I'm pleased to offer another great story by a colleague, this time from Barbara Parker, a Life-Cycle Celebrant living in the beautiful Canadian Rockies. The details of her week differ from mine - a wedding, a memorial, and a vow renewal - but the depth of experience, the gratitude for all that this work offers, is the same.

A Week in the Heart of a Life-Cycle Celebrant
by Barbara Parker

When I started my blog I was worried about my audience, and thought I needed to appeal to my “ideal client” and all of that. Since my business includes weddings and funerals, and any rite of passage in between, that covers a lot of ideal people. I’ve been a little self-conscious. You know, you post something about a Death Café, and the brides don’t like it too much. You talk too much about vows and tulle, and the baby boomers glaze over.

The truth is, life is messy, and full of love and loss, every inch of the way. There is no such thing as a major life event that doesn’t contain within it the whole shootin’ match, the entire spectrum of beginnings and endings:  dreams, potential and farewells. What I noticed this week, as I walked some length of a lifeline through ceremony, is how much we share, at whatever stage of life we’re at. I also noticed, (no big surprise) that my clients change me. So I write this blog the way I’ve always written in my life, not so much because I have something to say, but because I need to figure out what just happened.

First thing Monday morning, I married a young couple at the Banff Springs Hotel. This was a joyous occasion. They were teenage sweethearts, who had met at an ice-cream shop and began their relationship nine years ago to the day. They were well suited to each other, they had already tested their relationship, and they adored one another.  And still, the tears! Her father, in the hotel lobby, minutes before he walked his daughter down the aisle. Wiping his eyes, which were already tearing up, he admitted to me that he didn’t realize until that minute that he was losing his little girl, and handing her over to another man. Of course, the absurdity of his statement was also apparent, as she was well grown up and had been with this fellow for many years. Still. The ceremony cemented an understanding, and helped him face the passage of time and meaning.

Later, when we mentioned and brought to mind the parents and grandparents now passed, there wasn’t a dry eye in the crowd, which was comprised of the very closest friends and family.  Once again, the sensation of the wheel of time, and our precious part in it, was shared among all the family and friends, and the room was thick with emotion.

Mostly though, there were smiles and laughter, as in, when the bride raised her eyebrows “so high”, when her groom spoke of his pride at this particular skill of hers. The groom look as pleased as punch in his new grey suit. The bride’s confident and powerful recitation of her vows only cracked when she said “the father of our children”. Hope, love, and Orange Juice, all before noon.

The rest of the week, with the help of a community of friends, I walked a place of more sorrow than joy, as we planned and prepared a memorial service for one of the brightest human beings on the planet. This particular community turned a raw and snowy spring day into a riot of colour, with pots and pots of daffodils, tulips and irises. The cavernous school auditorium was transformed into a garden, and there was music and singing, and words to lift our very heavy hearts.  The function of this ceremony was to give us a container; a space for our grief for a time, so we could feel held and embraced by the love that guided our friend’s life.

I noticed as we collectively remembered her ever-present smile (in the face of great challenge), the atmosphere in the room was light, and I felt my own heart soar. To truly bear witness to an exceptional life was inspiring beyond circumstance. In the midst of grief, I noticed myself re-dedicating to life, surprised once again by the middle road we walk between winter and spring, hello and good-bye.

The week rounded out with a trip to the winter wonderland of Lake Louise, where I met the couple from Florida and their twin girls, who were there to renew their vows after ten years of marriage. The big loss this time was luggage that didn’t arrive, which meant the brand new suit and dress also didn’t arrive. But this couple took it in stride, shopped at Cross Iron Mills on the way from the airport, and carried on with their plan.

The ceremony was intimate: just me and the family, and the photographers (and my friend and her guide dog as witnesses).  We were in the empty ballroom at the Chateau, which of course, felt a bit like a castle in a fairy tale for girls who had never seen snow before. When I told the couple’s “love story” to them, I was reminded that days before I had addressed my friend’s grown children with the words, “We know ourselves through our stories.”

These six-year-old girls hung on my every word, and they were especially delighted when their “entrance” was announced within the story – the day they were born, when their parents knew their job was to stay together because they were a family. When the groom read his vows aloud, his daughter looked at him like he was Prince Charming – her mouth rounded in a small “o” of wonder and pleasure.

The girls added their own words to the story within the ceremony, sharing what they love about their family: “My mom and dad take care of me when I’m sick. They take us on trips.  My family gives me cuddles and kisses.” When they stood in a circle and smiled at each other, I sensed this moment would imprint on all of them, and become one of those treasured memories.  No tears this day, just some heartfelt words of thanks for love recognized. And poodle hugs.

