Eight: The Shift

Laura, 64

No two meetings [of a Death Café] are ever the same. There's often tears. There's occasionally a lot of laughter.

The first 10-15 minutes are a little bit crazy with people coming in and out with the cuppas. That's distracting but there is no way around that. You don't want it to be too structured.

I make up some simple name cards, just to put in front of people.

"It looks like everyone's got their cuppa. Why don't we make a start?"

We usually welcome everyone and give them a little bit of background. A little bit of the history.

"It's a safe place. Everything here is confidential. There's no agenda. We're not going to force any values or thoughts on to you. We're just going to see what comes up."

We often start off with a little reading or talk about something that's happened to us in the last month.

"Let's go round. What's brought you along today? What's brought you back? What have you gained in the time that you've been coming to Death Café?"

That's generally how we get going and then we just see where it goes. More often than not we look at the clock and think, "We better start winding up."

[Once people see others talking they get more confidence. They can grab onto something and reflect on it.]

I usually say, "Please don't break off into conversation with the person next to you. Give the person who is speaking the respect of listening to them."

It's amazing because, after chipping away for years and years, people are becoming more and more aware.

On Friday night we had to put our dog down. I am much better with people than I am with pets. I don't know whether it's because I've done it for 45 years that I can compartmentalise it. I don't know what it was but that was hard.

He was 13-years old. He actually belonged to our son but, out of those 13 years, he probably lived with us for six and my son for seven. We shared him.

Someone brought this poem along to Death Café and I actually gave it to the vet. He was so compassionate.

As a former palliative care nurse, it was lovely for me to see that and be on the other end of it.

We have a little library at Death Café. I bring a bag of books that we've all read over the years. If there's a lull in the conversation I'll say, "I read this book recently. Would anyone like to borrow it?" That's another conversation piece.

People might share a recent podcast that they've heard.

[It's turning up more and more in culture. Just about every movie I've watched lately has an undercurrent of illness or death.]

It's like anything in life. If it's an illness or you are pregnant for the first time, all of sudden everyone's pregnant and you see pregnancy information everywhere. [laughs]

[Knowledge can empower you to make decisions.]

That's what I always say. Out of all this stuff that I've been collecting over the years... knowledge is power.

When I nursed my mother in 2007, I knew who to contact. We still looked after her at home. You've still got to have family covered 24/7. All services can't do it without someone there.

The hardest part of that was the day when we finally made the call to the Funeral Director. The woman came and she didn't fit the mould at all. She was just sell, sell, sell. She was trying to talk my mother's husband into upselling the casket with a crucifix on each end and on the top.

"Excuse me. Can I just say something? Gary, mum wouldn't have wanted that. We don't have to have that."

She wasn't telling him that he had options.

I said, "If it was nice weather we thought we might have the service at the park."

She was like, "You can't do that!"

I had to put her in her place. Gary was just, "Yes... Yes..." You could just see the click, click, click adding up.

There's a book called Funeral Rites. It's written by an Australian guy about the Australian funeral industry and how a lot of the companies now are owned by Invocare which is a multinational company.

In towns like this we've still pretty much got family-run businesses.

You can do [large parts of] funerals yourself and save money but it's not for everyone. You've got to know way ahead of time that your husband's dying and he wants you to do this. You know it's an expected death. Your GP needs to know that you are doing that yourself so you know that the paperwork is going to be in order. You know that you've got to fill in the paperwork. There's quite a few bits. It's not rocket science, it's just paperwork.

I've known a lady - a retired microbiologist - for years whose husband always wanted her to do this for him. They are a very together family. She just delegated. One of the sons went to the doctor to get the paperwork. "When you've got that, you fill it in and go and pay the Crematorium." They made their own casket to the specifications.

I normally contact MCB each year to get copies of all the paperwork.

We have a man in our group who makes coffins. He's made seven now.

If you came along to Death Café and you are really keen, he'd make one for you. He'd say, "Here's the list of wood. You get the wood. Do you want to make it at your shed or mine?" It might come together over a few Saturdays.

[It's a communal project.]

Art. Death. Creativity. Different ages. Everyone talking about it.

I go to gym on a Wednesday and my trainer is 32-years old. He knows what work I do and I'd just had a really tough week with two suicides, the dog died and I was a bit shattered. I was just physically and emotionally drained.

He was really upset about Max because he used to come to PT with me sometimes. [laughs] It's just in a big shed and I would be the only client there so Max would sit there and watch me push weights and do stuff.

David said, "I'm so upset about Max."

I said, "Have you had much loss in your life?"

