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Life Lessons Learnt

Wed, 22 Jun 2022 16:37:34 GMT

How every day's a school day, especially at my first funeral exhibition.

1. Exactly how you scatter ashes in space – with proper science and maths and everything. Including how it’s surprisingly less costly than I’d imagined. So bizarrely fascinating that it deserves a future vlog of its own

– always start a conversation, especially with those who baffle you.

2. That if you’re upfront about the fact that you very much do not have the 40 grand required to purchase a private ambulance, however shiny they are, the person on the stand will still let you have a free ice cream, they'll even let you choose your own flavour

– honesty always pays.

3. That the next field trip Lyndsey Conquest Independent Celebrant and I need to undertake must be a weekend in Dublin. Just so that we can go and visit a working Resomation unit, and not at all because we could also chill in a nice hotel and drink Guinness

- embracing innovation might just save the world.

4. That the extremely fancy 5 grand caskets (the ones with the lids which half-lift-up for open casket funerals, like the ones you’ve seen on every American TV show, but probably never in real life) have richly padded upholstered interiors covered with what (on close inspection) is disappointingly cheap man-made fabric

– not all that glitters is gold (rather, not all that appears plush is velvet).

5. That when your very intelligent, capable friend and colleague is concerned that a beautiful woollen coffin lining might feel uncomfortably itchy to the skin of its inhabitant - you don’t need to point out the obvious, you just need to give her a minute to click onto what she’s just said

- some people’s default setting is compassion - so much so that it can temporarily outshine their logic, and that is something I am fully onboard with.

6. That weaving a willow coffin is utterly captivating to watch. It’s extremely skilful. Oh, and also, it’s a skill I do not possess

– hone the skills which are born from your own talents, just be an expert in your own field.

7. That being able to talk freely to strangers who, when you raise the subject of death and funerals, don’t bat even one single eyelid makes you feel blissfully un-weird

– life makes more sense when you find your tribe.

8. That you cannot go near the CEO of the organisation I trained with without her pointing a video camera at you and asking for a quote for some promotional project

– massive achievements come from dogged persistence and dedication #BeMoreAnne.

9. That, even in this most uniquely death-centric of environments, not one single person offers you a ‘go’ in one of their coffins

– even in the world of the odd there is always one (or 2 – Lyndsey Celebrant I’m looking at you) who must be the oddest of the odd.

10. That, just as in the wedding industry, there truly are limitless options to personalise a funeral ceremony. There are a reassuringly large number of people out there also gently subverting this industry, nudging things forwards and working to spark a tiny revolution in the funeral world

– after living your own unique life, why would you opt for a generic funeral?

If you’d like to find out more about funeral ceremonies and the options which are available to all, please feel free to get in touch.

Breathing New Life into the Funeral Industry

Mon, 13 Jun 2022 15:55:03 GMT

Because it's the right thing to do .......

This blog was jointly written with Amelia Horne.

It’s daunting starting out in a whole new profession.

Even when you’re entirely certain it’s a move that’s right for you. If, like in my case, it’s the funeral industry you’re moving into, then that step can be made to feel even more unnerving by the shroud of mystery which hangs over all things death and dying. It’s a world that, to many, feels like something that exists on a solely need-to-know basis. Trouble is, by the time we really do need to know, we’re likely to be in no fit state to really try to find out.

The funeral industry feels imposing. It feels austere. Like a closed shop, whose shutters are guarded by older, white men, sombre skinned in Victorian armour. I’m passionate (unjaded, new and eager as I am) that this needs to change. If I, a person who is fascinated by funerals, who has no fear of death, no qualms in talking about it, and is confident and (fairly) knowledgeable feel daunted by the funeral world – then how do the fearful and the grieving feel?

I’m not advocating shoe-horning fun into every funeral - although many people do actively want a celebration of life. Nor am I saying that funerals should become less reverential - honour and respect for the deceased is fundamental. I’m simply championing the lifting of the veil. Of engaging the services of a Funeral Director who balances a reverence for tradition with an approachability (dare I say ‘normalness’?). One who fits you. One who immediately lifts that black mantilla of fear and supports you throughout your journey to farewell in a way that matches how your loved one lived and how they (and you) want them to be commemorated.

