When funerals become like French homework

I'm currently taking a little break from writing a funeral. In the name of research, you understand, I'm listening to the music that we'll be playing.

This funeral is for the second member of a family that I've had the honour of dealing with. A few months ago, I conducting a ceremony for a gent. His sister liked the funeral and so I have been selected to do the honours, now that she has died.

In many ways, this is very gratifying - you know you're doing the right thing, if they ask for you again.

Or do you? Is it just familiarity and therefore easy?

Having met the lady's husband, he just wants me to do pretty much the same funeral again; same music, same format.

But do I use the same words? As we give our folks a copy of the words after the ceremony, I want it to be close in tone and concept, but not identical, to emphasise the difference between brother and sister and the creation from scratch of each ceremony. I'm not sure if this is about professional standards, writing something unique for the customer, or my ego, but whatever the motive, the end result is the same.

I am sitting here (the Bach's finished, so I'll get back to the writing in a minute), trying to find new words for the same ideas. As time has passed since the first ceremony, I like to think that I am a little better now and have a slightly stronger phrase here and there.

But, as discussed before, the concepts are the same (the cycle of nature really hasn't changed that much in the last few months).

This is why it's like French homework; I have the actual words and I'm trying to paraphrase them into something better.

Suddenly I feel thirteen again, trying desperately to find a new, innovative (and not the same as Janice Schofield's) way of translating "Ah, voila Jean-Paul, a l'entree du jardin publique....."


Bon chance, mes amis

It seems that I'm more provincial than I hoped.

This feels a bit confessional.....

I grew up in a village which had a paper mill and a psychiatric hospital. This has given me a fairly relaxed attitude to mental health and a love of stationery. But not much else.

(The village also had five pubs and three social clubs but, thankfully, I didn’t grow up with a drink problem).

Much as I try to be PC, open-minded and terribly right-on, old prejudices are still in my brain. Take a recent ceremony. My “bit” was followed by a semi-druid ceremony (I’m calling it “semi”, because, as far as I could tell, none of the people were actual druid priests and the folks seemed to have quite a mix of beliefs and ideas, rather than being committed to one particular approach – I think that’s what was getting to me, as much as anything).

It is, perhaps, unusual to have this with a humanist ceremony. Again, it was all a bit of a mish-mash; the deceased had been raised within a faith, but moved away from it. I think I was chosen as somewhere near “neutral” – a blank canvas, if you will, and also because the FD (correctly) guessed that although I wouldn’t lead anything pagan/new age/“alternative”, I wouldn’t object to it either. The friends of the deceased were also a mixed bunch who had developed their own belief systems, taking bits here and there.

I genuinely and truly respect all of this.

But I still wanted to laugh at the first sight of a robe.

Especially when the man wearing it was talking on a mobile and carrying all of his stuff in a Tesco’s bag (although I was pleased to see that it was a “bag for life”).

Was this nervousness on my part? Hysteria caused by the unfamiliarity of it all? Or am I just a bit of a pleb?

There were bits of the ceremony that I liked very much – the sharing of bread and wine (mmm – sound familiar?), with the wish that those present would never be hungry or thirsty. But some of it, calling on spirits, gods and goddesses just wasn’t my cup of English Breakfast.

Of course, as with all ceremonies, my opinions are unimportant; I am there for facilitate which, I hope I did, paying a tribute to the deceased before handing over to the family members who wanted this variation on a ritual. Had there been anything that I was really unhappy about, I would have tactfully suggested that another person might be better at leading their ceremony.

And, of course, all things are relative. There were two pieces of music played. One was a track from the eighties that I knew well, but was considered experimental in its day. The other was a more modern chant, which I thought was just a bit weird and tree-hugging. I played them both to someone younger than me – she thought the chant was fine, but didn’t like the eighties thing – thought it was a bit weird and tree-hugging.....

Perhaps (as many times in life) the music that has taught me the lesson - things are only weird to those experiencing them for the first time. When they are familiar, they become part of our normal.

Ultimately, the family and friends had the ceremony that they wanted; a tribute, time for prayer and  their ritual and that’s all that matters.

For me? It was an interesting experience to observe, and taught me a little about myself. Mainly, I learnt that although it’s not big or clever, robes make me smile.

I am a woman with many hidden shallows.

The loneliness of the long-distance celebrant?

Maybe it's the winter.

Maybe it's the post-Christmas lull

Maybe it's my age.

But I really miss having day to day contact with colleagues.

Now, I'm not running back to the "proper" job - there are more things that I don't miss, trust me. But sometimes, this can feel like a lonely business. We have colleagues, and we work well together (in some, if not all cases) but we are also, sometimes, in competition with each other, and so it doesn't always feel as though we're pulling together.

And our good friends in the dismal trade are also (in the main) jolly good chaps. We live in the same town, we may run into each other, occasionally, outside of work, but we are reliant on them for our income and they can choose whoever they like - we cannot assume that we will get the gigs.

So what is it that I'm actually after? Do you know, I'm really not sure - this is another of those muses sent out into the universe. I'm not lonely in general, I'm lucky enough to have a close family and good friends. It's just this self-employed business takes an awful lot of getting used to!

