The Country Celebrant So here we are, the middle of January already; the United Kingdom has been buffeted by a series of storms that have swelled the rivers until they burst, leaving people with a deluge of mud and silt and detritus to clear away.
We have lost icons of the stage and film and on a personal level we have, undoubtedly, lost people who mean the world to us; ordinary people who made no momentous contribution to the world but who shaped us by the very fact that we knew them.
I was told the story of a cowman who taught a child to care for calves, to rear those orphaned, by hand - dipping her hand into a bucket of warm milk and allowing the calf to suck her fingers until it got the hang of how to drink. I remember doing that as a child, I remember the rasp of the tongue on my fingers and the anticipation of a bite. A calf does not bite, he does not have the teeth to do so.
I am preparing for a new journey in my life; I have one son living on the other side of the Atlantic in Canada now - he is making his own, independent life with a set of friends that I do not know, in a place that I have yet to visit and at temperatures that are beyond my experience.
My daughter is treading a more familiar path - she is training to be a teacher and will be able to teach me as she becomes more qualified and able than I ever can.
I am going to add to my life by training as an End of Life Doula - a midwife of death; sounds odd maybe but I know that it will enrich my life and sit comfortably with my job as a Celebrant. I want to walk the final journey with the families that I work with - help to support them in the last days of their shared life. It may be that I do nothing other than make cups of tea and walk the dog but I hope that by being there I can help them to have the conversations that they should have; say goodbye with no regrets and be confident that the death has been the very best that it can be for all concerned.
Every year when I reflect on the deaths of those whom I have lost; I recall the times that we shared, the laughter and the tears but I am left with a regret - the questions I should have asked and did not, the photographs of people that I know were important but who I cannot name and the anecdotes that I remember imperfectly. I want for that imperfect recollection not to be the experience of the people who I serve.
We have lost icons of the stage and film and on a personal level we have, undoubtedly, lost people who mean the world to us; ordinary people who made no momentous contribution to the world but who shaped us by the very fact that we knew them.
I was told the story of a cowman who taught a child to care for calves, to rear those orphaned, by hand - dipping her hand into a bucket of warm milk and allowing the calf to suck her fingers until it got the hang of how to drink. I remember doing that as a child, I remember the rasp of the tongue on my fingers and the anticipation of a bite. A calf does not bite, he does not have the teeth to do so.
I am preparing for a new journey in my life; I have one son living on the other side of the Atlantic in Canada now - he is making his own, independent life with a set of friends that I do not know, in a place that I have yet to visit and at temperatures that are beyond my experience.
My daughter is treading a more familiar path - she is training to be a teacher and will be able to teach me as she becomes more qualified and able than I ever can.
I am going to add to my life by training as an End of Life Doula - a midwife of death; sounds odd maybe but I know that it will enrich my life and sit comfortably with my job as a Celebrant. I want to walk the final journey with the families that I work with - help to support them in the last days of their shared life. It may be that I do nothing other than make cups of tea and walk the dog but I hope that by being there I can help them to have the conversations that they should have; say goodbye with no regrets and be confident that the death has been the very best that it can be for all concerned.
Every year when I reflect on the deaths of those whom I have lost; I recall the times that we shared, the laughter and the tears but I am left with a regret - the questions I should have asked and did not, the photographs of people that I know were important but who I cannot name and the anecdotes that I remember imperfectly. I want for that imperfect recollection not to be the experience of the people who I serve.
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