How to get it rite...

I went to see an incredible film last night called Of Gods and Men. It is a French film, based on a true story about a group of trappist monks who must decide whether to stay or leave their monastery when their Algerian community comes under threat from fundamentalist terrorists. You can see a clip here: http://www.imdb.com/video/imdb/vi3877411353/ It is a film about faith and ritual, brotherhood and community, love and fear. It is both gentle in it's appreciation of the simple, quiet life of a monastery, and powerful when depicting what is happening outside, and later inside, its walls. And, when the film finished, I couldn't move out of my seat.
This film has appeared at a pertinent time for me, as I've been thinking a lot about ritual. I was brought up as a Catholic. As a child I went to mass on Sundays and relevant Holy Days, and I went to Catholic Schools. It wasn't being forced on me in any way. It was what we knew as a family, and it was something we did together as a family, as did most of my relatives and friends. Once I was old enough to make my own mind up, and decided there were aspects of Catholicism that I felt weren't in keeping with the idea of accepting people for who they are, I drifted away from religion. But I have very happy memories of going to church and have no regrets about it being a part of my life.
I realise now what I loved most was the sense of ritual and the comfort it gave me – the lighting of candles, the chanting of prayers, the singing, the joining of hands and voices, the heightened relevance to certain times of year and, of course, that sense of faith. I don't mean to sound all deep and theological. For me, this isn't about God. It's about wanting to recapture that sense of ritual –  having little observances in my day, week, month and year, that go beyond the every-day rituals of getting out of bed, into the shower, eating breakfast, etc. There are, as I've mentioned in previous posts, things in my life that bring a sense of comfort and contemplation, like walking in the woods, baking cakes, listening to music. And certainly leading funeral services stokes the gentle fire that is keeping my sense of ritual alive and warm.
But I still feel I'd like to do something else. Meditation is certainly on the list, but there is also nothing stopping me from joining my hands together in my own version of prayer, singing out loud, lighting a candle in my own little 'shrine'. Nothing stopping me...  except, perhaps, my own sense of feeling this might be an odd thing to do, maybe? Well, I think I need to get over that. I left 'organised' religion because it was too rigid in its thinking (and the small matter of not being sure there was a God). So if I want to create some rituals that are more Comfort than Catholic, I think I'll just quietly get on with it...

I've thrown my comfort blanket out of my pram...

I do try to face each day with an air of serenity and calmness. I was doing quite well so far this week, considering I'm really busy and working with several families who are each, in their own little way, being a tad difficult. And I'm not being insensitive to their grief, you understand. I also have one or two very sad stories on the go and it's requiring some effort on my part not to get too 'wrung dry' by them.
So a challenging week under any circumstances. Then my recently-purchased printer stops working. So that gets shipped back and a new one on order. Then my phone starts playing up, and in an effort to get it sorted today I spend a total of three hours trying to get help from my phone provider. In the course of their 'help' the total contents of my phone - contacts, pics etc. get wiped off forever. They can't be retrieved. I load it all back on over the course of the afternoon. It all gets wiped off again. As at 9.57pm, I'm still re-entering my contacts. One... by... one...
So, as a result, I'm livid, tired, behind with work, feeling guilty that my OH spent his evening helping me sort it all out after his own hard day at work, and I have polished off half a pack of chocolate biscuits.
However, I do feel better for having shared my moany old thoughts with y'all. Normal, cheery service to resume shortly...

Sunshine over my shoulder

We've had some beautiful sunrises and sunsets this week. And I've almost missed each of them. Yesterday morning I went for an early run. I just reached the brow of a hill, ready to descend back to the old homestead, when I turned my head to look at the view behind me and there it was – the most incredible red sky. It had been there all the time. This afternoon, driving home after taking a funeral, the sun was just lowering on my right. Then I had to do a left turn and spend the rest of the journey knowing there was a sunset of magnificent proportions behind me.  As soon as the traffic stopped at some lights, I grabbed my phone and took this picture of my wing mirror. A bit shaky, but you see what I mean...
Sunrises and sunsets are not only natural wonders to behold, they are also loaded with meaning (and not just for weather-watching shepherds). They symbolise beginnings and endings, old and new, arrivals and departures: "How strange this fear of death is. We are never frightened by a sunset." George MacDonald
For me they are, like all nature's visual treats, a little morsel for the soul. Delicious...

