Margaret's Garden

I’m often asked if there’s a funeral that stands out in my mind as being 'special' .  Although there have been many that have touched me, I think the home funeral of a Welsh lady named Margaret left me with the most beautiful, healing images of all.

Arriving at the family home, I admired the lovely setting – Margaret and her husband lived on several acres in the hills of Perth.  The winding driveway led to a rambling old home that was surrounded by a shady veranda and glorious cottage gardens, currently displaying their full spring splendour.

Margaret’s husband and three children were naturally very distressed and hadn’t really given much thought to what they wanted for her funeral but had expected to travel to one of Perth’s cemeteries for a cremation.  Basically, they just wanted to get the day “over and done with”.

In talking with the family, I discovered that Margaret had been brought home to spend her last days.  When it was apparent that doctors and hospital could do no more, the family heeded her dearest wish and returned her to her haven of peace.  To her beautiful garden, to Delilah, her devoted cat, to the birds that chortled outside her window every morning.  To die at home is to die in the midst of life….and love.

In helping Margaret’s family to arrange the day, I suggested that we farewell Margaret right here – amongst her trees and flowers, the birds, the scents and all her precious things.  Her husband cried – he said, “I didn’t know we could do this here.”  It seemed the right choice for this family.

Friend’s and family gathered on a crisp spring morning – Margaret’s favourite time of the day.  As the coffin was gently placed in front of a glorious display of blush coloured roses, we listened to the soaring voices of the Welsh Choir singing “The Lord’s Prayer”.

3 special friends had been asked to each share a memory of Margaret, be it funny or sad, and her children punctuated each tribute with a reading or poem, my favourite being:

Do not stand at my grave and weep

I am not there – I do not sleep

I am a thousand winds that blow

I am the diamond glint on snow

I am the sunlight on ripened grain

I am the gentle autumn rain

And when you wake in the morning’s hush

I am the swift up flinging rush

Of quiet birds in circling flight

I am the soft star shine at night

Do not stand at my grave and cry

I am not there – I did not die

In her last weeks, Margaret had written a letter to all who had cared for her and loved her.  A copy of this letter was now handed out to each person present and everyone was invited to come forward to pick a rose from her garden.  She asked in her note that this bloom be pressed or dried and kept in remembrance of their friendship.

A delicious breakfast of juice and fruit, croissants and hot coffee was served on the veranda and the tears flowed freely, ultimately becoming the gentle hum of warm conversation as people shared their memories.

The wattle trees stood as silent sentinels as the hearse slowly glided down the winding driveway, with the throaty warble of a single magpie heralding the start of a new day, sending us the message that Life, does indeed, go on.

The Fisherman

It was a hot night, just on sunset when we gathered to say Goodbye to a pretty special bloke, named Phil.

At the suggestion of our Funeral Director, we chose the beach as the most fitting place to hold our tribute – Phil was a mad, keen fisherman – born and bred by the ocean.  He had dived, surfed and swum through all the seasons of his life…..it seemed so tragic that his winter had come too soon.

Everyone took their shoes off for the walk across the cool, white sand – Phil had requested “no suits, shoes or black to be worn”.  As we listened to the haunting strains of Fleetwood Mac’s Albatross, everyone gathered arm in arm around a table on which was placed a huge bleached shell which contained Phil’s Ashes.  The table, draped with fishing net, also displayed some of his most precious possessions; scuba tanks, surfboard, beach rod and battered old tackle box. Just next to the Ashes was this great photo of Phil holding up the catch of his life – a wide grin plastered across his face.  His dog Jed, seemed to know something was up – he kept looking at us, whining.  Eventually he lay down on top of Phil’s smelly old fishing jacket.  I was glad Jed was with us this night – he was like Phil’s shadow and it wouldn’t have been the same without him.

Before he got too sick, Phil had walked the beach, picking up a starfish here, a lump of old driftwood there, some shells…..his wife Mandy now handed us one of these little treasures each, to cherish in memory of Phil.  Then, just as the sun started to sink below the horizon, trailing the sky with it’s pink smudge, Mandy and Phil’s brother Rob climbed into the little dinghy and pushed out, drifting just a little way off shore, to release Phil’s Ashes into the ebb and flow of the evening tide.

