Who is it for when there's nobody there?

A question often raised in funeral circles is "Who is the funeral for?"

Is it for the person who has died, or for their grieving family? Sometimes, you can look around the room when meeting the family and spot the one person that it's all for and about, usually a daughter, often a "Daddy's girl", but that, perhaps is a different story.

But who is the funeral for when there aren't any mourners?

I'm not talking about the war veterans who appear to be friendless and whose funerals have a large attendance thanks to social media campaigns, I'm talking about the people who choose to be alone.

A few years ago, I was talking to a bearer, who was telling me about a "council" funeral, where there were no mourners. In many cases, the bearers will stay in the chapel and hear the vicar's service, paying their respects, not wanting anyone to be alone on that last journey. On that particular day, sadly, it being wintertime and busy, the bearer had to go to another crematorium for another ceremony and the vicar was on his own with the FD.

This stayed with me for a long time. What would I do in such circumstances? For a start, I don't have a "standard ceremony" that I could fall back on, like those little hardback books at the crem. Of course, something would be written and delivered, but it would feel a bit "cobbled together".

And what would I say? If there really was nobody able to tell me about the deceased, what tribute could I pay?

This still hasn't happened, but I came pretty close, just recently. My dealings were with Bert's solicitor as there was no known family. There was a neighbour who had chatted to him casually, but that gent was on holiday until the day before the ceremony.  The solicitor had only met Bert twice, in the local hospice, while sorting out his affairs.

When I spoke to her, she said that she was going to Bert's bungalow to see if she could find an address book. Risking cheekiness, I asked if I could go with her and, thankfully she said yes.

It was the only chance I had to find out anything about Bert but, my goodness, it felt weird. I didn't want to go rummaging too deeply but wanted to find out a bit about the man that he had been.

It was not a comfortable experience, rifling through someone's music collection to get a find out if they were more into Mantovani or Meatloaf. Glancing along their bookshelves, hoping for clues of their interests. And as for the DVD collection? Well, Bert was a chap living on his own...not all of the films were Hollywood Blockbusters.

Sometimes the hints are small. I switched on his kitchen radio, just to see if it was tuned to Radio 4, local commercial radio, or Jazz FM.

The trip to his bungalow helped but there was still a lot of guesswork. Yes, we could play music from his own collection, but is that enough? I have a vast CD collection, but I'm not sure that anyone would guess from it, what tracks I'd like played at my send off.

We did find an address book and a cousin was identified. Bless them, they travelled over a hundred miles to come to the funeral. For someone they hadn't seen in decades, I thought that was a very good show.

I did actually say "John Donne famously said that 'No man is an island', but Bert made a good attempt at it" during the ceremony. I talked about the things that we knew (it was Radio 3, by the way). We played some music. We tried our best. I suggested that although we are, usually, social creatures, we cannot assume that Bert's life was unhappy or lonely; he made his choices and we must respect them.

Yet still it plays on my mind.

Who was the ceremony for and why did we have it? Well, certainly Bert wanted one - he'd left instructions about it but only scant details.

The congregation was the solicitor and her assistant, the neighbour, the cousin and spouse and the FD. I didn't go on too long; it didn't seem right. But the whole thing felt oddly incomplete.

This may be about our very human need for ritual; our dislike of seeing someone friendless at the end of their life (there but for the grace of.....)

Maybe it's just about being human.

In Memory of Anyone Unknown to Me by Elizabeth Jennings

At this particular time I have no one
Particular person to grieve for, though there must
Be many, many unknown ones going to dust
Slowly, not remembered for what they have done
Or left undone. For these, then, I will grieve
Being impartial, unable to deceive.

How they lived, or died, is quite unknown,
And, by that fact gives my grief purity--
An important person quite apart from me
Or one obscure who drifted down alone.
Both or all I remember, have a place.
For these I never encountered face to face.

Sentiment will creep in. I cast it out
Wishing to give these classical repose,
No epitaph, no poppy and no rose
From me, and certainly no wish to learn about
The way they lived or died. In earth or fire
They are gone. Simply because they were human, I admire.

I'm gonna wash that man right out of my hair......