It was a big week, and my heart is swelling with gratitude for the “clients” that I was privileged to work with. Because of course, they weren’t clients at all. They were teachers. That’s an ideal I can live with.

This week I'm featuring a post by "Green Reaper" Elizabeth Fournier, owner of Cornerstone Funeral Services which serves five small towns in rural Clackamas County, Oregon. Enjoy this glimpse into what it can look like to serve families "outside the box" of the contemporary funeral industry - literally. The family's names have been changed to respect their privacy.

Jamie lived her life with a respect for the environment. She wanted to show that same respect in death, too. When she was near the end of her time in this world, her life partner Eric contacted me to walk him through the steps to ensure a smooth transition. 

“She's always spoken of being buried under the oak tree in our backyard, but I really didn’t take her too seriously," Eric said. "But you helped the family down the street and they said we can actually do this?” "Absolutely," I said, a broad smile on my face. Another had learned the secret of backyard burial. 

I ran through a few questions to make sure their property complied with county regulations: they were in rural Clackamas County, which would make it easier; they owned the land, so wouldn't need permission from the landowner; they had a suitable spot with at least an acre 30 feet from a public right of way; and so on. I promised to call the county zoning and planning commission for due diligence and told him, “You must know that you cannot deem this a ‘cemetery’ nor can you ever charge anyone for a burial space. You can bury everyone you know back there if there's room, but it cannot officially have a name and you can’t take any cash. Got it?”

We were ready to proceed.

We hopped in his truck to take a look at his property. I don’t feel 100% sure about advising someone on a backyard burial unless I can fully see, smell and survey the space. First, a quick stop at the Jackpot Food Mart to pick up Jamie’s favorite Tiparillo cigars. Eric said, “She’s got cancer and is gonna die anyway, so why not let her enjoy herself anyway she wants?” 

They live way out in the country. We passed Estacada, headed more miles east, and finally made our way up a dusty hill. I had a great feeling about this. We stopped for a moment to chat with his neighbor, Natasha, a lovely woman with a pleasant smile in an aged face. Eric introduced me as “the town mortician lady". As we turned into his property he told me Natasha and Jamie had been best friends for 30 years. 

It was a lovely day and we had all the windows down. Birds were chirping and the whiff on the air was a heady fragrance from the rows of lilac Jamie had cultivated. “Pretty damn nice, right?” Eric said sadly. “We finally get this place to stop looking like a ghetto and she has to up and get sick on me. I’m just glad our kids are grown so they can just show up when it happens. I just need her to leave this Earth in a good way.” I reassured him that Jamie would have a sendoff fitting for a woman who collected cans to recycle before it was cool, and who never took a drink from a Styrofoam cup. 

Jamie died of complications from cancer the next morning before sunrise. Eric was blindsided by how quickly she went. He had hoped to have the grave pre-dug, the casket made by an old carpenter buddy of his, and their house painted lilac lavender in her honor. He was grieving over his Jamie being gone, but he was also inconsolable over all the things he wanted to do for his beloved but just couldn’t make happen. 

This is where the Green Reaper could do the most good. I told him to stay with his beloved, to talk with her about all of the beautiful things they had done in this lifetime, and to tell her about all of the even more amazing things the two of them would experience when they meet up again. I then asked him to put Natasha on the line. She walked out onto the porch for privacy and I could hear her light up one of their mutually favored little cigars.

“Natasha, we can do this," I said. "I need some help from you, but we can honor Jamie and have her burial by sundown. I need you to phone their kids and have them get in their cars. Eric's got that little utility tractor out there. I'll call a friend to come over now and start digging. Do you think Eric would be good with that, or do we need to bring a backhoe out?”

Natasha said Eric was immobilized. “I can guarantee he is going to stay in there and not come out until he takes her out with him.”

“That’s just fine," I assured her. "I've already talked to her hospice team so we have the death certificate and permit taken care of. We just need the space prepared and my friend is a pro. Stay by the phone and I’ll have him call when he's on his way out there. All you have to do is meet him outside and show him the space Eric showed me yesterday. How are you doing with all of this?”

“I guess as well as can be expected," Natasha said. "It feels odd that she isn’t here to tell about all this. Well, I guess she sort of is.”

I paused long enough to make sure she had completed all her thoughts. “You are doing very well, Natasha, and you are really helping your friend. When you feel ready, maybe in a few hours or so, you might want to help Eric decide on what blanket or quilt or shrouding you want to use, okay? Or we can use a natural casket I have here. Anything he wants is perfect.”

In my selection room I had a non-toxic cardboard shell which looks similar to an IKEA flat pack, a moss-lined woven willow casket, a hand-crafted pine box, and a natural fabric shroud. But I had a feeling they would choose her favorite lilac-colored, hand loomed rug which hung on the wall of their bedroom. 