It's not only me that feels this way. Helen Horne does too.

Helen is the epitome of a breath of fresh air. With ten years’ experience at Maddock’s Funeral Directors in Stockton Heath, Helen took the courageous leap to set up on her own in 2021. She’s now just celebrated the first anniversary of Helen Horne Funeral Directors in Orford and is going from strength to strength.

I’d spotted Helen on Instagram back when I was applying to train and had felt an immediate sense of kinship with what she was aiming to do and the way she was doing it. For a start, she was on socials! Openly posting about her work, just as we expect all modern businesses to do, but which is rare within the funeral world. Perfectly respectful, entirely professional and utterly approachable.

I’m confident that I was trained by the industry’s finest – there’s no one as thorough, knowledgeable or experienced – that’s why I chose them. But one thing they’re not is progressive. Whilst training we were assured that an online presence was not only unnecessary for a funeral celebrant, it was subtly discouraged. And as for social media? Entirely inappropriate!

I disagreed then. I disagree even more now. Death is such an integral part of all our lives, to hide it away like something shameful, not to be discussed in a forum used by most of us daily, helps no one.

Helen came to the funeral industry in 2010, after spending the first 20 years of her professional life as a hairdresser. On the surface this transition might seem unusual, incongruous even, but in many ways the skillsets overlap. Listening is essential to both, as is being a people person, caring for others, interacting with people when they might feel their most vulnerable. To Helen, the move made perfect sense. She never looked back. Embracing whole-heartedly what she knew was her life’s passion by studying funeral administration and funeral directing with the National Association of Funeral Directors.

“I thoroughly enjoyed the NAFD course and am thrilled with the outcome. Now, as well as having the experience and knowledge to help individuals and families at such difficult times in their lives, I have the extension of being qualified in a job I love so much.”

In May 2021 Helen realised her long-held dream: to set up her own funeral home, independent of the large corporate chains which now dominate the industry. An individual’s name over the door of a funeral home gives the impression of a small family-run establishment, but in reality this is rarely the case. The name of a funeral business echoes its origin, acknowledging those who started it before it was swallowed up by a larger, faceless corporation. Whilst this might not be a deliberate ploy, it can feel disingenuous and is certainly misleading.

In Helen’s case, the name over the door is hers. You hire her thinking that she is personally caring for your loved one – and she is. As a celebrant who has been fortunate enough to be trusted and nurtured by her, it’s Helen’s name and reputation I’m representing, as well as my own. It’s a responsibility neither of us take lightly.

Holding the bereaved and the deceased at the centre of everything is Helen’s core value.

“I love the connection with our families.”

And when she says ‘our’ she truly means it, Helen Horne Funeral Directors really is a family affair, with Helen working alongside her daughter, Amelia, supported constantly by her husband and youngest son. The funeral home, Amelia House, has been transformed beyond recognition from (somewhat ironically) a dilapidated hairdressers to the dedicated space it is now.

In need of significant work, Helen and her team added a chapel of rest, extended space to create a private chapel, added extra doors and nurtured the building into a welcoming, friendly place. One that feels like coming into a space of safety and comfort rather than a sterile office.

In making all these changes, Helen is able to keep the deceased in her care on her own premises, meaning that they’re available to be visited and sat with much more freely. Making hers one of the very few homes in the area where this is possible. It sounds like a no-brainer, but in these days of large corporate chains it’s actually pretty unique - and means that your loved one travels from their place of passing to Amelia House, and that’s where they stay until their funeral.

Although it must sound like I’m on commission with Helen, I’m truly not. But I do promote her services to everyone I talk to, because it’s the right thing to do.

For me, there’s a tiny funeral revolution that needs to take place. We need to start empowering people to think about how they would like their death marking when it happens (because, sorry to break it to you, it is going to). There’s no cure for death, and if there were, just-not-thinking-about-it wouldn’t be it.

When the inevitable happens, what Helen offers is space, understanding and care.