A couple of months ago, I blogged about a problem with a new candidate.
http://dontgettooclosetothefurnace.blogspot.co.uk/2013/08/a-new-twist-on-old-problem.html

A few days later, things took a turn. "Michael" put in an official complaint about me. (I thought he'd read this, identified himself and that I'd been rumbled, but I soon found out that this wasn't the case).

He felt that because I had not given the reasons for failing to endorse his application (because I wanted him to speak to me) then I had not worked in a supportive fashion and had therefore breached the code of conduct of my particular "firm".

I won't put here my initial reaction but it involved reference to a game a soldiers after an expletive detailing men's reproductive organs. I was annoyed, of course, but it did rather prove my concerns about suitability.

The complaint was answered and not upheld (XP - 1, Michael - 0). But this left me with a problem - how the hell do I work with someone who would put in a complaint before speaking to me. And, rather more crucially, how on earth would I say to a funeral director "this is my colleague, Michael, please feel free to call him if I'm not available."

There have been meetings, discussions, efforts made etc but, ultimately these problems are insurmountable. Assuming that Michael starts practicing as a funeral celebrant, (or even if he doesn't, he still does weddings etc), I am stuck with a colleague who would take up time and effort complaining when I didn't put his name forward. And, to be fair, later complaints would be justified; I couldn't recommend him, so would be a naughty girl and breach the code.

In the end, there seemed only one way out and that is to leave the firm. I am now an independent celebrant.

I have joined another firm (low key, done to sort out the public liability insurance as much as anything) but essentially I'm out there on my own. It's scary but feedback so far has been positive. More than one FD has said "it's you we book, XP, not your accreditation."

We'll have to see how this pans out. I think that I've probably kissed goodbye to weddings and namings, as most of those enquiries came from the firm's central website, but at heart I'm a funeral celebrant. The other ceremonies are fun, but they are not the core of what I do.

I feel really sad that this has happened and also quite cross. The whole situation has taken a lot of time and effort and absolutely none of it has led me to have a better family meeting, write a better funeral or deliver a better ceremony.

Many years ago I used to have to put up with office politics, cliques, departmental squabbles and people throwing their toys out of the pram. It was irritating, but I also got paid holiday, paid sick leave, tea and coffee on tap, a Christmas party.....

As a self-employed celebrant (whatever the affiliation) there's really no need to put up with that kind of b.. (nearly mentioned those men's bits again!).

Rant over. Love and peace to all.

Dealing with the problem of stiff upper lips

The wonderful Charles over on the Good Funeral Guide recently posted a very thought provoking post: http://www.goodfuneralguide.co.uk/2013/08/eulogy-sandwich-enough-nourish-grief/ about the lack of ritual around dying when it comes to secular funerals.

I will be honest - this was not comfortable reading for me - I am a celebrant who quite often delivers the "eulogy sandwich" - for many people it seems to be what they want but it has also been what I suggest and they don't have anything better of their own to top it.

The following may sound like an exercise in self-justification (and maybe part of it is), but I wonder how much we can do, while remaining British (or, at least, English).

How many funeral directors, arrangers, bearers, ministers and celebrants have said "No, it's fine" because a family member has apologised for "being silly"; as if crying in grief is as daft as putting coffee in the same cup as the teabag, or tucking your skirt into your knickers.

How many people have passed up the chance to speak at the funeral of someone who meant the world to them, for fear of "embarrassing themselves"? We try to reassure them that there is no embarrassment; that grief is a sign of how great the person was.... but they decline, worried about somehow imploding.

It's a fine balance - we encourage people to be as much a part of the ceremony as they want, but without putting pressure on them. Ay, there's the rub.

Seeing this article http://www.independent.co.uk/life-style/health-and-families/features/at-that-hour-dealing-with-death-8795121.html about how well Irish people deal with bereavement may hold the clues. There is a culture of accepting death and knowing what to do when it happens. There is a lack of embarrassment when someone is bereaved, an openness to talk and a willingness to offer practical help.

Cultures do not form overnight but there are many positive things happening at the moment; Death Cafes, organisations such as The Natural Death Centre and Dying Matters are helping to raise the profile of discussing death. And the Good Funeral awards (couldn't go as I was conducting a wedding, but hope to be there next year) all help to get people talking about the inevitable as well as acknowledging those who are making the strides forward.

