Silly little mistakes

Nothing major has happened, but when we're in a business where we really want to get it right, the small silly mistakes can seem big.

The first one? Everyone is standing up as we process in. The coffin is placed on the catafalque and as I start to fade the music I say in a commanding but kindly voice "Will you please stand....sorry....sit down."

To be honest, it turned into a good ice-breaker (I may use it again!), and it was a family that found it funny. I got away with it.

The second one, I felt even more daft about. The family is spread all over the globe, and so I offered to record the ceremony on a small dictaphone. I do this occasionally, explaining clearly that it is not professional quality, but it can be better, for those far away, than simply reading the words.

Of course, this only works when you remember to turn the damned machine on! As I walked out of the chapel, after the ceremony, I remembered. Naturally, I told the family that there had been a problem with the recording (details neither useful nor necessary at this stage) and offered to record it later. I got home, sat in my office and read the thing again, downloading and playing the music at the appropriate times. It was the best I could do, but not the same.

So, why these silly mistakes? Am I just getting a bit weary? Either way, it's a week before my next ceremony - I can't help but think that that's probably a good thing.

Love and peace to all.

It's never what you think it will be...

In the last  week, I have met two sets of parents, to put together the funeral of their children. One is an adult child, the other, a little girl who had been poorly since birth.

The striking thing about these meetings (both deaths were unexpected, despite difficult histories) was how incredibly calm the parents were. By contrast, I met a stereotypical "little old lady" the week before who had lost her husband of sixty years and was giving off vibes of fear at the dark future without him that was opening up before her.

I had been dreading the meeting with the younger family, worrying about how they would be; could I cope with their emotions and still be professional? As it turned out, it was one of the most uplifting meetings that I've had - they gained so much from their experience with their daughter, whom they absolutely adored, that they feel, amid the sadness, gratitude and privilege.

The parents of the adult child have also developed coping strategies, which involve a great deal of communication, particularly with their other children, and being able to rely on the support of good friends.

I remember, long ago, being surprised at how low I felt after the funeral of a 102 year old, and how uplifted after a 45 year old. I suppose this is the same again.

A colleague of mine, when she pulls up at the family's house, thinks to herself "I wonder what I'll find in here?" I guess that's one of the pleasures of the job - we never know until we get there and trying to pre-guess is not worth the bothering with.

Long may it continue.