I have a dream…

...about changing the world. The world of funerals to be precise (and improving dying, death, bereavement but I might have to tackle those another day when I’ve washed my Wonder Woman outfit). I’m doing my best to make a difference, and be different, to gently present a range of options for people, but the infrastructure currently in place (see last post regarding crematorium chapels) doesn’t allow for great variation in ceremony content and I feel at times I’m getting sucked into the very sausage factory I want to break out of. I’m feeling quite fired up about it all at the moment – a woman on a mission, brimming with revolutionary ideas, a modern-day Suffragette, ready to throw herself under a horse, or should that be hearse? Actually, scrap that last bit… I’m no Emily Wilding Davison. But you get the picture.

I know I’m not the only person who feels this way, because there are plenty of other individuals, groups, businesses, charities and organisations who are trying to change things, informing and enlightening people with their products and services. And if I sound naive or ignorant of the good work that is already going on, then you’ll have to forgive me. That’s not my intention. What I’m about to say (and this isn’t a short post, sorry!) is just a personal view based on what I hear, see and experience in my own world, and not intended to upset or offend anyone. I know there are some great people out there making things happen. 

When I visit families, and talk to people in general who aren’t ‘in the business’, I am always surprised by just how limited their knowledge of funeral choices really is. And, more interestingly, their lack of confidence in being willing to do something different, other than perhaps have a wicker coffin and play a song recorded in the last ten years. But I shouldn't be surprised. It’s understandable, given the fact that few people want to think about funerals until they need them, and then, when they do, they are distraught, unable to make decisions, and don’t have time to peruse the new wealth of alternatives out there. And, with respect, even the more brilliantly forward-thinking funeral directors won’t be able to offer all the options. (When I worked for a, shall we say ‘corporate’, group of FD’s, I was actually told that too much choice was bad and to keep customer’s options to a minimum or they’ll just get confused!). 

For me, the question is how to get all this wonderful information to people? How to climb off the page, out of the computer screen and into the hands and minds of the person on the street? How to have a presence in the heart of the community, where all that exists is a cemetery and FD’s shop front? 

I think sometimes it feels like all of us who want to make a difference are in a room together, having an exciting debate about all the things we’d like to make happen, and on the other side of the wall are the general public, who can hear the hub-bub but can’t quite make out exactly what we’re saying (a bit like when your neighbour’s having a party) and, actually, would rather put ear plugs in. But I want to open the door of our room and invite them all in. See everyone face-to-face. Raise a glass, have a dance...

And if one analogy isn’t enough… we are all diving into the top of a big funnel but it has a tiny hole, and there’s a slow drip, drip, drip of change... 

I’m wondering if there’s a way of speeding things up. Or am I getting ahead of myself? Maybe people don’t want funerals to change as much as I assume they do? Perhaps I’m underestimating the sensitivity around funerals and any change has to be very… very…. slow. Or, maybe it is all happening somewhere and I’m missing it! 

Ghandi said “You have to be the change you want to see in the world”. I want to do something. I'm just working out exactly what that something is...

From our man in Arizona...

You may recall my OH (Other Half) is in America at the moment. His trips seem to coincide with news events, despite the fact that he is not a foreign correspondent. Last time it was the ash cloud, this time he arrived in Tuscon a few hours after the shooting of Republican Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords. He took a photograph of the memorials to show you. He also saw this warning sign. It may relate to snakes, but that's good advice for life in general, I'd say...

I want to break free...