Of course, at a time when we encourage more choice, this can add to the pressure and dilute the rituals. For every family who wants to look after their loved one at home, dig the grave themselves and decorate the coffin, there are many families who want someone else to do all of that stuff and are left feeling guilty about it. What would be helpful and useful to one person would be intrusive and painful for others.

At the bottom line, talking about death and feeling more comfortable with it have got to be the way to go; only then will anyone feel that they can offer or accept help and they will feel equally comfortable if they say no, wanting to either do things themselves, or hand the tasks over to someone paid to do it.

If we ever get to that stage, we'll have done well.

A new twist on an old problem

Ah, the thorny issue of recruitment. It's been talked about before, but this is a problem I didn't expect to have. It's not about letting everyone have a fair crack at the work, it's not about "keep off my manor", it's about something a little more delicate - suitability.

What makes a good funeral celebrant? There are some obvious skills needed; writing, speaking in public, time keeping, organisation. Most of these are about the ceremony itself. What about meeting the family? How many celebrants have come away from a family visit hearing "thank you, I was dreading this, but I really enjoyed talking about her". Again, there are skills involved; listening, questioning, picking up on the body language etc. But to me, the most important thing that a funeral celebrant should have isn't a skill, it's a trait, and that is warmth. I'm not talking about gushing sentimentality, but just good old fashioned warmth and part of the problem is that it's not quantifiable.

Someone (for convenience, we'll call him "Michael") is a local celebrant for other ceremonies. With everything other than funerals, people choose their celebrant, they meet us and decide which one suits them best. (This could happen for funerals but usually doesn't. A subject for another day, perhaps?)

I don't have a problem with Michael on a personal level; we've got along fine in the past, but he lacks the warmth needed for funerals.

Michael asked me to support his application to become a funeral celebrant. I said that I was unable to do this. Interestingly, he has never asked me why (I was happy to have this conversation, but wanted him to ask - the fact that he didn't rather backed up my view). This means that either my opinion doesn't matter to him (except for furthering his own wishes), or he is making an assumption, probably based on protecting my workload. This is absolutely not the case. I am running at capacity and often pass work on to colleagues.

Other local celebrants have also been unable to support Michael's application but, if the jungle drums are correct, celebrants from elsewhere in the country have said yes, and his training is due to begin.

I really hope that I'm wrong about Michael. Because if he passes his training (and he is technically competent, so no reason why not), then someone, somewhere will give him work and there will be families who have him sitting in their front room, drinking their tea, and asking about their dearly departed.

Please let me be wrong, because nobody should ever have a bad funeral.

So where does this leave me? I am supposed to support colleagues, help with promotion and, when I am unable to take a ceremony, suggest them in my place. And that is not something that, in all conscience, I could do.

It's a dilemma and one that I'm working through but, at the moment, if the jungle drums are correct, then I'm really not sure what do to.


Love and peace to all. x

Because we can't be nice all the time.

I'll keep the language simple
'Cos she wasn't awfully bright
I'm trying to find a poem,
As she goes to that "good night"

It's hard to find one written
In the canon of verse and rhyme
The words are hard to come by
I'd be better off with mime!

So where is my problem?
Why am I in a mood?
Unfortunately, it's because
She didn't do any good.

That's harsh, I know and not quite fair
She never broke the law
But she did nothing with her life
And her ceremony's a chore.

I'm trying to find the good stuff
The friends she made, and such
But these were thin upon the ground
She really didn't get out much.

"Not everyone climbs Everest"
It's a line I often say
For many the value of their lives
Lies in the everyday.

The work they do, their family life
It all adds to the mix
But this one just watched Jeremy Kyle
That's why I'm in a fix.

I'll find some point of focus
They were sad to see her go
And I mustn't impose my values
on a person I didn't know.

So back to the web and the files
As I look through the readings and rhymes
Some ceremonies write themselves
Some take a devil of a time.

So fare thee well, sweet readers
Thanks for passing by
I'll do my best for this simple maid
As her loved ones say goodbye.

RIP, Uncle

My Dad (I'm one of three girls - he's a quiet man) is a good fella. He's very helpful to his neighbours (mostly retired ladies - we call his cul-de-sac "The Harem") and is an all round good egg. He has many people that he chats to, but has only really ever had one good friend.