She’s intuitive and engaged. Making suggestions to families which help them to think about the choices they have. If that’s a traditional stream of black limos following a carriage drawn by horses in Victorian headpieces – great, if it’s lighting candles and incense whilst holding a service that solely consists of music – also great.

It’s not anyone in the funeral industry’s job to determine what’s right for you. It’s everyone in the funeral industry’s job to offer options and to support you as you decide what’s best.

Working with Helen makes me feel even more excited about the future of my new career. Her aim is to grow her service gently, at a pace which enables her ethos to remain central: to be warm, to treat everyone with kindness, to be genuine and trustworthy. To relieve the pressures which engulf families at times of loss, by providing well presented, professional funerals with the kindness and empathy they deserve.

And me? Well, I’m hoping to continue working with Helen. To build my career and reputation in the light of her example. It makes a difference to work with women, as Helen says the funeral industry is “a man’s world” – something else that needs to change.

Friendship........ Your other true love

KirstieCelebrant (Kirstie Atherton) — Tue, 15 Feb 2022 09:47:38 GMT

The other other half

I call her my other other half. She will listen to me til my tongue turns to dust. She will offer advice when I want it. She will shut up when I don’t. She makes me absolutely f**king roar. She gets it that I can’t drink like we used to. That I am a maximalist and she is beautifully understated. She is a woman of science and I am …….. really, really not. I love every single thing about her and I can’t believe my fortune that I get to grow old with her in my life.

I met her when I was 14. She was achingly cool to me. Independent. Forthright. Fiercely intelligent. We had a horrendous hiatus which lasted for too long and is a source of loss for us both. We re-united like it had been yesterday. She is the only person I would allow to speak on my behalf. She lets me cut her hair (!)

I also have another other half. A more traditional one. A man to whom I’m married and have been so since 2006. He’s wonderful. I love every single thing about him. I consider myself (probably somewhat smugly, I guess) to be half of the most harmonious romantic relationship I know of and I can’t believe my fortune that I get to grow old with him in my life.

We’re raised in a society that honours romantic partnership relationships as the ultimate achievement. Not only should these relationships be entirely fulfilling in every way – emotionally, intellectually, spiritually, physically – they should be entirely exclusive and also (whilst we’re at it) last until our last breath. How’s that working out for you?

I’m not dissing monogamous love. I bloody love monogamous love.

But I don’t feel that loving someone else (a friend in this case) in any way detracts from my other formal legal partnership. In fact, it enhances it. She will listen til my tongue turns to dust, remember? This means that sometimes my husband gets to not. More than this, there are things that only another person with your life experience can relate to. Perimenopause? Much more useful to compare notes with her than with him. Raging about the patriarchy? To be fair, my husband does get involved in a lot of this, but he doesn’t know how it feels to live as a female in this world. And don’t even get either of us started on books, self-development or interior design.

If you love someone. Whoever they are. Celebrate them. If you have a friend that gets you, that has your back, that will listen and will laugh with you, treasure them. The other type of love might also be part of your life. The other type of love might be something you’re not remotely interested in.

If you have love in your life ……. From your bezzie, your partner, your dog (don’t even get me started on this type of love) today is your day, just like all the others.

If you’d like to celebrate the love in your life, whatever form it takes, get in touch for a chat. Friendship Ceremonies, Bonding Ceremonies, Couple Ceremonies ……. Let’s shout out about love.

The Ultimate Act of Love

KirstieCelebrant (Kirstie Atherton) — Fri, 21 Jan 2022 11:26:50 GMT

There are cures for many things. Death is not one of them.

So, you know how some things in life are guaranteed? No, me either. There is one thing that’s happening for deffo though …….

I know you know. I know you’ve always known.

Everyone is going to die.

Most of us can accept this. None of us like it, but acceptance is different, right? What many of us find harder to accept is that the ‘everyone’ we’re talking about actually in fact also includes US. That’s me. And it’s also you too, unfortunately.

There are cures for many things. But death is not one of them. There are treatments for lots of ailments. But treatments (whilst fantastic and appreciated) prolong life, they do not stop death. Nonetheless we self-medicate with a prescription of doing-our-best-to-look-after-ourselves and mainly Just. Not. Thinking. About It.

