did get a thank you letter from this person after a short while. I was delighted; not only because they are lovely to get, but also because I was relieved that the person felt able to put pen to paper. When I had last seen them they looked as though they barely knew their own name. So it looks as though I had helped, after all, in however small a way.

Onwards......................................

Update, and one of the reasons why I never go to the wake.

Well, I’m sorry if anyone’s breath was bated, but I’ve not updated on the saga of Margaret!

It got far worse before it got better.

As always, when there are problems between people, it’s usually due to poor communication and that’s exactly what happened. I thought that Jemima had agreed some stuff with the rev, so I was talking to him about them and he started getting a bit upset, as though I was hi-jacking his funeral.

In the end I did my usual (apologised until I was prostrate, although that doesn’t work so well over the phone) and bowed down to his every request – it is his gig. I was getting very upset about it all, as I wanted to try and ease some of the agro for Jemima, but in the end I was just piggy in the middle and it got to the point where if I was relaying a message from the rev to Jemima and she was upset about it, I ended up having to say “then I’m really sorry, but I think that’s something you’ll have to discuss with him directly”. I felt dreadful.

My main learn from this (and I hope not to be in this situation again) is that I shouldn’t go and see the family until after they’ve seen the minister. He can then lay out the ground rules and I can work within them. The problem was we were saying a lot of “if he’s okay about it, we’ll do this” which only led to disappointment when he wasn’t okay about it.

However, once we actually got to the day, we were all fine. I hadn’t slept all week and was as nervous as I have ever been about speaking in public, but the church was packed (a good 200 – 250 people there, I reckon). I got up to deliver the eulogy and started crying with my first words, but once I’d said the first paragraph, my voice came back and I was able to get them all laughing and crying, just as we’d planned.

I am a very insecure person (many people with blogs are – unless we have something useful to impart to the world, we’re just spouting on screen to justify our existence) but I made the mistake of going to the wake afterwards. Now, even if I hadn’t been speaking at the funeral I would have gone to it, and gone to the “after”, but this reminded me why I never usually do.

Margaret had lived with a chap for over 10 years, but things had ended acrimoniously. When I saw her children, I asked if they wanted him mentioned. “No” was the definite answer from them both. So I didn’t.

Now, lots of people (I lost count, but easily 50 and probably nearer 100) came up to me at the wake and told me that I’d done a great job, that they had liked what I’d said, that they thought I’d captured Margaret well. However, the chap approached me, said “over 10 years I lived with her” and walked off. I was beside myself. I was crying, I put down my food (those who know me realise just how much a sign of upset that is!), I was ready to walk out there and then. Thankfully friends and folks I knew managed to rally me, but I was devastated for days afterwards.

It possibly didn’t help that I was drinking alcohol. I’m not a drinker as a rule, and haven’t touched the stuff for months. When you’re like that, it’s really not a good idea to down a vodka at 1pm, and then move onto cider. I stayed at the wake for another half an hour or so, but I really just wanted to be elsewhere, so I walked along the road, ringing my beloved to come and pick me up, while snivelling.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“No.”
“What’s up?” (He’d already spoken to me since the funeral, due to a confusing arrangement with cars and lifts, so he knew that the eulogy had gone all right)
“I’m very tired and emotional”.

I could just imagine the look of joy on his face as he contemplated coming to get me. Upset and drunk – what a delight!

So this is one of the reasons why I never go to the wake. I hope not to make a mistake, but if I do, apart from being more attentive to detail next time, what is to be gained? Although the more I thought about it, the less upset and more cross I got. After all, I had done what Margaret’s daughters had asked, and they were happy with what I’d said. Also, this guy had been involved in a legal wrangle over insurance money from the disease that eventually killed Margaret. I’ve got to live with the fact that I’ve upset him. He’s got to live with a bit more.

On the subject of mistakes,

I did the ceremony of a person who, in the words of their daughter had been a “fantastic, brilliant person....and a dreadful parent”. With that in mind, I arranged to send the eulogy part of the ceremony to said daughter, so that she could check factual details (I always like to check, where I can), but also to make sure that she was happy with the tone of what I had written.

On the day of the funeral, after the ceremony, the daughter thanked me, but told me that I’d made a mistake, as I’d got the name of her sister’s husband wrong. I felt awful, apologised profusely, apologised to the sister (who seemed the most upset about it) and apologised to the husband (who claimed not to have noticed).

