How Not to Lose It at Your Dad's Funeral

“How did you manage to keep it together at your Dad’s funeral?” some sympathetic souls have kindly asked. This was in response to a recent piece I wrote on the experience of delivering my father’s eulogy. I thought, rather than reply individually, that I would turn into it into another article which some of you might find helpful.

1. Celebrate the life rather than mourn the death

When I was planning my father’s funeral service, my immediate thought was to choose lots of appropriately sad music: Elgar’s ‘Nimrod’; poignant hymns like The Day Thou Gavest, Lord, Is Ended; and so on. Luckily I realised that this would probably be a mistake.

At a funeral, the congregation is already sad enough that someone they love has died. You really don’t need to twist the knife by tormenting them with music guaranteed to reduce them to tears: the tears will flow quite naturally anyway.

So for the intro music, I chose something jaunty: The Dambusters March by Eric Coates. As well as being an affectionate nod to my Dad’s National Service career (when he served in the RAF), it’s a popular, jolly, sturdy tune that puts a smile on your face. This made wheeling the coffin down the aisle much less painful.

You probably need one solemn, slow hymn to acknowledge the gravity of the moment. My father had already settled this by naming Eternal Father, Strong to Save as his chosen hymn in the Death Book we gave him to fill in, at his leisure, while he was still alive and well. (Death Books are very useful. Every elderly person should have one: they’re your last chance to declare how you want to be buried, who you want delivering your eulogy, etc. They also forestall family arguments after you are gone: your wishes having been expressed, the decision already made).

But one depressing hymn is enough. The others should be rousing ones that offer everyone the chance to sing their hearts out and relieve some of that pent up emotion. We agreed on Guide Me O Thou Great Redeemer and Jerusalem. We did wonder whether it was really appropriate to include two such belters. But Gary, the excellent vicar at Christ Church, Malvern, confirmed them as suitable choices. A funeral service, he explained, needs to move in waves: a quiet, contemplative, mournful bit in the middle, book-ended by outbursts of life-affirming, death-conquering exultation.

We played the old man out to the tune of JSB’s Sheep May Safely Graze. I mean, it’s such a classic why would you not?

2. Keep Your Eyes on the Prize

From the moment I woke up on the day of my father’s funeral, I knew I had but one mission: to give my beloved Daddy the send off he deserved. Just writing that word ‘Daddy’ has brought tears to my eyes, which is why it certainly wasn’t going to be allowed to sneak into my eulogy. My job was not to feel sorry for myself but to deliver an oration worthy of the man.

Also, I’m the eldest sibling. When you are the first born - of five - it’s a job for life. No matter how much your brothers and sisters may subsequently eclipse you in terms of fame, fortune or distinction, whenever you gather together you will always instinctively observe the pecking order you had as children. Therefore, as top dog, you have to set an example. You have to be like a Napoleonic-era naval captain on the quarterdeck of his ship-of-the-line. No matter if there is carnage all around you as your decks are swept with grape, your masts are shattered and your ensign is shredded into a tattered rag. Others may fall but you must keep a cool head.

3. Pretend It’s Not Happening

Of course, keeping a cool head is easier said than done. But for me it seemed to follow quite naturally from my decision to prioritise my delivery of the eulogy. I entered a kind of trance state in which I felt at one remove from the events around me. When the hearse rolled up with my father’s coffin inside, for example, I quickly fought off thoughts like: “Oh no. That’s my dead Pa in there and he’s not coming back.” Instead, I thought, “Gosh. This is all so intense I’m not even going to try to process it. I’m going to act as if it’s more like a dream.”

It works really well as a strategy, I find. The only problem is afterwards when you realise you haven’t really dealt with any of the emotional issues that might have been alleviated had you allowed yourself to sob and weep. Just now I had a relapse of my various ongoing health problems. Michelle, my wonderful osteo, said my cranial rhythms were so constricted it was as if I were suffering from concussion. She ascribed this - because she had come across it before with other patients - to unresolved grief.

4. Be a Christian

You should try this sometime, if you haven’t already. Having a strong Christian faith makes SUCH a big difference to how you see death. Not for one second, no not for one fraction of a second, have I imagined that I’m not going to be reunited with my father again at the Resurrection. This is a great comfort to me.

I realise that to an atheist this will seem merely like a delusional cope. But crazy as it may seem, we Christians genuinely believe this stuff. It’s not a position we’ve merely adopted because the Bible tells us so or because we find it to be an agreeable way of dealing with the fact that we’re all gonna die. No. Knowing that there’s an afterlife, that death has been conquered through Christ’s sacrifice, is the essence of everything we think and do. We don’t feel superior to those who think otherwise. Just a bit sorry for them because, goodness, it must be hard living in a world as increasingly demanding as this one and believing that this is all there is.

5. You Need Dick

Among the qualities I didn’t inherit from my father were a meticulous attention to detail and ability to organise things. Luckily my brother Dick did, which is why things went so smoothly. In military terms, I would be the greenhorn platoon commander desperate to find new ways of getting all his men shot; Dick is the grizzled sergeant who makes sure they don’t.

I had just two jobs - funeral service; eulogy - while Dick took upon himself at least a dozen, from collecting copies of death certificates, informing the various utilities, and booking the church and the grave slot, organising the wake - and the music and photos and sound equipment for our Dick and James tribute - to the tricksy business of dealing with a landlord who, understandably, would much prefer it if the estate went on paying rent for all eternity.

This is the advantage of coming from a large family where there is a range of children with different skill sets. I always knew that having lots of brothers and sisters was a blessing. But I never knew quite how much till my father’s death brought us all together more closely than ever.

So that’s my final piece of advice. If you can and it’s not too late: have lots of children!