Whose truth?

I don't like to make it a (literal) body count, but I've now done funeral 38. It's been a roller coaster, I can tell you.

This time last year I was excited because I was just about to start training, and now I'm beginning to feel as though I know what I'm doing. Amazing.

I had an interesting one (and Charles of the Good Funeral Guide put me in mind of it.) The deceased was an elderly lady who lived in a nursing home. She had a goddaughter (who had sisters, one of whom I had spoken to) and a son.

The son and mother had been estranged for several years (it appears that this lady fell out with people quite often and, like Mr Darcy, her good opinion once lost, was lost forever). The son had tried to build a bridge and others had tried to encourage the lady to speak to her son, but she was having none of it.

I didn't get to meet anyone before the ceremony because of geographical distance, but I had several email and telephone conversations.

The goddaughter (and sisters) thought that the deceased was a wonderful woman, a role model, a fantastic and loyal friend.....basically, a paragon.

The son thought that the woman was a self-interested manipulative individual who cared for nothing but herself.

This was the hardest ceremony I've had to write.

I am, by nature, non-confrontational. I dislike conflict and do my best to avoid it. This means that one of my weaknesses is a tendency to say what I think people want to hear (yes, I know, it's a trait I hate in others, but we always hate our own faults the most, wherever we find them). So how could I please everyone in this situation?

Well, of course, the short answer is that I couldn't, and my fear was that in trying to please everyone, I would end up pleasing nobody (at best) or annoying them all (at worst).

In the end, I decided that honesty and openness were my best approach. I contacted both parties, and told them that the other person had very different memories, and that I would try to incorporate as much as I could into the ceremony, but I apologised in advance if there were bits in the tribute that didn't tally with their memory of the deceased.

Then I trod a middle path. This ceremony was not my usual "celebration of a life" but was, instead a "chance to look back" on a long life.

I didn't suggest that, during the reflective period, people remembered the deceased, but offered them the opportunity instead to remember the happy memories.

I used the word "complex" a couple of times to describe the deceased, and made a point of "determination can often be seen as stubborn", "strong opinions can sometimes lead to a lack of diplomacy" and the like.

I think that both parties felt that it was a fitting tribute (at least, that's what they told me, I didn't get any angry recriminations).

I did hear one member of the congregation afterwards say "that was quick", but someone answered with "what else was there to say", so I sent her a virtual, silent "thank you". It was never going to be a long service - all but the goddaughter just wanted to get out of there, I'm sure.

Thankfully, these conflicts are rare - usually if someone couldn't stand the deceased, then they just stay away, but at other times the relationships are more complicated.

The son was actually quite upset, and almost apologising for being so, but as we concluded, whatever this woman was like, she was his mum. He was allowed to grieve.

Happy New Year, all.