This was on my mind as I drove back home (the crematorium is over an hour away). About half an hour into my journey, a thought occurred to me - the daughter had sent the eulogy back to me and, apart from a couple of minor edits (extra punctuation for delivery, that sort of thing), I cut and paste it from her email into the words!

It was one of those silly moments, where I felt like ringing her up and saying “hang on a minute, love, do you realise.....”

Obviously, I didn’t, and I know that I still made the mistake in the first place, but at least I stopped beating myself up about it.


I’ll try not to leave it so long between posts next time. Goodness – what does it say that I’m beginning to feel guilty about not justifying my existence so often?
On second thoughts, that is a rhetorical question.

A strange situation for the godless among us.

I used to work with a lady, whom we’ll call Margaret, who has recently died. Back when I started this game, she had already been unwell but, at that stage, was going through a good patch. She and I were discussing my change of path, and she said to me “well, the thing is, I believe in god”, which was fine with me.

A few months ago, she came along to the ceremony I conducted for another lady we used to work with (I think our office may have “sick building syndrome” – I’m certainly sick of going there), which Margaret thorough enjoyed, and apparently told everyone about.

Sadly, Margaret has now shuffled off this mortal coil, which is terribly sad; she’s only in her 50s. Her children (who we’ll call Jenny and Jemima) want me to do the service. So far so good, BUT, because of her religious faith, it’s happening in a local church.

That’s fine, I thought, I’ll just stand up in my usual “gob on a stick” fashion and delivery a eulogy. However, Jemima wants me to pretty much run the ceremony, with the vicar just adding a few prayers. I was okay with this, but didn't know if the vicar would be. Of course, he has concerns.

I have tried to reassure him that I’m not going to talk about anything but Margaret; that I’m not there to talk about humanism, or to be controversial, but he wants to make sure that any service in his church has the right tone, and delivers the Christian message. I completely understand his point of view, it’s the same reason that I don’t deliver prayers in my ceremonies.

That’s the latest so far – he’s yet to meet Jemima and Jenny, so I just gave them a quick call saying that I may not be able to run as much of it as they wanted. However, the things that they wanted to happen (songs to be played etc) can still be done with the Revd introducing them, rather than me. Jemima seemed a bit disappointed, but I’m hoping that once she and Jenny have spoken to the vicar, all will be well.

There was a slight comedy moment, which I rose above, while talking to the vicar. He was saying that he wanted to get across the Christian message “which is a powerful message, whatever your issues with it”. I didn’t bite. I don’t have issues with his faith; I simply don’t share it.

The Revd seems to be a perfectly nice and reasonable man, so I’m sure that it will all be sorted out to everyone’s satisfaction. On a purely personal level, I just hope I get through whatever I do without breaking down. It’s going to be a tough day.

Updates to follow when I have them.





On a completely separate note, I think I must have lived a very sheltered life.

I visited the family recently of a man who had died. I was talking to his wife about him and she said "He was a good husband - he never laid a finger on me." Is that really the only criterion?

Just chillin'

It's one o'clock in the morning, I've done two family visits this evening and I've written up both tributes. I'm a bit too awake to go to bed, but getting weary now.

The two visits were quite a contrast and every now and again it does me good to remind me of the variety of the human condition. Neither deaths was expected, but the first gentleman was in his 80s and had been ill for some time. He was expected to die soon, but not then. The visit was calm, gentle and straightforward. I hope that we give him a calm and dignified goodbye.

The second man was more than 20 years younger than the first and, to everyone's understanding, as fit as a robber's dog. But he collapsed and was dead before he hit the ground. I don't know the cause of death, and yes, I could have asked, but it would make no difference to the celebration of his life and I see no value in upsetting the family even more for the sake of my curiousity. That's a question I leave for the undertaker.

It wasn't until I started doing this job that I realised just how tangible emotions can be. I realise it sounds as though I'm talking nonsense, but I could feel the rawness of everyone's grief at the second meeting. We had very few tears, but I think that's as much to do with shock as anything else. I try to remain business-like, calm and professional (as well as gentle, kind and sympathetic) but I find myself unwilling to ask too many questions for fear of further adding to their anxiety.

There were quite a few family members in the room, which helped, as the "do you remember when..." stories bounced off each other well.

It was a relatively short meeting; I'd got enough information to put together what, I hope, is the best tribute to the deceased, and I didn't want to intrude on their grief any further.

Goodnight, sleep tight........