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Amongst the celebrant profession we often celebrate how we do things differently. Whether supporting a joyful wedding couple or a family in grief, we speak proudly of our unique selling points, the fresh ideas we bring, the new or unusual rituals we offer, and, for weddings especially, the fun and personality we weave into the moment. We usually begin with a blank sheet of paper and welcome clients who arrive with their own imaginative visions. But what matters just as much is that we don’t lose sight of the value of tradition, because for many people, tradition is exactly what they seek and genuinely need.

There’s a moment near the start of a funeral ceremony when someone leans forward ever so slightly. It’s subtle but I always notice it. It’s usually the moment I begin telling the life story of the person we are remembering. I see shoulders relax a little and breathing steadies as that more formal moment when we process into the room closes and now sat steadily it’s time to reminisce. Grief can make us feel adrift, but stories told of a loved one anchor us to others in the room as we share a collective smile or gentle laugh, the nod of another person who shares the same memory.  It’s like an invisible hand on your shoulder.

When I began my journey to become a celebrant, I knew I needed to sort out my wardrobe. Long gone were the days I'd only want to be seen in the latest trends and in my past work I either wore a uniform or a bit of smart casual. But somehow I instinctively knew I needed  collection of smart suits, ties and shoes, not just because that's what celebrants wear, I just knew this would be important. 

As a wedding celebrant I often find myself  the "go-to" person on the day of the ceremony,  approached to help in a minor crisis. And so I quickly learned how handy it is to bring a bag full of useful items. So What's in the bag?

Something I always remember. When I completed my very first funeral ceremony I caught up with the wife of the gentlemen whose life we honoured. She told me she could remember how she felt at the funeral, the weight of sadness and trying to stay composed, but she couldn't remember all the words that were spoken, the tribute I'd written the poems I'd read, it all seemed like a blur. So now, after every funeral ceremony I deliver, I print of a presentation version of my ceremony script, including all my spoken words and tributes, any readings and poetry, the music titles and artists, plus any eulogies spoken by others.