I was on a train from Poitiers to Charles de Gaulle yesterday morning returning home from a 6-day visit to my ex step daughter’s in Parthenay.  Being on auto pilot, the phrase “life’s a journey, not a destination” flashed into my mind.  It struck me that, like many clichés, it often loses its meaning through overuse and yet, if we examine it more closely, we realise how true it is.

We always seem to be trying to get somewhere, focusing on our goal or destination.  I’m certainly not criticising being goal-oriented as we are goal-setting by nature.  However, if we lose sight of what we are experiencing and learning along the way, then it is likely that the destination will not have the same meaning. 

In addition, as human beings, we have a tendency to have expectations, which, if they are not fulfilled, will probably cause us to be dissatisfied.  I remember my Father saying many years ago that often a situation which we perceive as “bad”, in the long run, turns out to be in our best interest.  In summary, take time on your journey to really experience it, refrain from judging situations and always expect the best.  We can certainly focus on what we want to achieve but it is the Universe and not us which decides on the timing!

The day of the funeral came, as it must.  I felt agitated, not because I was concerned about speaking, for I most certainly was not but because I was worried about being able to contain my emotions.  (Nine years before, I had spoken at my Mother’s funeral (my first experience of public speaking) and had kept my emotions well and truly under wraps for the entire day – which for me, as probably the most emotional person I know – was unbelievable.  This was the very beginning of my discovery that public speaking was to be an integral part of my life – in fact, it was the key to me discovering my life’s purpose.  Not crying at my Mother’s funeral was one thing – I did that for my Father – not crying at my Father’s would be an entirely different proposition.)

We arrived at the Crematorium in very good time and were therefore able to greet our guests, as they arrived.  As the older sister, I began the service, with my younger sister by my side taking over when it was her turn.  Then it came to the point where three of us – my sister, my niece and I – would give our own personal tributes, which we had not shared with each other previously.  My sister began and completed hers.  It was moving.  Next my niece.  Almost immediately she started crying and simultaneously my sister and I jumped in and offered to do it for her.  No, she insisted and bravely continued on, though she had never, to my knowledge, spoken in public, let alone at something so emotional.  (Come to think of it, she probably is as emotional as me!)  It was beautifully written and exquisitely delivered.  I encouraged the “congregation” to applaud her, which they did admirably.  This also gave me a breather before it was my turn.  It was a very powerful and moving experience.

All too soon, it was time to hand over to the officiant for the committal – the part where the final goodbyes are made and the coffin departs.  It was our opportunity to sit in with the congregation and shed a few tears.  Then it was all over and off to the pub!

The service had gone extremely well and it felt perfect to have been able to honour my Father in this way.  He would have been so proud of us all.  It was so much better than allowing a complete stranger to perform it and I would encourage anyone who has a desire to do this to go right ahead and do it.  As a small part of my business, I offer assistance with wedding speeches and believe that I could also offer similar assistance for those wishing to speak at a funeral.    

The officiant sent me the words which he had put together for the service and frankly I was completely unimpressed.  He had also chosen the poems to be read, both of which I found miserable.  My sister and I re-wrote almost the entire script and inserted one of my Father’s favourite poems which expressed his sentiments on death perfectly.  It is the well-known poem by Mary Frye “Do Not Stand At My Grave and Weep.”

Do not stand at my grave and weep

I am not there, I do not sleep

I am a thousand winds that blow

I am the diamond glints of snow

I am the sun on ripened grain

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning’s hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circled flight.

I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry

I am not there, I did not die.

We chose upbeat music for entry to and exit from the Crematorium both of which were favourites of his.  They were England Swings by Roger Miller and Banner Man by Blue Mink.  Instead of hymns, we chose Jerusalem and Let The Love Flow, both of which are rousing rather than sombre.  In fact, the whole feel of the service reflected his positive attitude and we endeavoured to make it a celebration.  We didn’t wear black – we wore colours.  We smiled.

It took my sister and me 9 attempts before we were finally happy with what had been written.  We put in an enormous amount of effort to ensure that it was perfect.  For me, it was an extremely important part of the process, even though the service itself only lasts for about half an hour. 

Just 5 days before the service, I was talking with an acquaintance who happened to mention that his girlfriend’s Mother had died and that the family had delivered the service themselves.  What a fantastic coincidence and it was just what I needed to hear!  That meant that we could too.  As soon as I got back home, I checked with the Funeral Directors to make sure that we could do it ourselves.  The answer was a resounding yes.  I left a message for my sister to call me urgently.