This friend (and his family) were like blood to us - we spent days at the seaside together, Mum and Dad went out with them for meals and we call them Aunty and Uncle.

Early this week, Uncle died. He had been poorly for some time and, when I spoke to Dad (the most pragmatic man in the world, incidentally), he said that given how ill the poor man had looked when he last saw him, then there was a great amount of relief that all suffering was over.

I moved away quite some years ago, so I haven't seen Uncle for quite a while, but I often asked after him, and wanted to go to his funeral for the reasons that we all go - to pay my respects, to support his family and to be there for my Dad.

But - and this is the lot of the funeral celebrant, sometimes - I can't, because I'm conducting a ceremony at the same time, 70 miles away.

I don't feel that there is a choice. Once that booking is taken, it's pretty much set in stone (there are rare exceptions, but as we all like to look after our families, we don't want to mess them around). Obviously, if it was an immediate close family, then I would go (and would be fit for nothing at anyone else's funeral, either), but in this case, I won't be able to.

My sister and brother in law are going to Uncle's funeral - they'll hold the family end up (ew!) and make sure that my Dad's okay.

I'll be thinking of them - sending a little warm wish across the universe. When I get back from my ceremony, I shall raise a mug of tea to Uncle and possibly shed a tear - he was a lovely man. Perhaps I'll try to go and see Aunty in a few weeks, when the busy period quietens. But that's all that I can do, right now.

No conclusion from this post, really - just wanted to send love and hugs to all funeral professionals who have found themselves in the same situation.

This is, by far, one of the best jobs, and the best industry to work in. But nothing is perfect.

Peace to all x

And the prize for keeping a straight face goes to....

When the family gathers to meet the celebrant,  there are often many people,  more than can sit on a three piece suite. Dining chairs are brought in and folks perch on footstools.

This is how it was last week,  all went well, but as I'd been given tea and had an hour's drive home,  I asked if I could use the loo. One chap was sitting on a footstool by the door and he was told "darling,  you'll have to remove your stool."

 Yes please, if you could...

Why I'm glad to be a celebrant, not a funeral director.

There are many reasons why being a celebrant suits me better than being a funeral director.

I'm not the one called out at three o'clock on a winter's morning to do a (horribly named) "removal".

I'm not the one who has to prepare the body of someone's Dad/Mum/Husband

I'm not the one who has to sit down with the bereaved and talk about the cost of the funeral.

But mainly, it's about time management.

Other celebrants may look at this and laugh. What are you talking about, XP? Our time is not our own. We're either available for the ceremony or we don't work.

Yes, that's true, but I'm talking about after the ceremony - the recovery time.

Recently, I conducted a ceremony for a disabled child. It's not the first time I've had that privilege and they are often incredibly positive experiences. The family has learnt so much from the child, about themselves, about their priorities in life, about dealing with difficult situations and about the kindness of others. This all becomes part of the legacy and is extremely powerful.

But they are also deeply emotional ceremonies. At the bottom of it all is the death of a child and no matter how unwell or disabled that child has been, it still just feels wrong on every level.

From a celebrant's point of view, the visit can be particularly delicate. Trying to assertain how much the little boy or girl could do (especially in terms of communication) can feel like treading on eggshells. Convincing the family (who may also be used to negative responses to their child) that you're there to celebrate all of the positive things can take a lot of time and energy.

And on the day itself, there are often families there with other disabled children, half-listening to what you say, while silently thanking whoever they are grateful to that it isn't their little girl or boy on the catafalque.

These tend to be the ceremonies where you feel that you're carrying more people than usual. This is nobody's fault and nobody's problem - after all, that's one of the things that you're there for. But it can be extremely exhausting.

So this is why I'm glad that I'm not a funeral director. After this (or any other ceremony), I can go home, walk the dog, watch a bit of rubbish TV, drink tea and eat chocolate. Yes, it may mean that I'm doing my visits in the evenings, because I'm leaving the afternoons free for "down time" but that's my choice and I have the flexibility to do that.

Whereas the poor FD, who has also had so much of the emotion to deal (including looking after physical body, as well as the family) has to go back to the office and meet the next family, sort out the paperwork, or even be out again on the next funeral, before the chance of their cuppa and a choccie digestive.

So (top) hats off to the FDs. They deserve it.

