My first ceremony as a newly-certified Celebrant was missing a typically essential ingredient: a client. Instead of a client in the driver’s seat, I had something equally important at my side... serendipity.

ser·en·dip·i·ty (noun): the faculty of making fortunate discoveries by accident; a happy accident or pleasant surprise.

I had stepped forward to offer a collective ritual of remembrance for an extended community that for nearly 40 years has produced a feminist arts and cultural festival in the woods of central Michigan, attended by thousands of women and girls each summer. The Michigan Womyn's Music Festival had lost three of its beloved longtime leaders: Therese, Kelly, and V. Knowing the impact that their deaths would have, and that some participants would be feeling other losses deeply, I placed a notice in the workshop program:

We lost some beloved Festival sheroes this year. Let’s come together to honor, mourn, and celebrate the passages in our lives and our community. Bring memories and ritual objects.

I had no idea what to expect. There were a hundred other activities scheduled at the same time, and the ceremony was assigned a fairly remote wooded location to provide a sense of peaceful seclusion amidst the hubbub of festival life. But I sensed early in the week that something special was going to happen. The ceremony would be directly touched, it seemed, by each of the women it was designed to honor.

The first bit of serendipity came in the form of a message from the close friend of Therese, a pioneer of the community known to many as “the voice of the festival”. It turns out this friend was the keeper of Therese’s guitar and was hoping to sing some of her iconic songs at the ceremony. Great! But I had no way to contact her so I wasn’t sure that she would end up coming.

The next happy accident came as I began to make my way to the ceremony site. Seemingly randomly, I ran into Kelly’s partner. We’d only spoken by phone, and I knew she wasn’t planning to attend, having organized several other memorial events. But she happened to have with her a memorial guest book that she asked me to bring for participants to write in. And she gave me some lovely keepsake cards to share.

The third surprise came part-way through the ceremony when V’s partner joined us. Several of the festival-goers had come to the ritual specifically hoping to connect with the surviving partner of this charismatic woman whose persona had affected them so strongly over the years. That connection happened now within the ceremony.

I knew that with this ceremony, I was taking a bit of a leap. Rather than collaborating in advance with a client to plan the ceremony according to their wishes, I had to trust that what needed to happen would unfold if I provided a time, a place, and a structure. 

As it turned out, Therese’s friend turned up and shared some lovely, evocative songs. We remembered Kelly in her own words, through a poem on the cards her partner provided. And we heard some spectacular stories about V from her open-hearted partner, Dani. Afterwards, when the other participants had left, Dani and I walked to a grove of trees considered sacred where we released some of V’s ashes.

Letting go of the overly-elaborate structure I had originally planned and opening up to serendipity: it was a fortunate discovery indeed.

At the end of my recent Final Passages home funeral guide training, we were given two parting gifts designed to remind us that joy, humor, and resiliency are intimately bound together with death and loss. The first gift was a goofy flashing toy ; the second, a stress management kit.

The stress management kit contained a world of wisdom slipped into a Chinese money envelope no bigger than a credit card. An enclosed card provided a key to the contents:

• An eraser… so you can make all your mistakes disappear. 
• A coin… so you will never have to say “I’m broke.” 
• A marble… in case someone says, “You’ve lost all your marbles.” 
• A rubberband… to stretch yourself beyond your limits. 
• A string… to tie things together when everything seems to fall apart. 
• A button… for your lips, so you’ll have time to think before you speak. 
• A knot… so when you reach the end of your rope you’ll have something to hang on to. 
• A hug and a kiss… to remind you that someone, somewhere cares about you. 

Cute, yes. Simplistic, maybe. But this dear little packet was also sweetly symbolic of the caring support extended by Jerrigrace Lyons and her husband Mark towards each of their training program graduates. And it was a potent representation of the power of symbols to sustain us in times of trouble.

I recently composed a ceremony-on-the-spot to support dear friends facing a life-changing crisis. I knew they considered sage a source of purification, so we began by burning some, wafting the smoke into every corner of their apartment. Then I folded a long strip of card stock, accordion style, and had them take turns writing their private responses, fold by fold, to the statement, “May we be supported, strengthened, or blessed by….” 

As they sat together on the couch I read their words back to them, revealing a lovely synchronicity between what each had written independently. We paused to let these prayers sink in, then bound their folded intentions with a soft red string.

After offering them John O’Donohue’s Blessing for Courage, we lit Flying Wish Papers to focus on what they needed to release. One round was definitely not enough! We did another, capturing the ash bodies of the papers and letting them go, out the window, into the night air.

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What symbols and rituals do you draw upon in times of trouble?

I am head over clogs in love with life. And I'm terrified of The End. That’s why I’m organizing greater Portland’s first Death Café. Part of a global movement, Death Cafés are a relaxed setting for tea, treats, and conversation “to increase awareness of death with a view to helping people make the most of our (finite) lives.”

Not a therapy or bereavement group, the relaxed Death Café discussion format is attracting people of all ages and from all walks of life to gatherings from Switzerland and London (where the movement started) to Columbus, Ohio (the first in the U.S) to a tree house in L.A.’s Topanga Canyon.

Last month when I was in in another city I had the opportunity to attend a Death Café organized at a local college for faculty and staff. As with most Death Cafés, this one opened with participants responding to the question, “What brought you here?” Often, according to other Café organizers I’ve spoken to, this one question is enough.

The greatest value is just providing a place for conversation, says Lizzy Miles, who organized the first Death Café in this country. “People have stuff on their minds; they’ve never had a place to talk about it. They want to talk and to listen, but not to an instructor. What they like is the chance to express their own thoughts and hear other points of view.”

Unified by a common set of principles (accessible and respectful, free from ideology, safe and nurturing, not-for-profit, and confidential), each Café reflects the personality of its community. At the college Café I attended, our host shared a Twilight Zone episode (vintage 1962) she uses in her course on death and grief around the world. With Mister Death played by a baby-faced Robert Redford, the show provided a vivid reminder of how fear of The End can prevent us from living our lives to their fullest. It inspired discussion on how we imagine death coming, along with such life-affirming questions as “What does fear keep you from doing?” and “From where do you draw your strength?”

If you’re in Portland, join us on Sunday, April 28th (details below and on our PDX Death Café Facebook page). If you’re elsewhere and interested, check out the global Death Café web site to find one – or start one – near you.

• Complete the statement:  Death is______________. 
• What factors in your life lead you to feel about death the way that you do? 
• Do you have any contradictions in your own thoughts about death?

I can’t wait to talk about it, and to hear what you have to say!