Just before Christmas, I attended my Auntie’s funeral.

It was a beautiful service, in the Catholic Church where she had been baptised.

My Uncle struggled. They’d been together since she was fifteen, and were both in their eighties.

Fifteen. Can you even imagine that?

They were a devoted couple, always mischievous and funny, but always complimenting each other and enjoying each other’s company.

As we moved from the Church to the graveside, we observed that my Auntie went deep down there. The observant among us, privately commented that there’s room for our Uncle.

And as we then moved through the graveyard, passing other family members who were buried there, including Granny, and my Dad’s eldest brother, there was time to reflect and the chance to have brief chats with various people.

We discussed my Dad’s wish to continue living. He’s donated his body to science, and his dream is to have his brain transplanted to a person who needs a new brain. Yes, really.

My cousin’s wife said she’s happy to donate anything anyone needs, and I piped up, yes, I’d give my eyeballs. Anything. If someone needs it and I can no longer use it, please remove it and pass it on.

She then said that actually, that won’t happen, because her husband’s made it clear that he won’t allow it because he wouldn’t want it to happen.

I said that I’d like for my friends and family to randomly light a candle when they think of me, no obligation, just when they feel to.

And then I found myself, looking round this graveyard, in tears again.

I remembered that as a child, into my teens I believe, I would regularly panic. Really stop and be unable to function, because I hadn’t thought to visit my Mum’s resting place. And then as I came out of my panic, I would feel a sense of relief that there is no place, and it’s okay, I haven’t failed to go and tend a piece of land or show respect. I could just remember her as my Mum, the times we had, the memories I’d still enjoy, and all was okay in the world.

And then some time later, I’d panic again, and I would go through the process of remembering again, that there is no place, and it’s okay, and I could simply recall good memories again.

Then, at this funeral, we discussed who the funeral is for. Some people believe it’s for the people left behind. Some feel strongly that it’s for the person who’s gone.

Some people know with certainty that their family will have a very good idea what they’d want, and others find it more important what they don’t want, for example, no black clothes!

One of the most emotional meetings I had years ago, to discuss Wills, included a conversation about funerals. The husband, who was not a big talker, revealed that he did not want a resting place as such, because he’d never felt able to move geographically, as he felt an obligation to tend to his parents’ plots and he didn’t want to put that responsibility on his children.

His wife was very emotional that I’d made him feel comfortable enough to express his true and strong feelings, as he’d previously refused to discuss anything to do with funerals.

Once his wishes and reasoning were revealed, life and death was going to be far easier to deal with, than the secrecy of hidden pain.

Please remember that your funeral wishes are the one part of a Will that are not legally binding. And your family will not necessarily check what your Will says before they make arrangements. Far better to ensure your family know your wishes.

I hope this article helps you make sense of what you want, or at least gets you thinking about it.

If you want to chat things through with me, please make contact and we can fix a time to speak. It’s what I’m here for.