He said, "I've been to two funerals. I've never seen a dead person and I've never seen a dead animal."

I said, "That's quite unusual for 32. I've just grown up around death."

My dad died when I was 10-years old, tragically, by suicide. One day he was there and the next day he was gone.

I honestly believe that's why I chose nursing and I now do this. I just would like to demystify it.

Years later when I went back to Jersey, where I was born, I honestly thought I was going to see my dad walking down the street. My 10-year old brain, who'd never seen a dead person, was like, "Where's he gone?"

My dad's death was traumatic and a shock. Mum and dad had had a love-hate relationship. Dad was a bit of a lad. He worked hard but he was a periodical alcoholic. My parents had restaurants in Jersey and every three months he'd disappear with the money from the til.

I have a feeling he may have been bisexual or homosexual and every now and then he just had to get away. Mum kept having him back. He'd say, "I'll never do that again." Then three months later it would be the same thing.

She'd come ready to open the restaurant and he wouldn't turn up. He'd send her a postcard from Paris, "I'll be home next week."

This last time she said, "No."

We had a three storey building. The bottom floor was a coffee shop, middle floor was a restaurant and we lived up the top. He was ringing the bell and I was looking out the window. He's going, "Come on love. Come and let me in."

"Mum said I'm not allowed." She's at the next window going, "No. I can't do this anymore."

That's the last time I saw him. Mum always wanted me to believe that he suicided. Apparently what happened was ... He was upset. Mum had said, "That's it." He went to a friend's house and he drank a lot of brandy or cognac. He fell asleep in this old Victorian house in front of a gas heater but the gas wasn't on.

Was it an accident? I don't know. Years later my uncle said to me, "Don't you think it could have been an accident?" He was devastated and he'd had too much to drink. I said, "You know what? That changes everything." He didn't willingly want to leave us.

I had a brother who was nine months old when that happened. As a result of his death my mum had to keep the restaurant going. In 1966 in the UK there was no kind of family and children's service support. The social worker people were saying, "How are you going to keep these children?"

Mum's plan was to sell the restaurant and buy a little guest house where she could still bring us up. She was a strong woman but she couldn't sell the restaurant.

My dad's brother and his wife had been married for five years and they couldn't have children. They came and said, "We'll look after the children."

I had to go back to school and they had to go back to London so they took my brother with them.

He gets to one year and he's "muma, dada." Mum said, "I can't take him back. I can't do that to him." She gave him up to her detriment. They always said they would tell him as soon as he was old enough. Eventually mum signed adoption papers. I think that's part of the reason that she left.

She sent money for his education, cards ... he never knew about that. He never knew and he didn't find out until he was 21. I pushed the button. He thought I was his cousin and mum was his aunty. I didn't tell him but I contacted him and I said, "There's some stuff you need to know and you need to talk to your mum and dad." They'd separated a couple of years before.

He rang them and said, "Laura rang me for my birthday and said there's some stuff I need to know." They didn't have anywhere to go then so they told him. He rang back about four hours later, in the middle of the night, and said, "Hi sis!" [laughs]

He came and met mum. He came and helped nurse mum when she was dying. Mum went to his wedding. It was a good ending. They had a good relationship and he didn't resent it. He said, "What a bonus! I've got two mums!"

I wasn't allowed to go to my dad's funeral. It was in a Catholic Church and I don't know what happened.

There is a grave. I did visit that and we cleaned it up. We looked at having some proper maintenance done because all the stones had sunk. That was comforting to go back and see mum's name and my name and my brother's name on it. It was like we did have a family here.

My mum never went back to Jersey. She went back to the UK and Ireland but didn't ever really want to go back. She said, "There are too many sad memories."

Dad died in 1966 and she remarried two years later. That only lasted a very short time because he was a bad man. I never ever called him 'dad'. He thought mum was pretty wealthy because she had this restaurant.

She then had 10 years on her own.

Essentially when I was 10-years old, I was told I had to be a big girl and I had to grow up. I don't remember any toys.

It's interesting because I'm trying to write a bit of a book about my life but I'm doing it with a company called StoryWorth. It's an online book and they send you a question once a week. If you really don't like the question you can swap it.

One of my families I helped with their funeral, the daughter had this idea to give her mum something to focus on.

It costs $99 for the year and at the end you get a printed hard-back book with your story in it, however you've chosen to tell it.

This week's question was, "What was your father like when you were little?"

When my brother came back to see us when he was 21 and he walked out of that airport... it was like my father coming back. My two sons are the spitting image of my dad. I've got a little bit of him always with me.

I tried to include a picture of dad in his early days with this week's story. They've all got this very high forehead. He's got a big head.