We agreed that Natasha would call their tribe to have them come out for a 7pm ceremony. Throughout the day I spoke with friends who phoned me to coordinate their thoughts on the service. At 4pm I arrived to bathe Jamie and get her ready for her final farewell. Eric had decided the wall tapestry was the ideal choice to serve as shroud. 

When I arrived, Jamie’s brother ambled over waving, carrying a small tree. “Will this be okay?” he asked. "I wasn’t sure what would be best for the top of the grave since I don’t think we want any headstone.”

I was so touched by how delicate the sapling was in his burly hands. “It will be picture-perfect. It really is so exquisite.” 

“I just want her to have something nice," he said. "And for Eric to be able to come out here in the evenings and know that she's with her lilacs and this tree, and that she'll provide the nutrients for new life and do good stuff like provide food and shelter for all these birds out here.”

We spoke a few minutes more and he suggested I go inside to partake of the big pot of gumbo his aunt had brought over. One perk of my job is the scrumptious food. If it is sincerely offered to me, I am never shy about accepting. 

Inside I found a hubbub of activity: Auntie Rita washing dishes, Willow braiding flowers to make a lovely crown for Jamie, Florence tuning her guitar for the celebration’s acoustical accompaniment, Natasha painting Jamie’s toenails a delicious shade of purple, and Eric sitting beside his beloved, holding her hand and softly singing. The love in that two-room home overflowed into the universe. I stood in silence, moved to tears, knowing that my still presence was all they needed. They were all being divinely guided.

An hour later we filled a large basin of water and brought it to the bed. I had brought lavender colored and scented loofah sponges for the ritual of bathing Jamie. Eric grabbed the camera and snapped pictures of the women's tribe surrounding his beautiful bride, gently applying oils with love.

When the sun was getting low in the sky Eric affirmed he was ready. We easily wrapped Jamie in the gorgeous rug. Her brother arrived at the perfect moment with a long cart to wheel his sister out of the house for her last ride. Friends gathered and flowed over to the open meadow near the lilacs. 

We carefully placed Jamie in her chariot. As Florence strummed Cat Stevens' “Where Do the Children Play” on her black-faced guitar, we processed to the gravesite, Eric walking behind in deep thought while Auntie Rita and Natasha, arms held high, half-walked, half-swayed to the music.

At the hole we lowered Jamie into it and gingerly tossed lilac boughs on top of the purple shroud. After a half-hour of singing as the sun set, Jamie and Eric's shovel-bearing son, slowly taking time to mark this moment, broke down in tears. Arms held him, as arms held the person holding him. A perfect chain of bodies was formed and it was hard to tell where one stopped and the next started. After some time he primed the area right next to the grave and we planted a tree, all eyes watching the sweet leaves stir in the slight breeze.

When everyone left for Natasha’s to gather around a potluck, my friend John climbed onto Eric’s tractor and replaced the rest of the soil which was previously dug from the now occupied grave. I stood by, keeping vigil over precious Jamie. 

Last August, a construction crew at the Oregon Zoo inadvertently discovered the remains of nine individuals whose lives had ended there, over one hundred years ago, when the forested hills served as a Poor Farm.

Thus began six months of diligence and care involving the state police, the state Historic Preservation Office and Commission on Historic Cemeteries, consultation with three different Tribes, and a detailed archeological study. 

"Our priority," Zoo official Heidi Rahn told The Oregonian, "was to treat these remains with respect and ensure they received the utmost respect during the removal and future reburial." All parties agreed that the remains should be reinterred where they had been found: protected, private, with honor. In the future an educational exhibit would tell the story of the Poor Farm and the people who lived and died there. 

But first, the bones needed to be laid back to rest.

On March 14, 2014, graced by a glorious Spring sunbreak after a morning of gloom and drizzle, about 20 members of the discovery team gathered by the gravesite to pay their respects. After being welcomed by Zoo Director Kim Smith and Metro Councilor Shirley Craddick, I turned our collective attention to the remains of the individuals before us with these words:   

"Cast your mind back nearly 150 years ago to 1868 when this place was known as Hillside Farm, established as Multnomah County’s first Poor Farm. Regardless of the circumstances that brought these early Oregonians to the Poor Farm, or to be buried here in a Potter’s Field, and for as little as we know about them as individuals, we do know this...

"These were human beings more like us than not, in their capacity for love and for grief, for joy and for disappointment. They had hopes and dreams. Perhaps they had a sense of another life beyond the one that ended here. And they left a legacy. Surely there were those who cared for them, who missed them, and remembered them. They may have touched others and shaped them in ways that have been passed down through the generations, perhaps even shaping who we are today.