...not in a Freddie Mercury kind of way, but I want to break free of the lectern in crematorium chapels. Lecterns can be helpful, you can place your notes down, rest on them, take a sip of water from the plastic cup on the little shelf underneath, you're near the microphone, the all-important buttons, and provide a focal point for everyone. They are professional, traditional, etc.
However, I do feel quite 'separate' from people at times. I know that sounds odd because I suppose I have to separate myself in some respects. But today, for example, I led the service for the young man who died on Christmas Day. The crematorium chapel had a lectern that you step up to, so you're higher than everyone else. But I didn't feel comfortable. I wanted to step down and talk to people 'on their level' as it were. Be less formal. But if you step away, and the chapel is full, you can't be heard, or seen for that matter, and you'd have to walk back to press the buttons.
I'm not suggesting that I start wearing a lapel microphone and have a little device in my hand that works the music, curtain's etc. like some sort of funeral weather girl! But actually, why not?! If it's discreet (no hand-held mikes or ear-pieces), and helps make things less stuffy, then I'm all for it. I'm going to build a venue for funerals. It will be light and spacious, with real flowers, stylish furniture and quality audio-visual systems. When I win the lottery...

My old man

Among the many (repeatable) ways to refer to the love in your life, is the phrase 'other half'. It's one of the most emotive descriptions, I think, implying you are incomplete without them. Remember that tissue-grabbing scene in the film Jerry Maguire where he says "you complete me"? Not a dry eye in the house...
Well, please indulge me for a moment, as I pay tribute to my Other Half, who is away on the other side of the Atlantic for the next two weeks. He is a great support and comfort to me, and I couldn't do the work I do without seeing his smiley face at the end of the day. In the words of singer Joni Mitchell "the bed's too big, the frying pan's too wide". OK. Schmaltz over...

The happiness quest

I've just started reading Happiness by Buddhist monk Matthieu Ricard. It's 'a guide to developing life's most important skill' (other than opening vacuum-packed food items) and contains wisdom, philosophies, guides and exercises to help 'train the mind to recognise and pursue a lasting happiness'. So far it's a pleasing mix of the type of mind bubblegum and soul fertiliser I like to dip in and out of, for both my own good and any gems I can glean for families I work with.
The gist of this book, and many, many other tomes on the subject, is that happiness comes in the form of living in the now. But that's hard to do for bereaved people, who want to be anywhere but the now, and will instead swing from re-living the past, to fearing for the future...

I enjoyed some comfort telly on Friday night, in the form of a new series called Life in a Cottage Garden with Carol Klein (she of stripey scarf, sounds-like-she's-about-to-laugh fame). It wasn't anything new or particularly exciting (although you could say it was 'earth shattering' by the way Carol wielded her garden fork with gusto). It was just half an hour of marveling at how plants survive the winter and that wonderful sense of renewal and regeneration that makes you want to buy a greenhouse. It also made me want to phone my bereavement support clients and insist they switch over to BBC2, just to reassure themselves that life re-emerges after even the darkest of winters.

My world just got bigger

Rejoice, rejoice... I have two new followers, both of whom have opened up such a manifold array of brilliant blogs, wonderful websites and colourful characters, that I may never have time to work, eat, or sleep again. Charles Cowling and his superb Good Funeral Guide http://www.goodfuneralguide.co.uk/blog/ and Gloriamundi's insightful Mindfulness and Mortality http://mortality-branchlinesblog.blogspot.com/
Not only am I extremely grateful to all my happy half dozen followers for reading my blog, but also, when I click on to your own blogs, websites and on-line communities, you lead me on to other blogs, websites and on-line communities, which lead on to other.... you get the picture.
I realise I sound like a www. hick from Just-Discovered-Computers-Ville, Arizona, "Aw gee, aint the t'interweb a marvellous creation y'all?" But (nasty stuff aside) yes, it is. And I for one am taking a moment to celebrate this fact and throw my hat in the air. Yee-haaw!

To boldly go where no man has gone before...

