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There is a saying “in the midst of life we are in death” but, since becoming a celebrant, I’ve realised that the reverse is true too – in the midst of death, we are in life.

I have not had the pleasure of meeting any of the people for whom I’ve conducted a service and yet, thanks to the families who have shared so much of their loved ones with me, I feel as if I have learned something of them, and what made them unique. As well as touching the lives of those who mourn them and will miss them, they have touched my life too. What do I mean by this? How can someone I have never met have touched my life?

When I meet with a family, I never cease to be amazed by their honesty and openness in sharing their loved one with me. They give so much, at a time when they are in the midst of their own grief – and it is truly humbling. Recently, I conducted the service for a lovely man, whom I shall call John. John had four children, grandchildren and great grandchildren, and was well known for his sense of humour, being good company and enjoyment in holidays abroad, as well as his love of the feeling of the sun on his face and a John Smith’s in his hand – an eclectic mix of life’s experiences.

As his family shared anecdotes, family memories and stories with me, John became much more to me than just a series of photos from various times in his life. He was once again someone with thoughts and opinions, hopes and dreams, challenges and victories, good times and bad. A hard worker, a husband and father, and a good friend to many who was fun to be with. Someone I wish I could have met and shared a cuppa with, and chatted about the things he had seen in his life, and the lessons that life had taught him. Although we were saying hello at goodbye, John has touched my life too – I will remember him, and his family and the honour they did me in sharing him with me and entrusting me with such a personal and important milestone – the time when everyone came together to say goodbye to him.

Whenever I see a chocolate digestive, I will smile at the memory of sitting with John’s family, looking through precious family photos – with some tears as well as some laughter. When I go past the local lido, I will remember how John used to like spending time here after school and met his first wife there. When I go through the village where he was born, I will remember some of the stories from his childhood spent there.

When I came to bid John’s family farewell after the service, I felt honoured to have conducted their dad’s service and to have spent such an intense period of time with them. On getting home, I placed a rose from my garden in some water for John and, as the flower opened up, it reminded me that – however fleetingly someone may touch our lives – their memory can last a life time.

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