Peace and love to all.

"She is gone"? Not yet

In an earlier post I briefly touched on meeting folks before they die and promised/threatened a longer post on this.I've had a few recently, and they handed me a selection of experiences.

Firstly, people with cancer often think that they will live longer than they do. They talk, almost lightheartedly about having "a month or two left", but they still don't quite think that they're going to die (and who can blame them). Sadly, the reality is that the end of this period is likely to be spent unconscious and, often, the end comes sooner. It's not always the cancer itself that kills them, but something else that comes from having cancer.

But even with this experience, how does one bring the meeting forward. "Really? You don't think I'd better meet you tomorrow?" does not go down well. Last year I wrote a eulogy for a someone who had a terminal diagnosis. I blogged about it at the time - her family were less than impressed, both with her comments (she had painted herself in more glowing terms than they expected.), but also the fact that she had made these arrangements. The lady's family seemed to feel (although it was never expressed in so many words) that she had taken away from them the one "last thing they could do for her" and this left them floundering.

Thirdly, on a selfish note, these ceremonies are much harder. There is a certain comfort in standing up and saying "I didn't have the pleasure of knowing Bert, but I'm grateful to Ethel for all she told me". The boundaries are set, the detachment can remain. When I have had the pleasure, something changes. Even if it's just the memory of a pair of bright eyes, there is then a link which adds a new layer of emotion ot the proceedings. From that point of view, they are probably better, deeper and more meaningful. But they often require a choccie digestive with the cup of tea on return to X.Piry Towers.

And then, of course, there are the open ended cases. The phone calls that are never returned, the eulogies sent with no further correspondence. I like to think that the people I have met but can't get hold of are having a lovely cruise on the Caribbean.

Even though our livelihood may depend on the dearly departed, we don't always like to think of them as dead, either.

Well, who would you recommend.....?

Just recently, I've been dealing with a couple of families who are very organised - sorting out the funeral arrangements before their parent has died. This is a whole other ball game which, no doubt, will be dealt with in a later post.

It inevitably leads to the family asking the question "which FD should we use?"

This puts me in a bit of a difficult situation; in theory, all of the local FDs are my customers (to a greater or lesser degree) and so choosing one suggests that the others aren't as good. And yes, this is probably true, but I worry that if I recommend one, then the 30 that I haven't recommended will find out and stop using me. Celebrant paranoia rules, ok.

Of course, I can recommend that the family goes to an external source, such as the magnificent Good Funeral Guide and find a good 'un there.

Luckily, in this case, another family member said "Oh, you must go to "Diggum & Depe", they were wonderful when my father died." That was me off the hook.

This particular FD is part of one of the large groups and although that doesn't necessarily mean that they are bad, I do have reservations. For example, the local crem uses the Wesley Music System. After I've visited the family, I like to visit the FD, or at least call them to give them the music choices and an update on the visit. These particular chaps have said in the past "don't worry about ringing us, just email the details through". Maybe they trust me to let them know of any concerns. Maybe.

So, the funeral took place and a member of the congregation was taken ill. The FD wasn't in the chapel (I am aware of popular opinion on this), but I guessed that I would find him in the waiting room. I let him and the other chaps there know that this situation had occurred. They dealt with everything they could, got a first aider, called an ambulance, to my knowledge the person was simply a little overheated and has made a full recovery.

Chatting afterwards, the FD said "You're lucky I was in the waiting room!".

What I wanted to say was "Well, you should be in the chapel, just in case of something like this." But I have a commercial side to my brain, which sometimes prevents the tongue from working. So I said nothing. Any ideas for a suitable retort for that one?

Needless to say, when asked in future "which FD should I use?", "Diggum & Depe" won't be the first name I mention.

The small things that amuse

It would be comforting to think that everyone has a redeeming feature; some little spot which prevents them from being totally unpleasant. And often, that little spot is a love of animals.

A short while ago, I was conducting the ceremony for a man who had been....difficult. From reading between the lines, he was fairly selfish, inconsiderate, you get the picture. However, he really loved his dogs. He had owned several, supported a number of canine charities and, basically, preferred them to people (a sometimes understandable position).

And so I was asked by his family to focus on this side of his personality. We had poems about dogs, readings about dogs, stories about his dogs. Basically, it was more doggie than Crufts.

All went okay; the family were pleased and there was a nice display of smiles and handshaking afterwards. On my way back to the vestry, to pick up my things, I noticed a collection box for the next ceremony - for the Cats Protection League.

I like to think that there was a bit of a "Cats and Dogs" punch up in the car park.


Aah.... it's the little things.

Quote du jour

Every now and again we have the privilege of meeting someone who is arranging their own funeral.

Sometimes this is an "in theory" exercise for them, so they have an idea what instructions to leave their loved ones. But, more often, it's because the person has had a terminal diagnosis and they want to get all of their affairs in order.

This is happening at the moment and I have been dealing with a gent who seems well but really isn't.

He rang, a couple of days ago, to talk about the work that I had done so far as well as other arrangements for the funeral. Having underestimated what was involved in putting it all together, he said "Honestly, X.Piry - all of this funeral business is killing me!".

Not sure that's quite what he meant.