Whose words are they, anyway?

Over on Mindfulness and Mortality, Gloria received a comment from Rupert, who always makes a good point.

Rupert tells of a celebrant (sadly one of ours, I fear), who didn't want to hand over the funeral "script" because Rupert also conducts ceremonies.

Well, of this person, I can only say - what a plonker. And this opinion is later backed up by the fact that the celebrant in question appears to have done a major cut and paste job in putting together his ceremony.

So what are the usual practices out there? Speaking for myself, I usually offer the tribute part of the script and the text of any poems or readings discussed. I don't usually offer the whole thing, mostly because it doesn't often get written that quickly. My working method is that I like to write up the tribute within a day or two of the meeting, when memory has a better chance of making up for gaps in the notes. This, I will happily send to the family (explaining that it's a first draft) in order that they can check for accuracy and tone etc.

But the rest of the ceremony, I put together (time allowing) a few days later. I like a bit of time to mull over the person I've been hearing about (while I'm doing the ironing, or similar) and try to think about what to say about life, death and the universe in relation to their lives. These thoughts may remind me of quotes, readings or poems which may be apt - Rupert makes another very valid point about using the right type of readings for the right type of people - not everyone wants Shakespeare.

And so the ceremony itself may not be put together until a little later - by which time I may also have contributions from friends and family and so can think about how best to place them. (Narrative arc, smooth flow and other such creative writing theories).

I am, of course, happy to discuss ideas with the families and to show them bits that I've written, but it's not always practical to give them a full copy of the words before the ceremony.Ideally the ceremony is written a few days before the event itself, to allow for editing, and so is still in draft stage until the day before.

The above is partly "ideal world" stuff - if there are only three days between the visit and the ceremony, then the pulling out of a finger is required, and I have to get on with it. But such ceremonies don't feel quite as polished.

I will hold my hand up and say that I, too, am a fan of the "cut and paste" function. (I tend to describe my ceremonies as "created from scratch" rather than "written from scratch").

There's a quote somewhere about the difference between plagiarism and research being the number of sources - most celebrants are magpies when it comes to finding quotes and readings. But each piece being reused is chosen for its relevance, rather than its convenience. And, at the risk of sounding immodest, I also plagiarise myself, recycling and adapting my own words, where they are right for the person concerned.

Once the ceremony is written and delivered, the words are my responsibility, but no longer my property. A hard copy is given to the family and often I will also put a copy of the transcript on CD, particularly if there are many family members, or people who are far away, to enable them to print other copies or email them where needed.

Being protective of the ceremonies that we produce is understandable, if we sweat blood to write them. But understandable is not the same as right. The words have been read publicly and nowhere does it say "(c) 2010, X Piry".

Being protective of the ceremonies that we produce, if they are largely cut and paste from other sources is just plain daft and suggests an arrogance and paranoia beyond reason.

If anyone else wants the soapbox, I think I've finished with it for now.

Len and Angie

Normal rules have been abandoned for “Don’t get too close to the furnace” this week. Usually, identities (including mine!) are protected; everyone is called Bert or Ethel, genders are changed, delays are made before telling the tales. But not this time.

In the middle of June, I received a call from a gentleman.
“Hello, we’ve just got engaged and we’re looking for a celebrant.”
“Many congratulations.”
“The wedding is in three weeks time.”
“Wow!”
“Well, that’s because my partner has cancer and has decided not to have any more treatment…..”

And that was the beginning. The next day, I went to meet Len and Angie. It was, of course, Angie who was ill. But you would never have believed it to look at her. Words like “inspiring” and “life force” are overused, but in Angie’s case, they were accurate. Her idea was to create a day of beautiful memories for her friends and, rather crucially, her sons.

So we put the wedding together; appointments were re-arranged and delayed to fit around hospital appointments etc, but it all worked. The ceremony took place in the garden of one of Angie’s friends, there were about 250 guests, children and dogs ran around happily, people sang, passages were read and the ceremony finished with Angie’s singing group (a collection of ladies of a certain age) singing a fantastic version of Born to be Wild. A brilliant wedding on a sunny day. I don’t know who took this photograph, but it sums up the togetherness of the bride and groom, the bright sunshine of the day and the happiness of the occasion.

The town that I live in is not large and most people know everybody, so I heard a week or two later that Len was ill. I dismissed this as Angie being taken poorly and was sad, but didn’t dwell on it.

Three weeks ago, another phone call.
“Hi, It’s Angie.”
“Hello, my lovely. How are you?”
“Not so good. My lovely Len died this morning.”

What I’d heard was true. Len had had some twinges of pain, thought it was an ulcer, probably worsened by a lot of running around, and dismissed it. It turned out to be pancreatic cancer and within four weeks of being diagnosed, Len had died.

So what sort of man was he? I didn’t know him well, but I liked him very much. I liked the way that he smiled and was warm and friendly. He was an artist, who loved our local area and incorporated it into his work. Len seemed to have a calm acceptance of life’s troubles – he would change what he could, and make the best of what he couldn’t. I was asked to do his funeral which had tributes from friends, live music (a woman with an absolutely amazing voice sand Lee Hazelwood’s “Your Sweet Love” while bouncing her baby on her hip!). It had laughs and tears (including mine – I had a wobble which I was cross about, but nobody else minded). Angie was, of course, there, but by this stage she was very poorly herself and had to be brought to the ceremony by private ambulance and stretcher.

I’d just like to add, at this point, that the Funeral Director was absolutely brilliant. He suggested a memorial at home, if Angie couldn’t travel. Because she was determined to be there, he arranged a double time slot (also needed for the number of mourners), making sure that Angie was looked after well. He’s one of Charles’s “recommended” funeral directors and it’s easy to see why.

So the ceremony went well, Angie was taken home and looked after while others went to the wake.

But we all knew that it wouldn't be long.

Within a week, Angie had also died. Given the deterioration in her health between me meeting her to arrange Len’s funeral and the ceremony itself, I was not surprised, but still very saddened.

So, there we all were, back at their house, with Angie’s sons, mother, neighbour etc, making the arrangements for her funeral.

What sort of woman was Angie? She was someone that I wish I had known better.

The funeral director said of her, when we were arranging Len’s ceremony, that it wasn’t as though she was bed ridden, it was like she had just forgotten to get up.

To demonstrate just how positive Angie can be, she spent some time telling me about how powerful it was to spend so much time with the man she loved as they died together, sharing feelings and emotions that most couples don’t get to share. As someone who tends towards anger in life, I found her to be more upbeat than I could possibly imagine.

Angie’s two sons are really great young men. Under the circumstances (she’s had various forms of cancer for nearly seven years), it would be completely understandable if they were obnoxious little …… but they are not, they are balanced, positive, grieving (of course) but very well adjusted young men. The are a tribute to her, and to themselves.

The funeral was another large affair, they were out the doors and in the “spare room” at the local crem where a large screen TV can be set up when there are lots there. Again there were memories and tributes from friends and relatives. Angie’s own words were read, and there was live music.

It was one of those ceremonies which is simultaneously great and awful. I didn’t cry (small, personal victory) but again, it wouldn’t have mattered.