John O'Donohue's Anam Cara is the most, beautiful Celtic spiritual wisdom book. It talks about the way the Irish deal with death. Often they die in the house and the Undertaker brings the casket to the house. They put the person in the casket and there's wailing and candles and singing. When the time is right, they carry the casket to the Church and everyone in the village goes to the Church.

Of course it's burial. They talk about a Reverse Cesarean. I just love that. Going back to Mother Earth.

I heard this incredible podcast where this beautiful Irish family lost the father. He had a heart attack. He had six daughters. They had him in the house and the Undertaker came to make the plans.

"We'll be taking the pappi down to the Church."

The girls said, "We'll be carrying him."

"We can't be having that. We can't have six women carrying him."

"We've already decided that's what we're doing. He's our dad." They carried him and they buried him with a big wake afterwards. Then the girls went off to their respective lives all over the world.

They lost touch with each other. One was in Canada and she looked up and said, "Daddy. I wish you could give me some sort of sign that you're still looking after us."

With that, an old message came through on her phone. It was the last message he'd ever sent. The mammy rang and said, "The most extraordinary thing's just happened. Daddy's last message has just come through." To her it was a sign! [laughs]

[Such a 21st Century thing.]

They talk about phones going off in coffins. The number of phones that go off at funerals. You've asked people to please make sure the phone's turned off and you just see these blank looks.

I was doing a funeral and this man's phone went off. I just stopped talking and looked at him. He answered the phone! [laughs]

"Hello? I can't talk at the moment. I'm at a funeral."

I just glared at him. If I had been lecturing in a class I would have gone and stood beside him. Everyone would have looked at him. [laughs]

I find it quite odd sometimes that it's quite hard to get people to focus on the event. They all get there and they're all talking amongst themselves and it's so loud. You get up to the podium and I do the, "Welcome everyone. Can you please make sure your telephones are off?" They're still talking and some of them are just not ... you think, "Hello? What are we here for?"

You actually have to say now, "Thank you all for coming. When the first piece of music starts, this signals our start. Can we please have respectful silence?" You have to ask them because otherwise they'll talk all the way through it. I think, "What is wrong with your manners?"

I'm still a bit old school. I understand if you've got to come from work, you come in your uniform but I can't believe what people wear [to funerals].

I've always said to my boys and husband if we're going somewhere, "You're not going dressed like that." [laughs] They know. I just look at them.

"Put a decent pair of trousers on and that shirt needs ironing."

I'd always done nursing. I was a District Nurse with Silver Chain, when we still had Silver Chain. We did all of the home care for young disabled, elderly and then palliative care as well. We had volunteers that would sit with people overnight. That was back in 1987.

One of my colleagues was diagnosed with terminal ovarian cancer. Same age as me with two kids the same age as mine and she died on Christmas Eve. I was driving home from there and I pulled off to the side of the road.

"I've got to get out of this for a while... in this town."

As a result of that I approached one of the funeral homes and said, "Do you do grief and bereavement support for your families and for your staff." He said he did but his idea was, "We send out a book. Every three months we send out a book."

"What about your staff?"

He was recruiting his staff, just people he knew, and they'd often be people who'd lost someone. After a few months he'd say, "Would you like a bit of work?"

It was more about a person having a nice manner and a nice look. They'd make a good funeral worker.

You'd see them up the back of a funeral bawling their eyes out. Was that the right way to go?

I did a bit of work with him. Staff development stuff and grief support.

Really the whole reason I got involved with funerals was I had a client who had MS. He was dying and he knew it. I got there to shower him one day and I could tell he was really worried.

"What's up?"

"I know I haven't got long but I can't afford to die. My wife won't be able to afford the funeral."

At that point I had no idea what a normal funeral costs.

"Why don't I make a couple of phone calls and find out what a basic funeral costs? Then at least we know what we're dealing with."

We only had two funeral homes in town. I came home and I rang the first one and I rang the second one. There was $50 difference for a basic funeral and that was in 1987. Back then it was about $2,700. It's just under $5,000 now.

When I got back the next day I said to him, "I've made some enquiries and this is what it's going to cost."

You could just see the weight lift off him. You hear people say that they've just spent $15,000 on a funeral.

That's how I found out about the 'Single Funeral Permits.' It just so happened that I was listening to Radio National when driving around the district one day. I heard about a group of parents from Byron Bay who'd lost kids with cancer and they wanted to do their children's funerals. They found out about these 'Single Funeral Permits' and so that then got me sparked.

So I rang Karrakatta and they said, "Would you like us to send you the paperwork?"