Laying back on the sand, gathered around a fire, we listened as a few of the guys strummed their guitars, singing “Knocking on Heaven’s Door.” Sipping a great glass of red – Phil loved a good red – I reflected that although Phil would have loved to be here, sharing this time with us all, it sadly wasn’t to be.  The next best thing was that his Farewell was just as he would have wanted it.

The Dockers Supporter

Val was a loved wife, mother and grandmother.  Her home was always filled with people, clutter, the smell of baking and lots of laughter.  Football was Val’s big passion….she had watched three sons play Little League at the local oval for many years, had been scorer and assistant coach.  She had washed the team’s jumpers and made scones for the cake stall.  Now that her sons had grown, the Dockers were her passion.  At every home game Val was there, rain, hail or shine, dressed to the nines in all her gear, screaming for her team and yelling at the ump.

When she died, her family missed her terribly.

Val’s funeral was held where she felt the happiest – down on the local oval.  An elegant, white marquee was erected, decorated with purple, green and red balloons and streamers.  Mourners were greeted at the entrance by a guard of honour formed by all the local lads who had been cheered on by Val over the years.

Val of course, was dressed in her beloved Dockers tracksuit, beanie and scarf for this, her final outing.  An oval photo of a smiling, happy Val was placed in front of a basket of tiny, red rosebuds, cloudy white gyphsophelia and purple iris with touches of complimenting greenery. Just before the service commenced, Ross, Val’s husband of 32 years tenderly placed a white rose onto her coffin, along with a letter he had written her the evening before.

The local football umpire was asked to host the service – he and Val had exchanged many a light-hearted insult over the years and everyone had a little chuckle at his remark that finally he got to have the last say.  David, Val’s firstborn, bravely attempted the Eulogy, but finally broke down.  It was such a touching moment when his younger brother Carl stepped up to his side and, arm in arm, they finished it together.  Val’s youngest son Peter, read out the beautiful words to Celine Dion’s song; “I’m everything I am, because you loved me.”

Val’s departure for a private cremation at the cemetery was a poignant moment – as the hearse pulled away, everyone present raised the voices in a hearty rendition of the Docker’s club song – to some this might have seemed a strange choice of song for a funeral service, but everyone who knew Val agreed it was the song she herself would have chosen.  In fact, Carl was later heard to comment that his Mum would have been tickled pink to see so many Eagles supporters singing Fremantle’s song.

Everyone was invited to stay on with Ross and the boys – Val’s closest friends had prepared an afternoon tea of warm, buttery scones, thick cream and Val’s tasty home-made plum jam.  As people shared their stories and memories, they all made sure to spend some time looking over the collage of photos that chronicled Val’s life and captured just a glimpse of a unique, much loved individual.

A Farmer's Funeral

Jim spent 46 years of his life farming.  When he retired, his children begged him to move to the city to be nearer them and his much loved grandkids.  Although he filled his days reading, bowling and tending his vegie garden, he longed for the wide open spaces and the sun-drenched paddocks and he always vowed he would return.

Jim’s death was sudden – a huge shock to all those who loved him.  His family vowed to make his funeral meaningful and appropriate to the simple life he had lived.

At the bowling club, mates all smiled as they spied the sheaf of wheat that decorated Jim’s coffin.  “You can take the boy out of the country, but you can’t take the country out of the boy”, they could almost hear him say.  The service was held on the bowling green with the President of the club speaking about Jim’s honesty and humour.  Members formed a guard of honour to farewell Jim and as the hearse pulled slowly away, they all raised their glasses high in salute as John Denver’s “Take me home, country roads,” played in the background.

Jim’s immediate family then continued onto the cemetery where a private Committal service was held outdoors, in the warm sunshine.  In a voice that occasionally wobbled with emotion, Jim’s eldest grandson read Dorothy McKellar’s tribute to the wide, brown land of Australia, “I love a sunburnt country” as the coffin slipped gently away.  A daughter had made up a special memento for each of Jim’s grandchildren, framing a photograph of a young, proud Jim dressed in his air force uniform, along with a cufflink and a little dried spray of wheat.  Along with their individual memories, this was a keepsake to treasure.

On Father’s Day, some 2 months later, Jim finally went home where his Ashes were buried on the land he had farmed for most of his life.  His children and grandchildren planted a Ribbon of Green – one tree for every year of his life – back into the land that had given Jim his home, his livelihood and now, his final place of rest.