I’m crying as I write this, partly because of the tragedy of the situation (Len was under 50, Angie was 52) but mainly because they were such great people.

All celebrants will, at some point, do ceremonies for miserable old toe rags who, through sheer bloody-mindedness, have lived until they were in their nineties, making a point of aggravating everyone that they come in contact with. But these two? They were keen volunteers for local things, friends to many, creative, intelligent and fun people. No, life isn’t fair.

To many who were there at the ceremony, Len and Angie are together again now, at a place where they had a lovely holiday, both free of pain and worry. It is comforting to think that this is may be true.

I wanted to pay tribute to Angie and Len in this piece and I feel that my words have been inadequate, but they are real, and I’ll finish in the same way that we ended Angie’s funeral, with the words of Robert Burns:

If there’s another world, she lives in bliss.
If there is none, she made the best of this.

Sometimes this job takes chunks out of us. But, my goodness, it’s an honour to do.

Some lighter moments

I whinge a lot on this blog.

That was not my intention, when I first started to write it.

I thought (and it has been proved) that I would meet a lot of fascinating people, and have lots of stories to tell and so, as a little light relief, I'd like to share a few - silly anecdotes that have made me smile.

There was the gent who tried camping. His first attempt at pitching the tent was to put it over a sewer. His second attempt resulted in the tent being set alight, so he resolved, everafter to "stick to Pontins".

There was the lady who saw a shopping list for her mother in law and added to the bottom "Mills and Boon novels, to improve her intellect."

But I think my favourite is the gent who, many decades ago, used to get together with work colleagues every couple of months, to watch.....films for discerning gentlemen. This was back in the days of cine projectors, and so this gent hung a white bedsheet at the window to use as a screen. The lads arrived, the beers (probably Double Diamond, or Watneys Red Barrel - we are talking that era) were opened and they all settled down for an evening's entertainment.

After about half an hour, there was a knock at the door, with a couple of policemen outside. When this man had hung the sheet, he hadn't drawn the curtains first and so he the sheet was acting as a screen for everyone in the road!

Back to the seriousness later (I have a difficult funeral tomorrow, which I shall no doubt share at a later date), but this is just a bit of light amid the shade.

Every now and again it's important to put the "fun" into "funeral".

The handbag is strong tonight

Apologies for lack of posting, both on this blog and others. The cold weather is a-comin in and it has been busy in X.Piry land - I hope to catch up soon.

However, a meeting I went to yesterday was very amusing. It was a gathering of the great and the good of the local FDs etc.

I used to think that a good collective noun for FDs would be a "body" of funeral directors. However, after yesterday (handbags at dawn, old rivalries being handled quite politely, I thought that one person was going to be called "my honourable friend" at one point!), I've decided that the right word is an "argument" of FDs.

Fascinating to watch!

Family Visits

Some people talk a lot but don't say much.

That's two hours of my life I'm never getting back.

'Nuff said, for fear I will incriminate myself.



Rant over.

Too much choice?

Sometimes I wonder if I'm just too soft for this game.

When I'm talking to a family, I have an idea in my head of the structure that makes a successful ceremony, in terms of flow, breaking up long periods of speech with music, looking after contributors, trying to give people time and space to deal with their emotions etc and leading them, as gently as possible, to the committal, if they're having one, with or without curtains.

However, this is just an idea in my head and, when asked, I will suggest it to families, but make a point of saying "this is not cast in stone", "this is your loved one", "it's up to you what type of ceremony you want".....

I am in a situation where I am taking a funeral for a lady whose husband died three years ago. At that time, a local registrar conducted that service. This means that I'm now getting the registrar's structure inflicted on me, for no other reason than it's familiar to the people involved.

This is not a big problem - I'll write the ceremony to meet the family's requirements even if (as stated in previous posts), I don't think it's the best choice. But I do resist having the headings of the ceremony section headings dictated to me.

For example, I call my last bit "closing words". It does exactly what it says in the tin. It's the parish notices, if you will, the thanking people for coming, telling them which charity has been nominated, giving directions to the pub, those sorts of things. I try to end with a positive, uplifting and consoling note, such as taking comfort from memories of a life well lived, and learning from the lessons taught by the one who is no longer with us.

However, I am not going to tell people how to feel about what I say. And so I did politely request that the final section be called "closing words", not "messages of farewell and comfort". They might not be comforted. If someone's going through the angry stage of their grieving, my saying "she's still alive in your memory" is not necessarily going to make them feel better.

The family said that they weren't given much of a choice on structure with Dad's ceremony, and that they went along with what was suggested. So perhaps this is what I should be doing? I fear that my "you can have what you like" approach may come across as wishy-washy, but I would rather think of it as flexible.

I'm not going to change my approach - even if it creates more work (it would be easier to fill in a template). I can't put my hand on my heart and say that I create individual ceremonies if I'm just slotting bits of text into a box. Being viewed as weak is a chance I'll have to take.

There is a temptation to make this competitive ("oh, is that all the registrar wrote, I can do better than that"), but the mantra continues...It's not about me, it's not about me, it's not about me.

Am I being petty about the headings? Possibly, but much as it's not about me, as celebrants there has to be a bit of personal truth in what we do, otherwise we might as well stand there and read out the phone directory. And telling people that they should feel comforted is way outside of my personal truth.

Ultimately, all I can do is my best, true to everything that the family has asked for (the headings don't really matter to them, judging by our conversation) and deliver a good ceremony, paying the right tribute to their Mum.

Not sure why this is bothering me so much, but there we go.

The real test - update

Thanks to those who are interested (that's you, Gloria).

So, how did this ceremony go? Well, it went. I haven't posted because I'm a bit embarrassed about a part of it.

But, to give the full picture - in the office at the crematorium, they were running a book on how many minutes I would be over time.

The family were relatively subdued and the promised "extra information from the other relatives" wasn't forthcoming, so that pressure was removed.

As expected, the congregation was fairly small and, as I was the only one speaking, we didn't have emotional contributors to look after.

I played about a sixty to ninety seconds of each piece of music and didn't hang around in between. And we came in a couple of minutes under time.

It wasn't one of the all time great funerals - I felt more like a local radio DJ, desperately trying to forge links between the deceased and the music "and here's another song from the musicals that ZZ liked so much, a classic hit from a classic performer......"

At the end, however, the family were moved (by the circs, rather than me, I'm sure, but their tears were real and I'm glad we gave them the space to shed them) and they thanked me for a lovely service.

This is one that's been on my mind, because of the things that I think I could have done better.

Firstly, the amount of music. It was ridiculous, it made for a very disjointed ceremony and felt as though it was all about a particular member of the family, rather than the rest of them and, most crucially, the deceased. But who am I to say "no you can't"? I could have perhaps spoken to another family member to canvass their opinion, but as that was the woman who had been so unwelcoming at the door, I didn't feel that she wanted additional contact from me.

My own behaviour - I was professional, I hope, but I'm not sure I was quite as warm and friendly as I am with other families. There is an element of "such rudeness that hath appeared in me have I learned from my entertainment" (I kept the complete works of Shakespeare for myself), but I could have risen above all that.

