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.

Just keeping my hand in.

I've been absent for 6 months from the blog. Even by my standards, that's poor. During that time I've had lots of ideas for posts, but the problem has been one of timing. In the period since my last post in May, I've conducted nearly 80 funerals. This site has felt very much a luxury.

However, there is new competition nearby, as well as talk of training another humanist, so the numbers may reduce a little.

I will try to post something interesting when events dictate and time allows.

You know you're dealing with an "interesting" family when.....

.... you take another phone call delaying something that you asked for several days ago. You sigh after the call has finished, and your beloved doesn't ask "when's the ceremony?" - he asks "when do you get rid of this one?"


On another note, I thought this time of year was meant to be quiet? It's been mental around here!

Handbags and standards

Every now and again, there is a standard bearer at a ceremony that I conduct. I live in a place that folks retire to and many of my families are seeing off someone with war experience.

Recently, however, there were two standard bearers, thanks to the gent's military history.

I have got to know one of the chaps, Bert, pretty well. He likes to know the intricate detail of the ceremony, so that he knows when to do his part and I'm happy to go through this with him. The other chap, Ted, I hadn't met, but he seemed a charming gentleman who was much more relaxed, happy for me to just give him the nod etc. Watching the two together, however, was very amusing.

Bert spent a good five minutes telling Ted what he normally does (as in "this is what we're going to do"). Ted, being laid back, took it all on board and went along with it, but not without the raising of eyebrows and sly little smiles at me. It started to get a bit catty ("Can I have a chair?"  - "A chair? I always stand!") and I found them each lovely in their way, but very funny when together.

Of course, both gents knew what they were doing, were very respectful of why they were there and performed their solemn task with all of the dignity and decorum that was requred.

But as they stood there, either side of the crem facing each other, standards raised, I couldn't help but think to myself  that if the standards had been light sabres, we'd all be dead.