I'm thinking, "You don't even have to reinvent the wheel. It's all here but it's stuff we don't know about."

[There's a general lack of awareness regarding your rights. That you can do certain things like keep the body at home for period of time.]

I've said to families who've lost babies, "Why don't you bring the baby home yourself for the funeral? If you feel you want to do that."

"We didn't know we could do that."

We've got a few things like a check list of papers and stuff like that. We tell people, "Don't call the Funeral Director until you're ready." This is with an expected death. These ones in the last couple of weeks have been young people and very sudden and unexpected.

This check list ties in with health directives and wills. I've also got information from Centrelink about when you notify them.

[The paperwork of death can be quite complex. Talking to banks, tracking down insurance policies and all those sorts of things.]

That's so stressful isn't it? They say if you don't like your family don't leave a will. You'll send them to hell and back.

People always ask about Wills. If I ever do a talk, I always say that the lack of a Will can cause devastation. The questions are interesting and this often frames where you are now.

We keep adding to our check list, things like your digital footprint. For us that's a big thing.

We had a Clinical Psych who unfortunately died by suicide and she had a huge client base. People were ringing her voice mail after she died and still heard her message.

"It's Sam here. Just leave me a message and I'll get back to you."

They didn't know that she'd died. No-one knew how to change the message and it was very distressing.

When whoever organised her affairs went in to clear her office they had to try and give all her clients to another Psychologist. Some of them were very needy people.

[Privacy and identity theft are big issues on social media when someone dies.]

There was a spate of unfortunate events in Fremantle. People were scanning the death notices to see when a funeral was. While the family was at the funeral, they were robbing the house. That's just real opportunistic evil.

When dad died we left Jersey. Mum remarried quite hastily for companionship. Her new husband decided it would be a good idea to have a fresh start. We came from a 45 square mile island where everyone knew everyone to Australia.

My goal was to get through school, get a job, save the money and go back. That was my mission.

In the meantime, I met my husband and we've been together 47 years. He was my saviour because he came from a big family who just swallowed me up and gave me all the love and belonging I needed.

Recently it was our 45th wedding anniversary and our boys sent us a very special bottle of Moët. We didn't have that for quite a few weeks because the dog was sick.

I finished John Curtin Year 11 and started my nursing training in 1973. I did my three years then I did six months as a Staff Nurse on coronary care.

John and I went back to the UK for a year travelling. As soon as I got back I realised that I actually had a good life here. Out of a lot of that sadness, it was just the timing.

Nursing served me well. I worked over there a bit. We came back and we bought a house. Got pregnant. I went to and from raising the kids - I did the stay home thing - and going back to do a few shifts a week just to help.

We decided to leave Fremantle and bring the kids up in the country so we bought a little property down here in 1987.

I'd waltzed into the Hospital and I'd said that I'd like to put my name down for work. They went, "You don't get a job here in a hurry." You have to be there a long time.

We only knew one lot of people and we went to a party at their house. I got talking to a girl and she said, "You're a nurse and we need a nurse for the district round." I got my job at a party [laughs] and stayed there for 15 years.

I got in with Silver Chain. That was wonderful because going into patient's homes is very different. It's a very privileged place to be.

I was asked the other day how we did the job without mobile phones. We used to go to the phone box at the end of the round and ring Perth to get our new patients. No-one could page us.

I used to bring my little book home and write all the notes in it at the end of the day. I said to my husband, "I suppose one day this will all be on some sort of computer." [laughs]

I had a break for a couple of years and then I got a job as a Practice Nurse at a Doctors' Surgery.

My husband is a bit of an old surfie. We went on holiday to Cactus in South Australia and a young fella had been taken by a shark. The family were coming from New Zealand and they wanted to have a memorial service on the beach. My nursing colleague, who we'd gone to stay with, said, "There's no Minister in town. They're away. We'll have to put some sort of service together."

I went, "I've been to enough funerals. We can do that." So that was my first funeral.

As a palliative care nurse and a nurse you often go to your patients' funerals so you get a chance to say goodbye. Not all of them but some of them are special. I'd seen some pretty ordinary Celebrant work. They've just changed the name of the person.

"Who are they talking about?"

I decided to start doing that and one thing led to another.

I thought, "If I go and get my registration to be a Marriage Celebrant as well, at least I can have some happy stuff."

You don't have to register to be a Death Celebrant but you do have to get accepted by your peers. You have to get a foot in the door with a funeral home and some of them are very cliquey. "You have to have done a course."

There's no set registration. Anyone can conduct a funeral.

I retired from nursing in August last year because I was working seven days a week. I was trying to do the surgery and do weddings and funerals.

