Funerals

A very personal reason why I became a celebrant.

In 2020, during the height of COVID, our family lost my mother-in-law.

It was an incredibly difficult time. My mother-in-law lived in Wales, restrictions were everywhere, families couldn't be together as they normally would, and my wife was trying to cope with losing her mum while somehow making arrangements when everything felt completely unreal.

Like anyone who has experienced a loss knows, grief doesn't stop while you organise a funeral. You're trying to make decisions at exactly the time you feel least capable of making them.

Because of the COVID restrictions, only five of us could attend the funeral and we couldn't have someone there to conduct a normal service. So I decided I would deliver the eulogy and help put the service together myself.

Looking back, without realising it at the time, I became the celebrant that day.

I was incredibly nervous. This wasn't a speech or a performance; this was someone's life, and it mattered enormously to my wife and her family. I spent a lot of time thinking about what I wanted to say and, most importantly, how I could capture the person we knew and loved.

I didn't want to simply talk about her death. I wanted us to remember her life — the stories, the memories and the person behind them.

When I'd finished, amongst all the sadness, I remember feeling an enormous sense of pride and privilege. I'd been trusted to stand there and speak about someone's life at a moment when the people closest to her couldn't find the words themselves.

That experience stayed with me.

Years later, it's become part of the reason I chose to become a funeral celebrant. Because I've experienced that side of the room too. I know families aren't looking for somebody to simply stand at the front and read a script.

They need someone who will listen. Someone who will take the time to understand. Someone they can trust with the stories and memories of a person they love.

Being asked to tell someone's story for the final time is an enormous privilege. It's one I will never take lightly.