And, perhaps, the most important part of that, I could have put a bit more effort in. And this is the bit that I'm almost too embarrassed to share. One of the pieces of music was the finale of the William Tell overture. It wasn't on my local Wesley list and so usually, I would call Wesley, chat to one of their very nice and helpful people and make sure that we have exactly what the family want, getting a reference number and everything.

On this occasion, I didn't. When the funeral arranger said that Wesley "couldn't do parts of music", I didn't argue and simply said "okay, let's ask for the Lone Ranger theme tune."

Unfortunately, the TV theme tune has an awful lot of talking over the music, and the sound of gun shots! I faded it quickly, said something afterwards about it being the right music, if not usually heard with the narratve and moved on. But I am ashamed of myself because a simple phone call by me would have avoided this.

It's a lesson learned, but, as we've said before, I can learn from the lesson, but the family can't - they've had their one chance and if I cock up (through omission, or through error), they can't do it all again.

The world didn't end, and the family did seem genuinely pleased with the ceremony. But I wasn't.

Oh well. Onwards and I won't make that mistake again.

Hi ho silver and away.....

The real test

Those who aren't involved in the business of dying assume, not unreasonably, that it's the emotional funerals (see last post) that are the most difficult.

They are not without their troubles and their wear and tear, it's true, but if we can genuinely feel that we are helping someone in the most awful of circumstances, then the "difficult" funerals can be rewarding and, perversely, very life affirming.

So what is really testing? Doing funerals for people that we can't stand.

Now, maybe it's just me - I'm a woman of a certain age who no longer feels the need to make everyone like me. That said, on the whole, I try to be fairly warm, sympathetic and friendly, so there aren't many people that I seriously fall out with.

But some families.......

I turned up for a meeting the other evening. The lady opened the door. I explained who I was and she looked me up and down before saying "oh" in a way that emcompassed disgust, displeasure and disappointment.

There are many possible reasons for this:
1) I'm no oil painting - but I did have clean, smart clothes on and my shoes weren't dirty. It's usually enough to get me in the door. She didn't give the impression of someone who worried a huge amount about being a picture of glamour.
2) She doesn't want to have need of a funeral celebrant. Perhaps this was just the way that her grief was coming out.
3) My name is one of those that, with an adjustment in spelling, can be for either gender - she may have been expecting a man.
4) She's not a very nice person.

To be honest, it was not an easy meeting. The family had elements of dysfunction about them and were not the most communicative. It was one of those times when I'm looking at my notes (pretending to read them) thinking "throw me a bone, here" and desperately trying to come up with a question that will get a response of more than two or three words.

Of course, I will do my best, but this lot have really got on my threepennies. They want a ridiculous number of pieces of music - I have explained that we probably won't hear more than a minute of each, and that will still be half of the ceremony time. At the end, I'll present them with a bible, a complete works of Shakespeare and ask them what their luxury item will be.

I have been waiting for over a week for more details, following a meeting between other family members (in another part of the country), and nothing has been forthcoming. I have a feeling I will be handed a piece of scrappy paper with a few handwritten notes at the chapel door and be expected to slot perfect prose in between hits from the golden age of songwriting.

Do you see the problem? Because these people weren't terribly welcoming, and not awfully friendly, my tolerance levels are far lower than the people who are complete fluff-heads, but kinder hearted.

The weakness is in me, I understand that and I will do my utmost to make sure that they never know just how irritating I find them - I will wear my best suit, my kindest smile and put every effort into the funeral.

And then I will never have to see those .... (insert word of choice here) again.

So how do we cope with these people? Well I do resort to childish name calling - readers of earlier posts may remember "That Bloody Man", and this lot will be forever known as "Freak Show", but only in the confines of X.Piry Towers, of course.

The other coping mechanism is "eye on the prize". By the end of funeral day, I will have completed my job with professionalism, the FD (and if this family have been a pain to me, there is a good chance that the FD has had problems, too), will be pleased with my work, and I can sit down in the evening, purring as contentedly as the cat on my lap.

I've talked in the past about my concerns for people after the funeral; a lack of "pastoral care", but in this case (and I'm not proud of it), I really don't give a monkeys.

Love and peace to all.

(Not so) silly season

It's quiet out there, too quiet.....

Yes, it's that time of year when the funeral directors have time to sit and chat (as it gives them a break from their filing and cleaning), and we watch our workload drop for the summer.

In some ways, it's a "breathing space" a chance to clear our heads ready for the next nasty cold snap.

In my limited experience, however, I've found that these things are self-balancing. There are not so many deaths, but those that do occur make for harder funerals. This week, I have a ceremony for a young lady in her thirties. It's a while since I've experienced that much tangible grief while visiting her family. I want to lessen their pain, but that is not something I am able to do or, frankly, have the right to do. Their grief is their own - I just have to hope that I can make them feel listened to and cared about.

And then, last week, I had a phone call. "You did Ethel Sludgebucket's funeral at Seatown a couple of months ago?"
"Yes I did."
"I was there, I thought it was very good."
"Thank you."
"It's just that my son died yesterday....."


I speak to my father every day. I started doing this after my Mum died to check that he was okay (I live a little distance away) and to make sure that he spoke to somebody every twenty four hours. As it turns out, he has a very full social calendar (we call the road where he lives his "harem") and talks to more people than I do. But he is a very good listener. I share these experiences with him, and he makes all the right noises.

I hope that all celebrants/ministers/officiants have someone like this. They make our job much easier, especially during the not so silly season.

Death of a supermarket revolutionary

So, Theo Albrecht, the man who, along with his brother, brought us the Aldi supermarket chain, has died.

According to the article, his funeral, a private burial, has already taken place.

But you know that you’re in the funeral business when you read about a death, and wonder how the ceremony will go.

Now, please understand, I mean no disrespect to Heir Albrecht or to his shops (I’m as happy to buy cheap groceries as anyone), but I began to ponder his funeral, if it was like a visit to one of his stores.

Of course, like a bargain laptop, everyone would have to wait until they’ve got a coffin available, so there could be a bit of a delay, and then a quick “window of opportunity”, while caskets are in stock.

On the day itself, mourners would arrive, but not too early, due to the restrictions on parking (can’t be more than an hour, or it won’t be free). The spaces would be small, and there is nowhere in particular for the hearse to go.

An order of service would be available, giving all of the details in eight different languages.

When the FD and his team arrive, they would look very like any other FD….but not quite. Their uniforms are slightly different, and don’t fit too well, but they cover all the important bits, so job done. The coffin is a little dented and scratched, but still serves its purpose.

The flowers would be just inside the door of the chapel, wrapped in bright cellophane and stuck in a cardboard box.

The coffin would be carried in, very fast, and then the bearers would stand, like check out operatives, looking impatient as the mourners make their way to their seats (accompanying music? Money’s too tight to mention?). And, of course, there would be no fancy carved catafalque; the coffin would be on a pallet.

Finally, everyone is in, the FD returns to his bearers, who all bow, in respect to the man in the box. And then we hear the little clicks, as they each get their £1 back from their trolley.

This is meant as a bit of fun, rather than a poke at Mr Albrecht. I wish him and his family nothing but good. But it makes you wonder, doesn’t it? How popular would the supplier of the “no frills” funeral be? There are a few breaking into the market now, so let’s see how they do.

