The down side of being a control freak.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


And then sometimes it goes the other way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It got far worse before it got better.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

On the subject of mistakes,

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

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

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

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

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


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

Compromising myself

Bollocks!

That was the main word going through my head as I drove back from a family visit earlier this week.

I have compromised myself, because I have allowed a hymn to be included in one of my ceremonies. Okay, so the world isn't going to end, but I didn't even put up a fight.

To be honest, I was in a state of shock when I agreed to it, as I'd just found out that the deceased, a little old lady, hadn't died of "old age" or "natural causes" but had decided to take her own life.

For a moment, everything seemed to unimportant, I think I would have agreed to a sermon by the Archbishop of Canterbury!

I'm glad that I hadn't known about the cause of death when I went to the visit, or I would have been a nervous wreck by the time I got there, but I did feel a bit pole-axed when the family told me.

The sad thing is, if it had been the funeral of a 17 year old lad, suicide would have been more tragic, but less surprising. What does that say about our society, I wonder?

However, I have made the decision (well, the mistake) and the hymn will be sung, so all I can do is distance myself from it, explain that it wouldn't normally be included in a humanist ceremony, let them sing to their heart's content and learn from the experience.

I know I shouldn't beat myself up, it was only my fourth family visit, for goodness' sake, but beating myself up is a speciality (and not in a good way....)

A flurry of activity - Day 2

Day 2 in the residential course house.

X Piry is not feeling so good............

By the afternoon I was feeling a bit hyper, and found it difficult to concentrate.

To use a term common in theatrical parlance, but not necessarily appropriate in funerals; I corpsed.

Our ceremony was for a young woman with small children. One of my colleagues was role playing as a small child. Now, I genuinely believe that a small child saying "I want to go to the toilet" would not throw me. However, to have a mature and elegant woman say it was just too much, and I got the giggles.

However, this was only part one of my inadequacies.

I'd been in charge of the script that four of us were working on, and I'd put some of the pages into the folder in the wrong order. That was a classic schoolboy error, and I felt genuinely ashamed about it. My colleague coped with it brilliantly, and the congregation would never have known, but I still felt absolutely awful.

Add fatigue to this and I was a very grumpy bunny by the time I was coming home.

In conclusion, however, I shouldn't dwell on the negative; we got some very good feedback, and are all moving forward to the next stage. My overall feeling is that it went well, so that's what I should carry with me.

(Famous last words).