She readily agreed.  We then divided up the service between us leaving only the Commital for the officiant  to perform at the end. 

TO BE CONTINUED 

I made contact with one of the officiates and spent an hour on the telephone telling him about my Father, so that he could put together a service for us. It’s a challenging task as when someone has lived for 84 years and done many good things, there is so much to say.  In addition, the officiant had never even met my Father and therefore I wanted to ensure that he understood the essence of who he was. 

We also liaised with the Funeral Directors in terms of the coffin type, flowers (just from us), charities, cars, order of service etc.   Then there were people to invite – we wanted a good send off, so contacted family, friends and neighbours both far and wide.  And of course the venue for the celebration afterwards. It’s amazing how much time we spent and how all-consuming this part of the process can become.  This is not a bad thing and, in my opinion, a funeral is just as much about the people who are left, as it is about the departed loved one, although it’s very important to honour the wishes of the deceased.  We wanted the best possible send off and a positive experience, which he would have wanted, rather than a mournful one.

Back to day 1.  I was then tasked with calling my niece and telling her the bad news.  Since she had lived with my parents from the age of 8 ¾ , my Father had been a father to her too. Her first reaction was to ask if I was joking!  When I said that I was not, she immediately dissolved into tears.  I then went into practical mode and subsequently rang the company where her partner works and arranged for him to go home to her straightaway. 

Talking of emotions, this is, of course, a massive part of the grieving process.  Emotions such as anger, sadness, happiness, fear, guilt, irritability and even peace come and go.  Everyone is different and it’s really important to understand that, although there are guidelines as to what people may experience when they lose someone close to them, everybody’s experience is quite different.  There are some really important points that I want to make and thought it may be useful to itemise these:

Accept that you must grieve the loss of your loved one.  Denial is part of the “first stage” of grieving because sometimes it is too much of a shock for the person to be able to accept it.  However, in the long run, there must be acceptance.

Never judge yourself no matter what you are feeling.  Your feelings are important and expressing them is also a vital part of healing. Not expressing your feelings can therefore be detrimental to your physical and mental wellbeing.

Your way of grieving will be dependant upon a number of different things such as your previous experience of loss, your upbringing and your personality type.

Never compare your grief with someone else’s, either saying it’s better or worse.  You are a unique individual having a unique experience which is just as valid as anyone else’s.  If you wish to come out of this process feeling mentally stronger, it’s vital to understand this point.  That reminds me of my Mother who had never come to terms with the death of her brother, when she was only 17.  For almost 60 years, she was telling the same old story and had not actually come to terms with it.  The problem was that her Mother thought that my Mother’s grief as a sister was not as important as her own and therefore she was not “allowed” to grieve.  This was a different era when people didn’t know any better but is an excellent illustration of the detriment which non-expression can cause.

There is no right or wrong way to grieve – there’s just your way.

On 28 November 2008, I decided it would be a wonderful idea to write about my personal journey through the death of my 2^nd parent, my lovely Father.  My purpose for this is twofold: to help me through the grieving process and to help others too.  I intend to do this in small bite size pieces, so that it can be more easily digested.

On 31 October 2008, on my return to the office from a 4networking breakfast, I picked up a message from my mobile phone.  It was from my sister and the message was:  “I’m sorry to tell you, but Daddy is dead.  Call me.”  My initial reaction was shock and disbelief.  How could this possibly be true?  It was Friday and I had only spoken to him the Monday before.  Shock and disbelief are, of course, perfectly normal in such circumstances, especially when the death is unexpected. 

Then tears quickly followed and a sense of panic set in.  I called my sister back and her answer machine kicked in. I felt annoyed by this. When she returned my call a short while later, she confirmed that he was dead, what the circumstances were and that he had been dead for over 2 days!  This set me off in tears again.  My mind started racing and making up all sorts of dreadful stories about whether or not he had suffered.   I pictured him dead in my mind and hoped that it had been quick.  The good news was that he had died in his own home and had not had to endure a long, painful illness.   Although this may seem quite bizarre, even on the day that I heard that my Father was dead, I somehow knew that good things would come from it in due course.

Right now, it is still very early days and it’s difficult to know what my emotions are likely to be doing, in the next 5 minutes let alone in days, weeks and months to come.  Believe me when I say, it doesn’t seem to matter how old you are (I’m 54), when a parent dies, the inner child is hurt.  Even though it is in the natural order of things, it is still extremely painful and is not easy to come to terms with.  However, they say that time is a healer and 4 weeks is no time at all.