Get off my land - update

Thanks to Gloria and Charles for their comments on my earlier post.

I was working in Coastville last week with an FD who is based in a small place between there and Seatown.

"So, lovely Mr FD", I asked, "Why can't I get any work in Seatown?"

His answer was, plain and simply, the competition.

There are some independents (mostly former registrars from what he was saying) and FDs will give them a chance. Fair enough, they did the same for me a couple of years ago.

I was almost relieved with his answer - I was beginning to suffer from the "oh no, what have I done to upset everyone?" paranoia common to many in this game.

So, I need to make sure that I remind the Seatown FDs of my existence, and smile my sweetest smile when I visit, hoping that my card goes on the top of the pile for a while.

My big fear is that the hordes of competition move into Coastville - then I am snookered.

Charles asked whether or not being a celebminister is a viable way to earn a living. Possibly not, but here's the rub. To be a celebminister, you have to be available. Very few FDs ring up and ask "When are you free?" before making their bookings - we are too far down the food chain for that. And if we're not free, somebody else will be.

This level of availability is not always easy, if you're doing other work. I was very lucky that I was allowed a form of flexi-time, but this is not available, or practical, for everyone.

I do also do namings and weddings (in the midst of death, we are in life...) and a few other (very minor) bits and pieces, so I'n not entirely reliant on the dead. But I would be in shtuck if I had no funerals at all.

Still, the fear is one of the things that makes us do our best, go the extra mile and try to make that ceremony exceed expectations. It's a hunger that I don't want to lose.

A good time to die?

A tale of two gents.

When I was doing my training, back in the 18th century (well, that's how it feels now), I went with my mentor to visit a family. A gent had died who was well into his nineties and had lived a good, full life. He had enjoyed good health for most of his many years; his final illness had been sudden and short.

His daughter was (understandably) very upset, as her dad still had so many things that he wanted to do.

After that visit, I came to the conclusion that it's better to die while you're still living and still have plans and enthusiasm, rather than after a lot of suffering.

This week, I met the family of another gent. Again, he was a good age and had lived a contented life. But for the last two years he's been unwell and unhappy. The loss of independence caused by his illness was difficult for him to bear and he was simply waiting for it all to end.

Death is inevitable and in both cases I think we could conclude, given the ages of the gents involved, that these are sad, rather than tragic circumstances. But the question in the title of my post comes from the feelings of the families in the two cases.

The daughter of the first gent, despite her father's great age, still felt angry and cheated. Yes, these are normal and expected grief reactions, particularly in the case of an unexpected death, but there was that feeling that Dad had somehow been cut off in his prime.

The sister of the second gent was much calmer, possibly even relieved. The prevailing sentiments were "it was time" and "he was ready to go".

So when is a good time to die? Well, obviously, at the age of 150, while asleep, after a good meal, some fine wine, and any other....pleasures.

But to be serious, this is another question without an answer; there are no rights or wrongs, no easy or hard solutions. The reactions above may have had as much to do with the relationships as the circumstances, but as much as we all say "I want to go while I'm having fun", those left behind would nearly always like a little more notice, and a bit more of a feeling that the right thing has happened.

Keep well, all.

Get off my land!

If this were an ideal world, Charles, Gloria, Jonathan, Rupert and others would all live in the same town as me. We would meet for coffee every couple of weeks, in a cafe that sold calorie-free cake.

We would all have as much work as we wanted.

And for those of us who are celebrants/ministers/officiants/gobs on sticks, we would know that the following happened – when a funeral director meets a family, they would spend a lot of time, asking the family what they wanted, and letting know all of the options available (including the things that they don’t “have” to have). If the family has said that they want an officiant, the FD would then go away and think long and hard to get the best match from their extensive list of ministers. They would think about the family that they have met and the personality of their ministers and would put together those that will work well together and will produce the best possible funeral; a triumph, a memorable occasion which enables the family to move on with their grief in the best way possible to them.

I don’t live in an ideal world. I live in a place that we shall call Seatown. I am also about fifteen miles from Coastville, and about twenty-five miles from Poshbourne. We have an established celebrant in the latter, but I’m sometimes called upon for holiday cover.

My esteemed mentor (She who must be obeyed) used to live in Coastville, but has moved to pastures new in another part of the country. I miss her guidance and her humour but it is honest to say that I am very grateful for her workload.

And this is because FDs are busy people, who do not go through their list of celebrants like a casting director, and think about who best will match their family. My experience suggests that the thought process is more along the lines of:

What sort of minister?
Non-religious.
Is that the same as humanist?
Close enough.
Who did we use last time?
X.Piry.
She any good?
No complaints.
Okay. What’s her number?


And that’s on a good day.

Now, I am probably doing many FDs a lot of disservice. But I think there’s a lot in the “who did we use last time” argument. Unless there’s a reason to use someone different (such as a specific request, or wanting a man, rather than a woman, etc) then it’s sound. It’s a bit like when you have a complaint with the gas board, and you know that someone called Angela was helpful. You will go back to Angela, because she did what you wanted her to do and kept you informed, and listened to you....

Now, the BHA would be happy to train a lot of celebrants who live in Seatown, Coastville, Poshbourne and anywhere else that good candidates apply. There is some evidence to back up the argument that having more celebrants on the ground does increase ceremony numbers.

Fine – but does it increase it enough? Conducting ceremonies (not just funerals) is my main source of income. Therefore, I have an average number per week/month/year that I would like to conduct to pay the bills and feed my chocolate habit.

If someone new trained in Poshbourne, then I would not get any holiday cover work there.
The other problem that I have is that currently, in Seatown, I cannot seem to get any work. To my knowledge, I have neither messed up or upset anyone, but there is a strong presence from the civil celebrants and a very good independent celebrant who is well known in the town. There are one or two FDs who have me at the top of their “godless” list, but this is not a very godless place, so between the competition and the retired vicars, I would be letting Cadbury go out of business, if I was only reliant on Seatown.

Coastville, however, treats me well. It keeps me busy and I am grateful. So how would I feel if someone from Coastville wanted to train there?

Panicky would be an obvious reaction (please don’t make me go back to office work, anything, but that, guv). After all, although I feel fairly established in Coastville, I work hard to produce good ceremonies, and to make myself easy to work with for the FDs, would someone on the doorstep be a more attractive proposition for them?

The BHA might feel that I have Seatown to work with, but I refer you to my comments above.So, if the BHA trained up someone on the way to Poshbourne and someone in Coastville, I would by right up effluent creek and lacking a method of propulsion.

And this is why local celebrants resist the training of new celebrants. It feels like a constant matter of tension. But what are the options?

If we don’t train a good candidate – what will they do? They may wait (I did), but for how long? Alternatively, unless they are dyed in the wool humanists (a rare breed) then they can simply train with another organisation or simply start out on their own. Thus, they become the competition.

If we do train a good candidate – what will I do? Have a huff moment and give up my BHA accreditation? And then what – be an independent celebrant with a lot of experience (and relationships with FDs), but the new BHA celebrant will still be there and will be my competition. There are pros and cons to being a BHA celebrant, and there are pros and cons to being independent, so neither has an absolute advantage.

