It has taken me 7 years to write my first blog. And I know that I am very late to the party, and by now I should be doing podcasts or making reels or whatever, but that's me - ever the dinosaur.
My focus for my first blog is not about being a Celebrant but about NOT being a Celebrant, more specifically about time out, down time or, to use the latest buzz word, #selfcare.
Working as a Funeral Celebrant, in the main - I do weddings too, but they are planned a good way ahead so not a part of this conundrum - usually involves a 10-14 day working cycle. You take a booking, you contact the family and arrange a meet, you write the service and then deliver it on the said date and time.
As for any self employed person, taking a week off is a big thing - you have to work like billy-o to get everything done before you go, ready to work immediately you get back. You take the risk of actually being off for 2 weeks or more, if you are not on your phone, taking bookings and planning family meets for your return. And then there is the FOMO and Imposter Syndrome - how much work will I miss? What if they choose someone new while I am away and they like them more than me?
BUT, being a Celebrant requires a number of skills - public speaking, story writing, empathy, compassion, a certain level of detachment - I am very sad for my clients but it is not my personal loss - I am not employed to grieve with them, but to support them through this part of the process.
My greatest skill, in my opinion, is that I am incredibly nosey. I want to know as much as possible. When visiting a family home you have a window into their lives - their photos, art, collectibles, their decor, it tells you so much about them but, it is the questions that count. One if my favourite questions to a person who has lost the love of their life is 'tell me how you met?' Immediately a wave of nostalgia replaces the grief for a few minutes and they tell me things that, sometimes, their children don't even know. A man once told me that he fell in love with his wife just by watching her legs walk past his work every lunchtime. He was a mechanic in a garage, working under cars all day, with a rollershutter door pulled 3/4 of the way down. And at 12.05 every day the shapliest, most beautiful pair of legs, in stilettos and the hint of a pencil skirt, walked past the rollershutter and he knew that he was going to marry her, and he did. Now there will be some of you who will be tagging this as sexist or undermining to women and I get that, but, this was the 1950s, and I am not cancelling it. Their relationship spanned over 60 years, with him caring for her, single handedly, for the last 10 and with her not knowing who he was for the last 5.
This was true love. I hope the Tinder generation, with their list of specifications and requirements, get to experience it too.
Anyway, I digress. To do this job, wholeheartedly, to be in the company of the bereaved, to talk about death and to write about it every working day can take it out of you. You cannot run on empty. So, here I am, on holiday, resting and rejuvenating. Gaz the legend is next to me, living his best life he says - and he has dealt with some shite, still is. And across the pool, lying in their cabanas with their beautiful partners, are 2 of our boys. I don't get many chances to be with them fully, this is a brilliant opportunity and I am so glad they are here. I couldn't prouder of the men they have become. In terms of parenting, that is it, job done. So this week I am not a Celebrant, I am a wife, a mum, a holidaymaker, a lazy mare. Next week #lynntheceremony will be back, full strength. Thank you for reading my sunbed ramblings and remember - eat the cake, buy the shoes, spend the money. Tomorrow is definitely not a given.