TWO FUNERALS AND ANOTHER FUNERAL

nowledge of this truth doesn't make it any easier: the older you get, the more funerals you inevitably attend. For my wife, Morticia, this year has brought more than her fair share of these sad occasions. The loss is keenly felt; when family and friends move on to the next stage of their existence, it is inherently difficult and takes a collective toll. We will, quite simply, miss them and the irreplaceable void they leave in our lives.

Do I Want a Stranger Summarising My Life?

The process of a funeral has been on my mind lately. Being a working-class bloke from this corner of the world, nearly every service I've attended has been a cremation—I can count the burials on one hand. They vary wildly: some have been traditional Christian ceremonies (some with a small 'c' on the religion part), while others have been completely neutral, devoid of any religion or spirituality.

But they all follow a familiar, almost identical, format.

The Five-Minute Eulogy

In every ceremony, there’s a celebrant or officiant standing up front, tasked with giving the assembled mass a brief run-down of the deceased's life. They capture a lifetime—the key dates, the major achievements, the family loves—all in the span of a few minutes.

I find myself sitting there, listening, and it always strikes me as being a bit like the 'best bits' reel they show when someone is voted out of a reality TV programme. We get the highlights, the dramatic moments, and the tearful goodbye, all condensed into a neat, digestible package. Well, I suppose life is the ultimate reality show, isn't it? We're all in it until the final episode.

The Question of Authenticity

This is where my discomfort begins. When my own time comes, do I really want a stranger—someone I’ve never met—standing there reading out a highly edited summary of my years on earth? Will they truly capture my essence, my sense of humour, or the quiet battles that defined me, all from a few notes scribbled down after a brief chat with my family?

It makes me wonder: Do people write their own eulogies? Is that something we should be doing now—taking control of our final narrative? I’m not sure how I feel about the whole thing; I don’t want to be morbid, but I do want it to feel authentic.

Counting the House

Then there’s the question of who would even be there to hear it. I often wonder if the numbers would be small. My circle isn't huge. It brings up a very human fear—that the most definitive moment of your life will pass by with only a handful of mourners.

Perhaps that’s a good thing, though. Maybe it means the ceremony would be for the truly close, the ones who don't need a stranger to remind them who I was. Maybe a small gathering means the five-minute summary won't be necessary at all, because the people there already know the script by heart.

Should a funeral be a celebration, a reflection, or something else entirely? And have you ever thought about writing your own eulogy?

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