So what do we do? Most people want to become celebrants because they have been to an inspiring ceremony. Good celebrants make a ceremony look easy. The recruitment process should be tough and hard to get through (I believe that it is, we are very careful who we train), but that doesn’t mean that there aren’t thousands of people out there who would make good celebrants.

If we recruit them all, we would have a huge network of quality people. And we would have some who would have to leave because they can no longer get enough work to sustain their lifestyles (I know of at least one colleague in the last year who has done this, in an area with a lot of independent competition).

No celebrants are in this for the money, but for those of us who have chosen (and yes, it is our choice, I accept that) to make this an almost full time career, then we need to have regular numbers of ceremonies.

There are some celebrants who don’t want to do a huge volume of funerals. I met a chap a couple of years ago who told me that he didn’t have the “emotional hardware” for more than one a fortnight. That’s fair enough and people like him are great for cover, etc. It’s also one of those professions where you don’t actually know what you’ll be able to cope with until you’re doing it and can see what it’s doing to you.

There is room in the network for celebrants with all sorts of workload requirements. The difficulty is getting the balance right.

I’ve really rambled on enough for now, and so I’d like to throw this open to anyone who’d like to share an opinion.

What do you guys think?

Should children go to funerals?

Well, as a rule, yes, if you ask me (but few do).

I had a situation recently where I was talking to a mourner who obviously felt "no". She told me that she didn't have anyone to leave her kids with, so they were sitting in the car.

I was a bit concerned as it was a warm day, but I think she left the window open, a couple of bonios and a bowl of water.



On another occasion, some children came along. The daughter of the deceased got up to speak, and was struggling. Each breath seemed to constrict her throat further. She managed to say "sorry!" but not a word of her tribute.

Just as I was trying to reassure her to take her time, a small voice (the lady's nephew) called out "Hurry Uuuuppp!!"

It was a great moment, everyone laughed and the tension was broken. Including in this lady, who was then able to read her tribute without a fault.

Not counting the deceased, this little angel was "man of the match", I reckon.

Training with the shoe on the other foot

Contrary to popular belief, the BHA regularly takes on new funeral celebrants.

If there is evidence to the contrary, this is because local celebrants resist someone new on their patch (but that is a post for another day).

As I’m now nearly at 200 ceremonies under my belt and I inevitably end up training, no matter what job I do, I thought I would become a trainer for the BHA.

I had to apply and go through a selection process (which was more nerve-wracking than I think that it needed to be, but a useful exercise) and I have now completed the first training sessions for the latest group.

They’re a good bunch, keen as mustard, well read, very thoughtful and keen to listen to others. Looking back, I’m not convinced that my own intake group was as strong, but hey ho. I think that the selection process has improved and so before we waste the trainees and our own time and money, more weeding is done.

The training has been great fun and, as I’ve always found in the past, one learns as much as one teaches in these situations. Candidates come up with readings, music and experiences that are new to me, as well as turns of phrase or outlooks that are refreshing.

And, of course, they send me their sample funerals to mark, so I can nick all of these lovely phrases and poems, adding to my own collections (never let it be said that I’m entirely altruistic!).

In a way, the training is a frustrating exercise – how much can we actually teach these good people? Can anyone really learn to be a funeral celebrant?

We can help with logistics and technical stuff (“this is how Wesley works”, “most FDs like to do…”) and we can share our experience. But ultimately, it is our individuality that makes us good at what we do and that cannot be trained.

And what of the non-technical side of things (“you may not want to take your holidays in February”)?

As with all things, it’s a function of getting the balance right. We are trying to develop a professional network with high standards (a rubbish humanist celebrant makes us all look bad), but how do we maintain those standards without producing “standard” funerals? And the day we start doing that, is the day I leave the network.

A good funeral is the one that the family wants; all we can do is try our hardest to give our trainees the tools, resources, guidance and mentoring to do that. And, of course, the support they need when they’re up and running.

It’s been fun and I look forward to doing more of it.

Standing on the shoulders of giants

Charles had a great guest post from Rupert.

Gloria, wishing to give it the full response it deserved, put a fab post on her blog.

I was going to make a comment, but found that, like Gloria, I had a lot that I wanted to say. If anyone is interested, here's my tuppence worth. Thanks for the debate. It isn't always comfortable but, my goodness, it's fascinating!

So, although Gloria wants to move on from funerals, I'm happy to stick with them for the time being, if anyone else wants to join in.

Rupert’s post was fantastic, as was Jonathan’s response (I was glad and relieved to see the “we can’t all do it the same way”). This has been extremely thought provoking and I hope that we will all produce better ceremonies on the strength of it.

1) Titles – according to my dictionary (a Collins, sorry, I was never posh) definition 6 of the word “minister” is “a person who attends to the needs of others, esp. in religious matters”. So why not be humanist/atheist/secular/free-thinking ministers? We often get called it anyway, so why not adopt it?

2) Combining celebrancy and undertaking - I too would struggle with many aspects of undertaking, and agree that not many could do both roles. Good for Rupert that he can.

3) Letting families see the words before the ceremony - When families are feeling out of control, as many are after a death, they like to have some control over what we’re doing, and viewing the words can be a way of giving that to them. I rarely send the whole script, but I often send the tribute/eulogy part. However, at the end of the meeting, I usually go back through my notes. Not only can I check that I have details correct, but the family can also understand that they have been listened to. Most find this extra ten minutes or so at the end of the meeting very reassuring.

4) How honest should we be? - I agree with GloriaMundi and Jonathan that the euphemisms can be useful. Perhaps we are colluding and I always resist turning the deceased into a saint, but the funeral doesn’t have to be the time for hanging out dirty laundry, unless the family are finding it cathartic and useful. Yes, we can observe what we see and, as others have stated, the balance is everything.

5) Humanists are Anti-theists according to Rupert. Gloria, you are so right. We’re not all Richard Bloody Dawkins! (Okay, your response was much more eloquent than this). Many humanists hate fundamentalism in all of its forms.

6) Time allowed for a ceremony - Sometimes twenty minutes is too long. Sometimes a double time slot at the end of the day is not enough. That’s one of the things that we’re there for. Getting it all in without feeling rushed; that’s the ticket. And again, some families just want the damn thing over with. “Ten minutes will be fine” they say. Who am I to pad it out with a full rendition of The Glory of the Garden and the whole of The Lark Ascending? I try to talk them through all of the options, but if they want short and sweet, it’s what they’ll have.

7) Untrained/unindoctrinated? - I agree that training helped in the initial stages. It also helps us to give FDs and families some confidence that we do know what we’re doing (otherwise the AOIC would not have spent a lot of time recently promoting their diploma). Of course, there are untrained celebrants who are brilliant, and trained ones who are sh…not. Not sure what the answer is on that one, but glad that I had something to work with and grow from. I guess it’s a bit like learning to drive. Once you’ve passed your test you’re safe to be let out there, but you really learn to drive when you’ve got a few miles under your wheels.