I get it. And I appreciate that not everyone’s like me (really actually completely fascinated about finding out as much as I can about death) but the amount of avoidance of talking about death frightens me more than the prospect of death itself. Here’s why…….

A recent study asked people who had organised a funeral in the last 5 years what their most important consideration had been. Coming out top, a whopping 65% of respondents said, ‘Following the wishes of a loved one’. That’s reassuring, isn’t it? The majority of people will honour your wishes, even when you’re not looking. Nice. But …… (you know what’s coming, don’t you?) if we don’t talk about our wishes – or hear the wishes of those we’re closest to – how can we even begin to honour them?

I want to start a tiny revolution. I believe that sharing our funeral wishes* with those closest to us is the ultimate act of love. I also believe that honouring those wishes for another is an act of love you can give in return.

It doesn’t have to be a big deal. In fact it’s dead simple really. All you need to do is have a little think about the things you do or don’t want to happen after you’ve died.

Most of us (however in denial we might be) have at least some idea of a song we might like to be played at our funeral. If you write that down, tell someone you’ve written it down and where the safe place you’ve left it is, then that’s writing your funeral wishes.

Most of us have a notion about whether we’d prefer to be buried or cremated. Write that down on the same piece of paper. And on it goes – as detailed or as brief as you like.

From “I don’t care what else happens, just do not let my cousin Jamie hijack the whole thing by taking over and making it all about them!” to 5,000 words detailing readings you’d like, your preferred dress code for mourners and what canapes you want serving at the wake. Guess which one’s most reflective of mine? Yep.

* not the same thing as buying a pre-paid funeral plan – that’s a slightly different conversation.

If you’d like to know more about how you can take control over your funeral wishes - from accessing a funeral wishes template to support with the creation of a living eulogy – come along to one of my Tomb Talks or send me a message.

Because Some Children Grow in Your Heart

KirstieCelebrant (Kirstie Atherton) — Tue, 09 Nov 2021 14:04:51 GMT

Happy World Adoption Day!

I was a miracle baby. At least, that’s what the wider community thought. My parents had been together for 15 years before my mum became pregnant for the first time. ‘ At last ’ mee-mawed the local women, the gossip hushed their tones, ‘ all this time and everything she’s been through ’.

As my mum waddled down the street, proud of her very first baby-bump, clad in voluminous 70s smock, she ushered into school her 7 year old daughter and her 5 year old son, pushing on to the shops with her (already extremely lanky) 2 year old folded into his buggy.

I was my mum’s first pregnancy, but I was, and always will be, her fourth child.

Although she can’t always remember yesterday now, my mum can vividly remember the moment she read a news article about the very pressing post-war conundrum of

What To Do With All These Babies.

The page featured two photographs. One a basket of puppies, the other a basket of new-born babies (mostly of mixed heritage). Apparently one basket was incredibly easy to find loving homes for, the other ……. not so much. It was then that my mum told hers that when she was a grown up, she would adopt.

Fifteen years later and, always true to her word, she did.

Adoption was never a secret in our family. Adoption was a cause for celebration. A gift. A blessing. A perfectly normal everyday thing.

Sadly, I know that many people had times growing up when they wished they’d been adopted – so did I. I wished it all the time. That I had been adopted – by my mum and dad – just so I could be like my siblings.

We’d have endless discussions at home. ‘What was my name before you got me?’ ‘Where was I born?’ The answers for my sister and two brothers were marvellous and impressive. But, when I asked, my answers were less extraordinary. ‘Well, you’ve always been called Kirstie’ ‘You were born in Whiston, just like mum.’

Adoption is different now. In the late 60s and early 70s when my older siblings were born, unmarried pregnant women often had little choice but to have their babies adopted from birth. For those who conceived with someone of a different ethnicity, the pressures were unimaginable.

My parents knew their children had arrived almost as soon as they were born. Paperwork completed so quickly that they were all christened by my parents in their parish church by the time they were 2 months old.

My mum and dad chose a first name and a middle name for each of my siblings before they met them. When they heard that the name my sister had been given by her birth mum was also the name of my mum’s grandma, they decided to keep that one too. Thus starting a family tradition. They did the same for my two brothers – kept the name their birth mums had chosen in addition to the two they’d selected themselves. When I was born, I got three as well. And when my daughter arrived, so did she.