"One of their clearest legacies is in the respectful way their remains now are being handled. The inadvertent discovery of these remains connects us more powerfully to our past and to the stewardship of the land we now gather on. And, most significantly, case studies of the best practices established here by all of you will influence any number of communities going forward. For all of this, we approach the remains before us with gratitude."

Because we did not know their names and because the specific spot would go unmarked to ensure protection in perpetuity, I invited participants to give voice to the nature of the place we were now imbuing with our presence. 

We scattered coins into the grave, honoring the tradition of providing fare for the ferry that symbolizes the crossing from one world into the next. We then ceremonially closed the site with shovels full of moist earth.

After John O'Donohue's "Blessing on Passing a Graveyard," I offered these closing words to the construction workers, Zoo officials, archeologists, and others who had invested so much in the process:

"Burial ceremonies are intended to mark endings and bring closure. Today we have laid to rest the remains of individuals we did not know but with whom we now share an enduring connection. This brings to a close the long period of diligence and care on the part of all who’ve been involved. You too can lay to rest your efforts on their behalf. As with any ending, the seeds are sown for new beginnings – the generations that visit the Zoo in years to come will learn more about the history of this place and the people who preceded them. Thank you all for bearing witness, for paying your respects, and for fully honoring the legacy of this sacred place."

All gathered were visibly affected by the experience of serving as an honor guard of sorts for these ancestral remains. As one told me, "I didn't expect it would go this deep." Another commented, "I was very impressed with the interest and attendance, and by the connections that everyone made with the human beings whose stories are so bare with the passing of time. I am moved that so many other people were so touched by this." 

Further testimony to the legacy of those who came before us and the power they have to move us and connect us to place, to history, and to each other.

I often wish I had a magic wand, but I'm careful to remind clients that I don't. I believe in the power of ritual and ceremony, but I can't guarantee the outcome. This was especially true for a ceremony I created for "Liminal Laura," a young woman in a time of turbulent transition who chose, in her words, "to turn towards my fears and confront them head on." 

I worked with Laura to define her goals for the ceremony and collaborated with her close circle of friends on the gifts they wished to contribute. On a sweet spring afternoon in a backyard strewn with wildflowers, we gathered to witness a retelling of Laura’s story, how she got to the in-between place that was causing such pain but which she knew she needed to honor. 

To symbolize the fears she'd felt nearly smothered by, Laura burrowed into a pile of blankets and then shed them, reciting a quote she'd selected from Marianne Williamson. When she emerged, her friends bestowed on her a set of Katniss-style braids and a miniature quiver of arrows, in tribute to her fierceness and courage.

Having envisioned the ceremony as affirming “a shift from stagnation to movement, from silence to a strong voice” we then turned to a movement exercise where each of us embodied a word written on slips of paper Laura would keep, qualities she sought to embrace for her journey forward: Patience, Fearlessness, Curiosity, Community, Resilience, Resolve, Gentleness, and Humility. We then echoed Laura's voice in a litany of reinforcement as she spoke her intentions.

We closed the ceremony with participants reflecting to Laura what each of us saw in her; she in turn shared tokens of her gratitude with us. After a rousing rendition of "This Little Light of Mine," we lit Flying Wish Papers and dug into a beautiful potluck feast.

You can read about the immediate impact of the ceremony on Laura here. But the full impact is still unfolding. Here is what she shared with me a year later:

"Unleashing my intentions and freeing up my heart and mind to the possibilities opened up the flood gates. I feel like I set the river in motion, hopped in my boat with my paddle, and have been moving along and riding the water ever since. 

"My goals have manifested in many ways, both physically and emotionally. I secured a new job that is tapping into old passions and helping me develop new talents. I travelled to visit old friends, a journey I had feared for almost seven years, which proved to be both healing and rejuvenating. I sold my condo under the most miraculous circumstances, which allowed me and my partner to spend six wonderful months living with dear friends and then move into our own house. And this winter I conceived a baby who is expected to arrive in September! 

"It’s hard to believe this has all transpired in less than one turn of a calendar year. Yet despite all the tangible things that have manifested, the biggest, most profound ‘accomplishment’ is the sustaining calm I feel inside. A year ago, it was all I could do to stay afloat as the waters stormed around me and yet this past year has been vivid, clear and peaceful. This sense of peace has been the greatest gift, which is teaching me how to live in the moment and appreciate what each day has to offer.

"The act of planning my ceremony, working with Holly to articulate my intentions and then asking friends to bear witness to my process, was intensely empowering. The ceremony afforded me new agency in my life that I was yearning for, but did not have the courage to do alone. Picking back up after having reset my course proved to be the hardest part. The ceremony, and the support of my friends gave me the push and the momentum I needed to get back on the water."

*       *       *

My deep thanks to Laura for the privilege of witnessing and supporting her journey, and the opportunity to share her story.