Leading funeral services and counselling the bereaved gives me a, sort of, dual-aspect into people's grief. And the more I see of grief, the more I realise that, alongside the pain, anger, guilt, fear, paralysis and downright wretchedness of losing someone, lies something that I feel I have to whisper for fear of causing offence. And that something is potential. 
By potential I mean a chance for us to go so deep within ourselves that, in spite of re-emerging from our grief cocoon bruised, battered and alone, we are also given an opportunity to see life with new eyes. I wasn't sure how I was going to explain this to you, but luckily someone else in my profession feels the same way and has expressed it far more eloquently than I could have. I came across this article by Richard Wright, a bereavement counsellor in Sydney, Australia, on the internet recently. So I hope he doesn't mind me sharing this meaningful extract with you. Take it away Richard...

"Could I say to them that their love for this woman and the sadness at her dying were part of her legacy. Forget the will. This love and sadness were taking them into places in their hearts they had not been before. Memories of their mother and grandmother’s compassion, impatience, golf games, generosity, quirkiness . . . person were tunnelling into their being. There was a real chance that there would be more room in their lives, in their sympathies, in their understanding because they had known grief. Or, not. Of course, I did not say this to the family. But I thought it and I believed it. Grief has that potential. It doesn’t always work this miracle but it is only grief that can do this for us. There is something about loss that can diminish and enrich at the same time. It is happening all the time. Leaves at Autumn, friends at trains, good-byes galore and those ideas and hopes wrenched from our clutching hands, with frustration and tears. 'Lacrimae rerum' – the tearfulness of things – was how the Latins used to put it. Maybe, just maybe, that tearfulness, wherever and for whomsoever, may help us become a little more tolerant, a little more compassionate, a little more human. At least that is my hope." Richard White is bereavement counsellor at W. N. Bull Funeral Directors in Sydney.

Grief... the final frontier? I'm visiting a family tomorrow whose 45-year-old son died suddenly on Christmas Day. Any thoughts on 'the potential of grief' may be one step too far for them. Understandably so. American activist and singer, Bernice Johnson Reagon, said "Life's challenges are not supposed to paralyze you, they're supposed to help you discover who you are." Death is clearly the ultimate 'challenge' and I'm not being flippant or trying to take an 'every cloud...' approach. It's just a thought-provoking, hopeful observation. Perhaps it's about coming full circle – when someone dies we lose interest in life, but it's death that makes life worth living, isn't it?

Should auld acquaintance be forgot?

It's the first of January – Happy New Year one and all! I needn't have worried and whittled so much in the run up to Christmas, as it all went very well. Everyone made it through the snow, the food was plentiful and delicious (too plentiful, according to my weighing scales this morning), and even my missing parcels turned up on Christmas Eve. So I enter 2011 basking in the afterglow of a fabulous festive season, spent with all the people who matter to me most.
One of the highlights of the past week or so, came in the form of an unexpectedly heartwarming funeral. It was the one I'd been stressing about driving to in my last post. But, as it turned out, I arrived safe, sound and super-early (as always). The funeral was for an 81-year-old man who I described as leading "a happy life, filled with simple pleasures, shared with those he loved" – his wife, children, grandchildren, friends and neighbours. I knew it would be a ceremony with a really strong sense of family love (unfortunately, this isn't always the case) and gratitude for the years they shared together, but when the son stepped forward to speak, he created such an atmosphere of rejoicing for the life of his dad that the mood in the chapel became quite euphoric. I watched the front row of mourners as he recalled humorous tales from childhood and memorable moments of family life; his sisters were all smiling, their mum sat between them, nodding at first, then laughing out loud as the stories gathered pace.
I talk a lot to families about 'celebrating the life' of a loved one. And in that chapel, where it was hard to tell whether the tears were from sadness or laughing too hard, the unique life of their one-of-a-kind dad was celebrated in the very best way. What a privilege to be part of their farewell to him – I couldn't help but come away inspired, uplifted and ready to create some family memories of my own.
Should auld acquaintance be forgot? I don't think so...