Remember the hospital in "Yes Minister"?

I have a couple of ceremonies coming up and I can't work out if I've been heavy handed or helpful.

The first is for a very elderly gent. He's lived in a nursing home for the last four years, during which time he's had no visitors. There doesn't appear to be any family, or even friends. The only people attending will be the good folks at the nursing home.

What kind of ceremony can we do in a case such as this? The gent's health has been such that the staff don't know a huge amount about his earlier life and so what do we do - they give me the half a dozen facts that they do know and then, on the day, I read them back to them? It seems a bit daft and not much a way to remember someone who's been on the planet for over 9 decades.

So, I suggested to Matron that maybe we could sit and spend time talking about this gent; let the staff who attended share their memories of him. There are things that he used to do that made them laugh, so we're going to remember those things and any other little quirks.

Of course, I'm "topping and tailing" the ceremony, chosen a poem or two that I hope will resonate as well as MC ing the whole thing. I have spent time and thought on this. But it still feels as though maybe I'm copping out a bit.

The other end of the spectrum is the burial of a baby's ashes. This is horrible. The parents of the little girl are, naturally, quite young themselves and they really don't know what to do. I've chatted it through with them, but they feel that they trust me to put something together without a lot of input from them (I've had dealings with the family before). I've made my suggestions, but they seemed to say yes to whatever I've put forward.

So here I am, writing two (albeit very different) ceremonies with minimal input from anyone else. I feel happy that I'm doing my best and putting together caring and meaningful ceremonies. But I'm worred that I don't know what's best for other people.

This post is not an appeal for a ego-massage - I feel comfortable with what I'm writing for these folks and think that all will be well.

I just wondered what others think. I realise that for some, there is very little about the deceased, and a lot about the other things (afterlife/deity/etc) - it's been the subject of a recent Good Funeral Guide post. But I'm not from that end of the scale - the centre of every ceremony I write is the person who has died and that's information I get from the people who knew them.

Anyone else been in this situation? Interested to know that the experience of others is.

But in the meantime, I'm reminded of that hospital from Yes Minister - the one that ran so well without the patients!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x-5zEb1oS9A

A dilemma and a surprising comment.

Today I will be conducting three ceremonies (yes, I know).

In all three, I will be reading the same poem.

And this leaves me (as does everything) with many questions.

Am I getting lazy in my poetry suggestions (in all cases, the poem was read when I visited the family so that they could feel that it was right for them), or is it just a really good poem for funerals? Or both.

This is the poem in question:

As We Look Back

As we look back over time
We find ourselves wondering
Did we remember to thank you enough
For all you have done for us?
For all the times you were by our sides
To help and support us
To celebrate our successes
To understand our problems
And accept our defeats?
Or for teaching us by your example,
The value of hard work, good judgement,
Courage and integrity?
We wonder if we ever thanked you
For the sacrifices you made.
To let us have the very best?
And for the simple things
Like laughter, smiles and times we shared?
If we have forgotten to show our
Gratitude enough for all the things you did,
We're thanking you now.
And we are hoping you knew all along,
How much you meant to us.

CLARE JONES

See what I mean? For many people (and I'm conducting the ceremonies of much loved parents) it really hits the spot.

Using a poem this many times has its advantages - I practically know it by heart, so my eye contact is better when reciting it, I can play around with emphasis to get a little more out of it, that kind of thing.

But everything has a down side. What if I start saying it as though I'm reading it for the third time that day?

So I started to wonder if I should stop suggesting it to people (at the meeting, if they would like some poetry but don't know where to start, I normally read two or three to get a feel for what they might like). But given how much it resonates with so many folks, who am I to not suggest it?

As ever, I'm sure that I'll extract my head from my own behind and just do my best. If the families want this poem, then that's what they shall have.




On a completely unrelated matter, I met a family recently and they decided afterwards that I was not the right person for them. Concerned that I had done something to offend or upset them, I asked the celebrant who is now taking the ceremony to let me know anything that they found out. It turns out that because I suggested we have a time in the ceremony for quiet reflection or private prayer (even if the nearest and dearest are staunch atheists, their friends may not be), I was considered to be "a bit too religious"!

Sometimes, I can't find the words - because I'm trying too hard to suppress the laughter.

Peace and love to all.