8) How much sorrow? – It’s a difficult one. I sometimes worry that I don’t put people “through the wringer” enough. Ultimately, as Jonathan says, we can’t feel others’ pain or know what they are feeling. My own experiences of grief have been quite private, only really allowing myself to be overwhelmed when alone. Maybe this says more about me than I would like.

8a) How much emotion should we show? I don’t think it matters if we are showing that we are hurting or saddened by the circumstances. But by the same token, we are there (and being paid) to do a job and part of that is to keep control of proceedings. Again, it’s getting the balance right that matters.

9) Public or private event? Sometimes either, sometimes both. It depends where the family members are in their grieving. We have to be able to do all three.

10) Breaking the mask to allow the grief through? – No Gloria, I don’t think that you’re being cowardly or too modest. We are there, as I said above, to conduct a ceremony. We aspire to do that with understanding of all of the above, with the sensitivity that our own personalities and experiences bring, and providing the ceremony that the family wants. We try to assess whether they want something that will have everyone howling with sorrow, crying with laughter or something in between. I admire Rupert’s stance (and would love to attend one of his ceremonies, as I am sure that they are magnificent), but I would wonder if they suit everybody? Some families want the shallow ceremony – who are we to say that we are wrong. Yes, we should always try to do more than they want, to surprise them (in a good way) by adding that something extra that helps them grieve, but we are not there to tell them how to do it.

Reading these blogs have made me feel as though I am a really crap celebrant/officiant/minister (especially after the day I've had), but I'm glad that I can read them as they are making me a better one.

Thank you

I think I know how Rob Green feels

I'm in the middle of a bad week.

Firstly, my favourite FD has sold his business. It was a lovely, small co; he ran a place on one side of town, his partner ran a similar place on the other and they pooled a few resources between them. Of course, I wish him a long and happy retirement, but I shall miss him. He's a nice guy - one of those chaps that the families always praise when I visit them. And he and his partner have sold to a local chain; I don't yet know which one, but I have my suspicions. I'm sure that they will also do their best for their clients, but I feel the icy finger of "corporate", which worries me. I understand that my mate (who, incidentally, was the first FD to give me any work) will be around for a few months, but it still makes me sad that he'll be off after that.

Secondly, I had a weird moment. I met a family to help look after their Mum's arrangement. When I was asking how I should address Mum in the ceremony, they said a word that's not a name......except it was also my Mum's nickname! I had to explain to them why I looked so shocked when they said it, after all, I had never expected to do a ceremony with that name. It was also weird writing "I didn't have the pleasure of knowing......", and using my Mum's name because clearly, I did know her, and it's thanks to her contribution to the gene pool that I have a lifelong battle with facial hair. (TMI? Sorry, I like to share).

Thirdly, and this is the kicker, I've just come home from a nearby crem. It's taken until ceremony number 192, but I have finally reached the moment I've been expecting and dreading, the "funeral-ruining moment that's all my fault."

I had been told that the family wanted the curtains left open. When I double checked with them at the meeting, we decided that we would have the committal right at the end and, in my head, this meant close the curtains on the way out.

The ceremony went well, contributors spoke well, there was music, the eulogy was well received. Then, right at the end, as I'm saying my words of committal, I pressed the button and the curtains started to close.

"X.Piry. Can you stop the curtains" said the chief mourner. Unfortunately, on that particular lectern there is no return switch.

I apologised, of course, and as soon as I had left the chapel, the attendant went and opened them again (I now know where that particular button is), so that the family etc could have their moment with the coffin. But I felt absolutely dreadful.

In many ways, I was very lucky. This was a relatively calm family, and the gent who had died had lived a long and full life with a few months of illness at the end. If there had been people in the hysterical stages of grief, it would have been even more awful. I apologised to everyone, and folks (including the family) still said nice things about the ceremony, but I could have kicked myself.

When I make a mistake, I always try to take something positive from it, things I could do to stop it recurring and to make it better if it does happen again. Well, I can do the latter, as my final closing words were rather swallowed in the confusion. I should have read them all again to let people hear them.

But could I stop this happening again? I need to make my notes clearer; cross out for change of mind and underline for "yes, that's definitely what they want". I already check and double check, so a triple check might work, but ultimately, I'd got the idea in my head, so may not have believed my own notes, no matter how many times I'd read them.

So, all in all, I'm feeling extremely upset and cross with myself. It could have been a lot worse, but it could have been better. Ultimately, I know I've got to learn from it and move on, but I fear complacency, hence my legendary ability to beat myself up.

I think I will make a contribution to the family's collection - as an apology, rather than an attempt to right the situation with money. Apart from that, what can I do?

I must be like Robert Green, the ball went into the goal and it was my fault. But I've come home to emails about the next ceremonies and I can't let this mistake ruin more than one funeral. I've got to pick myself up, and make sure that my arm is in the right place for the save in the second half.

It's the only way I can still get picked as no 1.

Thank you for listening.

Apologies for lack of posting

I'm sorry for the long gap since my last post.


I don't like to make excuses (and this may sound like either bragging or complaining - neither intended), but in the last seven weeks, I've taken 25 funerals. This has been quite a "purple patch" for me, but it has meant that I haven't raised my head above the parapet much.


They've been a mixed bag; including a couple of people that I had previously met - one because I had done a ceremony for her husband just a few months ago. I know that "broken heart syndrome" is not uncommon, but this person was not a candidate as far as I could tell. The other was a lady who knew that she had a terminal illness and so called me a few months ago as she wanted to arrange her funeral.

This was a bit weird, but is something that we get asked to do. I was a little surprised not to meet her family too, but that was her choice. Given that control of her life had been taken away from her, then it's perhaps not surprising that she wanted to have some power over her funeral.

However, this meant that the control was taken away from those who usually have it. After the lady had died and I went to meet her husband and children, I felt a distinct chill and I don't blame them. No doubt my lady felt that she was "saving them the worry" as well as making sure that she had the music etc that she wanted. She had also left time for them to make their tributes and say their pieces, but still, they seemed a little adrift. The lady had died quicker than anticipated, due to complications with her illness, so that was likely to be a factor.

Looking back, I wish we'd done this differently, but what could I do? I can advise, I can suggest and I can give examples. But I am not there to tell people what to do, and if this lady wanted to take care of it all, I either had to go along with it or walk away.

I'm feeling pretty tired at the moment. I realise that to some (especially those who work to a more fixed ceremony structure), then I probably seem like a complete wimp and making a fuss about what is, after all, about 3 1/2 ceremonies a week. However, with other bits of work that I do, and the amount of time it can take to visit a family, write the ceremony, check it and then deliver it, the last couple of months has been an exercise in time management. It got to the point where if I had the words prepared, my clothes ironed and ready, the cat fed, and I hadn't run out of milk, then I considered myself ahead of the game.

I'm not asking for sympathy; this is my job, after all. I'm just explaining my absence (and lack of activity on other blogs) in the hope that anyone cares.

Off on my hols for a week, after another little adventure (details to follow in a later post), so I hope that all are healthy and happy, that the sun is shining on you and that the Icelandic ash doesn't prevent me sitting by a pool in a Mediterranean Resort.

Good vibes to all

Something positive

I realise that I usually complain a lot on this blog.