Although adoption was always openly, often gloriously, spoken about it was (perversely) also Not A Massive Deal At All. There was no difference in the way any of us were treated by our parents and it never occurred to me that these three children, all here long before me, were anything other than my brothers and sister. After 5 years as the only ‘Home Grown’™ (trademark: my mum) the first of my 3 younger sisters arrived. I’ve never felt any differently towards them than I have to the older ones. We all laughed together, fought one another, made up daft jokes together – just the same.

They’ve all met their birth mothers now. One of my brothers spent many years painfully aware of a void that could only be filled by finding his birth father too. All he had was a nickname and an RAF base. It took him 15 years – but he did it. And it’s not all been perfectly smooth and bump-free, far from it – but then, when is life? I’d say that our experiences made us stronger, but that would be untrue – our experiences just made us us – like yours did.

Last month my youngest sister turned 40. An act of aggression I’ve not yet forgiven. So this adoption journey has been a long old ride so far. It’s now that I feel it can perhaps take yet another turn. I qualified as a celebrant this year and I’m busy crafting ideas for Family Welcoming Ceremonies. It’s unusual now for an adopted child to join their forever family at as young an age as ours did, but there’s every need for them to be welcomed – just as any other home grown child would be.

One day soon, when I get to stand with a family as they welcome their longed-for child, I’ll be standing there with all my siblings behind me, giving thanks for that basket, and the determined ten year old girl who made her life’s wish come true.

If you’d like to know more about Family Welcoming Ceremonies or any of the other ceremonies I offer, please feel free to get in touch to arrange a no-obligation chat.

In Celebration of The Sparent

Fri, 15 Oct 2021 13:11:15 GMT

Because it actually does take a village.......

I heard an interview last week with a woman who had given birth in her 60s. In it she explained her need to surround her new baby with as much support from other adults (of various ages) as possible. To do this, she christened her child and nominated for them 37 God Parents.

Thirty. Seven.

You’re not sure if you even like 37 people, are you?

But this mother, possibly prompted by her own age, thought about the future needs of her child, the support both of them might require throughout their lives, and the skills and strengths of those around her. Selecting a group of trusted people and then welcoming them into the wider community of their family. It’s a beautiful idea. After all, it takes a village, right?

I am nobody’s God Parent. (I’m assuming that this is because I am vocally non-religious, not that no one would trust me with their child.) But my sister has so many God Children that we’ve joked in the past that her and her husband are Widnes’s answer to Elton John and David Furnish. Seriously, I’ve lost count. (Incidentally, she is caring and responsible and, therefore, most definitely has not).

I’d like to be though. Someone's God Parent, that is. I love the idea of having a (slightly) formalised role in the life of a young person I didn’t birth myself. It’s the God bit which makes me stumble. And I’m not the only one. The most recent stats show that only 10% of babies in the UK are christened …….. leaving 90% of them (potentially) flapping about all clueless negotiating life without such formalised guiding influences.

Ok, so I’m exaggerating for effect (I do have form). But there’s no reason why a parent can’t nominate such people anyway. In fact, doing so is a central pillar of what we celebrants offer in a Naming Ceremony.

You can do what you want in a Naming Ceremony (that’s the point), but most people opt to make promises to their child and to invite selected others to do so too.

God Parents by any other name.

In fact, by any name at all ……. Fairy God Parents …….. Supporters …….. Life Champions …….. and my own personal favourite …….. Sparents.

It’s a thing of beauty to commit ourselves to the life of someone else. To pledge our on-going support to them. To say that we’ll always be there. It’s a shame if that’s limited to just the 10%, isn’t it?

If you'd like to know more about Sparents, Naming Ceremonies or other ways in which to celebrate your off-spring (either before or after they've sprung) I'd love to chat ....... enquiries@kirstiecelebrant.co.uk

Photo credits: Isaac Quesada , Jay Chen , Joice Kelly , Marjorie Bertrand and Kelli McClintock on Unsplash

What Even Is a Celebrant, Though?

