This is the final blog in a four part series. In this final one I thought it might be helpful to put down some thoughts about my own authentic farewell. I want to show you that it is possible to do it your way. But first a little reminder.
The Final Chapter Should Still Be You
Many people think funerals come in a limited set of options: church or crematorium, burial or cremation, a village hall with a beige buffet and a cup of tea. If those things genuinely reflect you, wonderful. But if they don’t, then how will that farewell honour the real, whole, authentic you?
And more importantly, how will it help the people who love you to mourn you, if it doesn’t reflect you?
A funeral isn’t for the person who has died. It’s for those left behind.
There are very few MUST DO’S when it comes to death
In reality, there are very few “must‑dos” when someone dies:
- the death has to be certified
- it then needs to be registered
- the body needs to be disposed of responsibly (and legally!)
Everything else — the where, the when, the how — is flexible.
What an Authentic Farewell Looks Like (for Me)
When I go, I want people to remember me in ways that help them process losing me. It won’t be in a sombre church or a quiet crematorium. It won’t involve black clothing or a convoy of cars.
I want to start at the place where people will gather afterwards — the party, the celebration, the remembering. I want to be there in my casket, surrounded by music, colour, and people with drinks in their hands. I want them to wear whatever they like, especially the inappropriate things. I want them to plaster my casket with artwork and photos. I want them to lean against me, rest their glasses on me, tell stories, laugh, cry, and be gloriously human.
At some point, I want a bright, quirky vehicle to whisk me away while everyone waves like it’s an old‑fashioned wedding send‑off. And then I want them to go back inside, still connected to me and to each other, and carry on sharing stories.
In life, I love hosting. I love knowing people are having a good time. And when I’ve had enough, I like to slip away quietly so the fun doesn’t stop. When I die, I want the same: for the kindness, the laughter, the embarrassing moments, and the love to carry on without me.
My Own Farewell
What I hope most is that everyone feels free to process their loss in whatever way they need — fully present, fully themselves, warts and all.
So, if they need to do it differently, then let it be another way. I hope the colour, the laughter, the inappropriateness remain, but if people need to witness a burial, then move the celebration to a green burial site, do all those things there.
Or wave me off for an unattended cremation and then gather again to bury the ashes or scatter them.
Or have me cremated first – but don’t go to a crematorium. When I am returned to you have that party then, with me present again and then scatter me or bury me as feels right for you.
Do what you need to do, but do it with colour… in your clothes, behaviour and language. And do it with warmth and compassion to the earth. Cry, but laugh too. And don’t paint me as some sort of saint. Tell the truth!
Oh and I’d love everyone to have snowdrop bulbs to plant wherever they want. No out of season floral displays, pick beautiful things from your gardens and hedgerows, remember me with the season, whatever it is, and then remember me again every year as the first shoots peak out of the earth and the first delicate white flowers bring light and hope to the coming year.