However, I have the story of an absolutely cracking funeral. And I'm not being immodest. One of the reasons that it was so great was that I had very little to do with it!

The deceased was a singer who had reached a good age. His son is the most organised man on the planet. He arranged the whole thing, we had running orders, he'd lined up the contributors, and, following our discussions, we'd even allowed some contingencies if the contributors ran over time. We had a double time slot, and he had been to the venue at least twice to check out the location, the sound system and anything else he wanted to know (even how long the curtains take to close...). This was a great case of the family taking as much control of the funeral as they wanted. The FD and I simply stood by and acted on our instructions.

This man (the son) has a great energy and dynamism about him, and so although the control freak in me usually resists being told what to do, I just didn't mind in this case.

And it worked beautifully. The music sounded great. We didn't get to have the "open mic" slot we'd hoped for when folks could stand up and say what they wanted, because of time constraints, but that was our contingency. They were all off to a great celebration afterwards, so no doubt many stories were being shared there.

Never have I had so much praise for doing so little. Yes, I still gave a lot of time and consideration to the bits that I was saying (finding the right quotes, etc), but in comparison with many ceremonies, I didn't have to do as much. The tributes were all coming from the family and friends who knew the gent, I was just audience and button presser.

So many people afterwards said "That's what I want...." which is very gratifying (although they will need to get the gent's son involved, as he was the one who did it all). I was just the MC, the Assistant Stage Manager, the gob on a stick.

It was an honour and a privilege to do.



Apologies
I would like to apologise to Rupert who, accurately, chastised me for not responding to his comments. I have now responded to his direct question by email and I would like to apologise for my rudeness.

I don't always reply to comments on the blog - although it's my blog, I don't want it ever to be a place where folks may want to comment (particularly if they disagree with me) and feel that they can't because I'm going to come back arguing.

However, I am very grateful to all who read it and who take the time to comment - it is appreciated, even if I don't make that plain.

Is it common to talk about money?

I've just had a conversation with a funeral arranger that has left me feeling uncomfortable.

I opened my cheque from this company, to find that they had paid me last year's fee. Mine went up at the beginning of this year. I rang to say that it wasn't a problem, but please could they amend my records to reflect the new figure?

It would appear that the answer is "no".

The reason is that my fee is more than £10 higher than the local clergy. Now, I'm not in the business of promoting myself by criticizing others, but what I didn't say is that each of my ceremonies is composed from scratch, word by word. Yes, there are some readings and ideas that are universal and get re-used, but they are all re-written for the individual concerned - I don't have a standard service to follow.

I am aware that the best clergy also personalise everything and spend a great deal of time with their families and that there are probably bad humanists who just knock out their standard service without much thought (if there are, then people should complain - I don't want such people giving us all a bad name). But I take my work very seriously, I invest a lot of time in each ceremony and I don't think that what I get as an hourly rate is particularly high, when the full amount of time that each one takes, from start to finish, is taken into account. It's not as though anyone becomes a celebrant to get rich!

I also didn't talk about the ceremonies that I don't charge for (such as the ones for the very small people).

I'm not much of a negotiator (as you can tell), so I more or less backed down right away. I'm still sufficiently new at this that the fear of losing work is greater than the fear of losing a few quid.

But now I feel like the stuff I clear from the litter tray.

At best, I will lose a few quid each time I work for this FD, but, at worst, I won't work for this FD again and will get known as a money grabber. (Forgive me, I have an active imagination and occasional paranoia).

I wish I hadn't made the call now, but I guess that it's better to talk about this stuff then not.

The arranger said that he had received some very good feedback about my work and was happy to recommend me, but was worried about pushing my services when my fee is so much more and funerals are already so expensive. Yes, they are, and in the scheme of things my fee is a very small proportion when the family also has a limousine and flowers and.....

I'll get over it; I always do. I'll go and see the arranger and make sure that we're still friends. It wasn't an angry call on either side, but it has left me with a nasty taste in my mouth.

Ah well.....onwards.

Shortchanging the dead - update

Many thanks for the kind comments to the previous post.

Well, we're through the other side and I'm delighted to say that it went....okay....ish. Or at least better than expected.

I wish I'd read Charles's comments earlier - I did as he suggested but not, I feel, as eloquently as he would.

I put in lots of thoughts on life and death, our connectionswith others, how the deceased will live on through the family and memories of those who love him....

I explained that humanist funerals can include tributes to the deceased, but in this case, his family had asked that those present be given time to think about him and to reflect upon what made him special to them (I'm paraphrasing, but you get the drift.....)

What actually saved us today was nothing to do with me (of course), it was the music. The family had chosen pieces which hadn't looked promising on paper, but they actually worked really well.

It wasn't a long service and I still feel it would have been better with a fuller tribute, but it didn't turn into the train wreck that I'd been fearing and for that, I'm glad.

I didn't get quite my usual quota of handshakes and "thank you very much" afterwards, but the fact that I got any was a pleasant surprise.

Ultimately, the dignity and the very nature of the occasion seemed to win out.; egos were put aside (hopefully mine, too), and there were expressions of sorrow, but not anger. It was all pleasantly calm. Now, whether or not that's the right way to grieve? I'm no psychologist, but it did mean that the whole thing passed off without aggravation and additional upset. There had been enough of that already. I'm glad that there was some resting in peace.

Shortchanging the Dead

It's been very busy just recently (ten ceremonies in as many days) and so I am (happily) working all hours so that none of my families feel anything other than theirs is the only funeral I have to work on.

But one family has made me cross. The deceased was brought up in a very religious family but has moved away from his faith. As a result, he wants a non-religious ceremony, which is why I was called.

I met with his son, who told me some lovely tales of his father's life, some stuff was funny, other stuff really demonstrated that the deceased had the human frailties of us all, but that he was essentially a decent man.

I spent Sunday afternoon writing up the tribute part of the ceremony. Yes, I had included
some of the funny bits, but I was, essentially painting my usual picture of the chap - not ignoring his faults, but emphasising his qualities.

Then, yesterday morning, I got a call from the son that I had met. Apparently his elder sister thinks that we are taking the mickey out of Dad, and so I was given dictation over the phone of what they want me to say. It will take me about 90 seconds, tops.

I could certainly (and would willingly) tone down the funny bits of the tribute, if the family wanted, but I'm not even allowed to do that. I am to say exactly as I've been told. I warned the son that we wouldn't have many words in the ceremony, and he seemed to accept that, giving me to understand that this is more to do with the lack of a faith leader in the ceremony than anything else.

This has made me somewhat cross.

• The deceased isn't getting a fitting tribute, and I am short changing him, but yes, he is dead, and the ceremony is for his family, so they must have what they want. It doesn't sit well with me, though.
• I don't want anyone thinking that this is a typical humanist ceremony. I will do my best with what I can, and explain (tactfully) that the structure of the ceremony is at the family's request, but it is going to be a very poor show, and that worries me.
• If I were a religious minister, would I be as flexible? Or would I insist on certain things in the ceremony. Probably, but I don't think that the stuff I'm being asked to leave out can come under any heading of "essential" if the family don't want it.
• I could have spent that time so much better on another family's ceremony.