Sun, 22 Aug 2021 18:46:18 GMT

So ……. it’s dead simple really. A celebrant is a person who works with you to make any ceremony completely personalised.

In the past, most ceremonies were religious, so it was a total no-brainer – when someone was born, or you wanted to get married, or someone had died you just went to wherever you and your family worshipped and, well, they did the rest.

When life started to become more secular, another option became available. When someone was born, you could still go to wherever you and your family worshipped and have them welcomed into your religion, or you could do nothing. Then, about 20 years ago, came naming ceremonies. A non-religious choice for welcoming new lives into the world and into families – conducted by celebrants.

Similar choices became available for funerals too. If you were someone who swerved religion in life, you could now choose to swerve it in death too. Opting for a celebrant-led funeral in a crematorium or, in more recent years, a celebrant-led funeral anywhere you please.

Weddings developed a bit differently. Civil marriages have been around for ages – in register offices and more recently in licenced venues (most often hotel function rooms) but locations and times are restricted and the laws surrounding what can and can’t be said (even what music you can choose) are rigid to say the least.

Wedding Celebrations led by celebrants sit alongside the legalities that you sign with a registrar. Just like when you get married abroad, you make an appointment at the register office here to sign the document that changes your legal relationship status (it’s easily arranged, takes about 10 minutes and costs about £50)*. Same with a celebrant-led ceremony. Document signed and the world’s your octopus.

Want to hold your wedding celebration in your own garden? In your favourite pub? Overlooking your favourite view? You can with a celebrant.

Want to hold your wedding celebration at night? Lit by fairy lights? In a woodland? You can with a celebrant.

In fact, with a celebrant, there is no restriction at all in choice of time or location.

Want to commit to one another’s children as you commit to each other? No problem.

Want your dog to be the ring bearer? Bring it on.

Want to please the Hindu and the Catholic in-laws by including elements of both religions in your ceremony? It’s all totally do-able with a celebrant.

There’s no limit to what you can commemorate either. Literally anything can be celebrated …….

Want to bless your first home together at your house-warming party? A celebrant can do this.

Want to hold a massive divorce party and have an uncoupling ceremony, committing yourself to yourself in your new life chapter? Why not.

Want to hold a little ceremony between a group of friends committing to still support one another as you all scatter off to uni? Well, that would just be lovely.

Funerals, memorials, new-child welcomings, family blendings, renewal of vows ……. There’s so much in life to celebrate. And that, essentially, is what a celebrant is. One who celebrates. With you and yours. In your way.

* a current Law Commission review might change this, meaning that celebrants may be able to soon do the legals too – watch this space/me explode with excitement

Being In Love With Love

KirstieCelebrant (Kirstie Atherton) — Tue, 17 Aug 2021 11:48:06 GMT

I suppose this might be where it all started .......

When I was 17 I went to see a fortune teller. My two friends and I (feisty, feminist, forthright) went in one by one. She gave us all, it turned out, the same three options: did we want to know about career, health or love? Love, we’d all said.

My two friends were assured that a great love loomed over their futures. They were both about to meet someone. Someone special. Someone who would bring change and excitement and possibility to their lives. They were, as you’d expect, thrilled. They were, as you’d also expect, eager to know about me.

‘You?’ The fortune teller had said. ‘Well, you’re in love with love.’

She was right. I was stunned. I was a bit offended too. But she was still right. I was in love with love.

Surely that made me some kind of sappy lost cause though, no? Like someone from an old romantic novel. Some Barbara Cartland, chiffon-clad dreamer destined for a life of moping about on chaises and having my heart broken.

She was right. But with age came perspective. Being in love with love, it turns out, is being in love with life. There were people in my future too (they must’ve been stood behind something when she’d looked). Some were special, others very much less, and one (eventually) just perfectly so (12 years later, but well worth the wait).

Being in love with love has brought me joy. It’s also brought me heartbreak – but that’s love.

Being in love with love means being open to feeling it all. The brightness and the fizzing. The spikes and the hollows. The comfort and the tired warmth.

Being in love with love means embracing life even when doing so is harder than not.