Talking of time, I should now get back to the job in hand. But this is a very frustrating situation. In my heart I would like to say "oh, go and find yourself a minister", but that wouldn't be the deceased's wishes either, and I think that some of us should defend them.

Ultimately, I'm just here to do what the family want. What a shame they want such a rubbish thing.

Venting etc update

I never have to speak to that bloody man again.


In hindsight, and in the cooling down of tempers (okay - temper....mine) I have had pangs of guilt. This man is grieving. This person has lost someone very dear to him. This man is floundering alone in the world.


And then I remember the correspondence we shared in which he said "well, I am sad that we haven't been able to spend as much time on this as I would have hoped".


Oh for ......goodness sake! He may not have done - probably because he was too busy sorting out his new bathroom, trying to get people to contribute to the ceremony (who really weren't that interested) and floating around saying "but I need to have this ceremony". I however, did spend a lot of time on the ceremony, talking to those who could be interested enough to contribute, trying to get information out of people who were leaving it all to this bloody man, and trying to write a ceremony despite constant interruptions from the annoying little....soldier.



I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Anyone reading this would probably be horrified and think that I'm completely unsympathetic at a time when someone is grieving a loss. I'm really not. I'm just human, and there are some behaviours that get right on my threepennies, and his behaviour was demanding, clinging and solipsistic. It was only the fact that I knew that he was grieving that prevented me from telling him to shove the whole ceremony right up his.....



Deep breaths, deep breaths. I must go to my happy place....





By way of contrast, the funeral without the body was quite an experience.



Firstly, for the outdoor bit, we had to walk to the top of a hill. Perhaps I should explain - I don't do outdoors, and I don't do exercise (which explains my trim and youthful physique), and so was glad that we had a bit of milling around at the top of the hill, as it enabled me to get my breath back.

Once there, this was relatively familiar ground - a tribute to the deceased, some readings from loved ones, a moment of silence for reflection and/or prayer.

Then we went to the indoor venue, and the bit that I was dreading, the "and who would like to speak now" part. These have an element of chaos about them, and I know that chaos is wonderful and human and spontaneous, but I worry that as I'm there (and, let's be honest, being paid) to keep order, I want to do my job properly, and to the standard that folks want.

The initial discussions with the family had been to have a completely open ended thing, but I suggested that we would need some kind of finish to the semi-formal bit, before the whole thing descends into what is simply a social gathering, when people talk about last week's match, rather than focusing on the deceased. Not that there's anything wrong with the social stuff, but that's not what I've been asked there for.

It was fine. Siblings of the deceased read some pre-prepared words. The lady's children and partner did the same. Another relative had written a lovely poem. A former colleague said what a nice person she had been to work for, it was all very moving.

There is a slightly weird thing that happens in that, because I'm the person who has thrown open the floor, people start telling their anecdotes to me, rather than the room. It makes me feel like a television news reporter - the ones you see deliberately nodding as their interviewee speaks.

The other thing that I found was that I took on an awful lot more emotion than I was expecting. I had never known the deceased, and although she seemed like a very nice person and I liked her children and partner, I wasn't expecting to feel any more emotional involvement than I feel at other ceremonies.

Yet, after hearing all of these stories and recollections, many said through tears, when I returned to my folder for the concluding words, I struggled to get through them. I had to take a deep breath, and hope that it sounded as though I needed to clear my throat, rather than fighting tears of my own.

It's almost hypocritical to get upset about the death of a stranger, and yet, is it? This was a young(ish) person who seemed like one of the good guys. During ceremonies we often talk about our connections with others - the "no man is an island" idea, so perhaps I just got a bit upset because the bell was tolling for us all, and that I was sharing the sadness that these apparently good people were feeling?

Or maybe it was body chemistry, adrenaline dissipating as the relief that it had gone okay was starting to kick in. Whatever it was, I got through it, stayed as short a time as was decent (I didn't want to feel like Banquo's Ghost), and made my way home via a shop that sold delicious but not healthy food (see note above about climbing hills).

And of course, it wasn't over then, as there was the delicate matter of my fee. After all, no FD had been involved to pass me a little brown envelope in a pseudo-masonic handshake. I resolved this by sending them a copy of the words that I had said at both venues, and including a list of contributors and including an invoice in the envelope. The good people paid straight away - what a relief!

Of course, for me it's now all over; my papers are shreddedand my electronic file is archived. For them, it's a whole new reality and one that they don't want.

Love and peace to all.

Venting and Funerals without Bodies

Perhaps I should get my rant out of the way first?

I'm dealing with the arrangement of a very elderly gent and right now I want to kick one of his children. This person (known as "that bloody man" in our house) is being vague, evasive, floaty, and has started playing games that I don't want to play.

Yes, I know - he's grieving and not himself.

I'm used to grieving people, I accept that you sometimes have to ask the question many times to get the answer, because they don't have strong concentration, I understand that people display their upset through short-tempered behaviour and (occasional) downright rudeness, I know that people are not at their best when they have been through a dreadful emotional trauma.

But I still want to give this person a very hard slap.

It's the age old problem of them turning the whole thing around to themselves, and moving away from the deceased.

So far I've had to deal with this person's difficult family relationships (I wonder why people fall out with him?), his discussions with his priest (oh, how I wish that that revered individual was conducting the ceremony!), his home improvements and the fact that he seems unable to give a straight answer to a straight question. I don't think that the man's a politician, but it's certainly a career option for him!

This is a person who does an awful lot of talking without saying much, and in terms of information about his dearly departed parent there has been practically nothing.

And now, when I've tried to call at a pre-arranged time, he's not there. It feels to me like he's trying playing power games, but he can play on his own. I am here to support, to write and conduct the best ceremony I can with the information that I'm given (if any), and to be polite and professional when I speak to him.

I am not here to validate his existence. I have enough insecurities of my own to worry about.

Thankfully these people are few. Otherwise, I would have to take up smoking.

Rant over. Thank you for being there.

Funeral without a body.

Also coming up this week, but with people who have been much more forthcoming about info and generally easier to deal with, will be a ceremony without a body. I don't know when the actual funeral is happening, but the lady's family didn't want the "conveyor belt" and "claustrophobic" feel of the local crem and a wooden box, and so they are letting the undertaker deal with the body (I believe that they are going to do something with the ashes, later) and we are holding the funeral ceremony at a separate venue on a separate day.

Part of me is dreading it - these things can be so free and easy ("and who would like to speak now") that it is easy for them to descend into chaos, and so I'm working hard with the chief mourners to make sure we have some kind of structure, however loose it is. Apparently some of the family are a little unsure about it all (understandable, we're going into unfamiliar territory), but if those who knew the lady best feel that it's what she should have wanted, and if it's what they need, for their grieving, then that's what they shall have.

I was discussing it with a colleague, and here we got into interesting territory. "I'm surprised that they don't want to accompany her on her final journey", my colleague said. To most of us, on the secular side, that journey's already been made, and this is just a memorial (for the ceremony) and disposal (for the body). Forgive me, that sounds a bit brutal.

I suppose, in the end, we must all "do right" by our dead. How we define "right" is formed by convention, belief and legal requirements, but is, ultimately a personal decision. It feels an honour to be involved in it.