I do 60-70 weddings a year and I'm probably doing two funerals a week.

We just became grandparents last year and we have to go a long way to see this baby so I thought I don't need the nursing anymore. It's served me well and it's time to go.

At least with the Celebrant work if I'm not available I can pass on to a colleague or if I'm going away I block off well in advance for the weddings.

I'm doing less weddings by choice now because I don't need the drama.

Marriage Celebrants have got to do professional development every year and you've got to pay your registration fees. People come up to me and say, "I'm going to be a Celebrant." I go, "Good luck. Knock yourself out."

"How much does it cost?"

"It will probably cost you around $7,000 to set up. It's easy. You just rock up and rock up. There's no paperwork involved." [laughs]

The other thing is that it's every weekend.

My husband is semi-retired now and we just found out we can access a bit of our minimal super that I started paying with nursing.

I've never stood up at a funeral and had someone say, "I wish I had worked more." They say, "I wish I had retired when the time was right. Done that travel. Gone to see that grandson in New York." All of those things.

I want to do voluntary work and I want to give back to Hospice. I'm on the committee for a men's mental health initiative. They got the funding to develop an App for men's health (Well Man) and it helped my son out immensely.

The guy who made the App was so kind and helpful when one of my boys was going through a bit of a rough patch. I knocked on the door and said, "Can women come in here?"

"Yeah. Most the people who come through the door are women looking for help for their men."

My son was having panic attacks and I needed to know how to help him. He offered to speak to him and told him about the App. We went to launch of the App on the steps of Parliament House.

It helped my son so much to know that it's a universal problem that young men are having. They're not talking about their needs and they're turning to self-medication.

As the palliative care nurse or the visiting nurse, we listen to the patient and find out what they've interpreted from the doctor. If the doctor has said, "There's no more we can do", we come in with, "There is lots more we can do in terms of support. Do you know about the Cancer Council? Do you know what the Hospice provides? Do you know what the Hospice does for the carers?"

We give them some hope. I've seen the relief on patient's and family's faces. We are not trying to gloss over the fact that we still can't change the eventual outcome. At least we can make sure that they are cared for where they want and how they want, without having to go away from your home.

If they do need to travel, there is Crawford House and Milroy Lodge in Perth where country people can stay when they are up there for treatment.

One of our ex-Clinical Nurse Managers used to offer her beautiful home down here to people who had terminal illnesses. She's got older now herself so I don't know if that's still available.

People used to say about the original Day Hospice, "Why would I want to come out of my house when I'm sick and go and sit somewhere down there and I've got to come back at night?"

One old farmer came in and said, "It's too posh down here! I don't like all these doilies all over the place!" [laughs]

"We can certainly arrange to remove the doilies."

I feel that it's comforting for the patient or the family going through the grief that they might know me already. The funeral home will ring me up and go, "We've got a family sitting here. Apparently you did their granddaughter's wedding and you looked after their granddad. They want you to help with the funeral."

It's cutting through that barrier of having to get someone to help you with the funeral that you don't know.

[There's much less theatre and it's more intimate.]

Yesterday I went out to see a family who've just lost Janet, their 23-year old daughter. I've known them for 30 years. Her granddad used to be the Shire President and he did my Citizenship Award. There are connections with the family and my son surfs with her brothers.

I went into the house and gave them a hug. I sat at the table and we had a cup of tea. I said, "How can I help?"

We didn't have to get to know each other.

One thing that is interesting as a Celebrant is that people will come up and go, "Do you know that person? You spoke about them like you knew them."

We spend a lot of time getting to know their story. That's where I see Celebrants trip up. They don't do the work before and they stuff it up. They get names wrong.

You could see the girls sitting there going ... they didn't know what he was going to say.

My first question usually is, "Did she leave you any instructions about what she did or didn't want?" If it's terminal they've usually had a chance to think about that.

"No. She didn't want to talk about it."

"I reckon she trusted you all to make the right decision. We need to do this work today. I'll go home and write a draft of how it could flow and you need to change anything that's not right. This is so that when I get up on Saturday to speak, all the details are right."

Many of my nursing skills include being with different people and listening, picking up on sensitivities or points of conflict.

I always say, "When I send the draft through, feel free to change it in any way but I want to know that we've got the right tone."

During the funeral itself and after I've introduced myself and my role, I very often will say, "When I sat with Tom and the family on Thursday planning today, they wanted this to be a real joyful occasion."

Some people don't want that word 'joyful' or 'celebrate' so you've got to be careful to say the right words.

The first thing with Janet was a Hymn, 'All Things Bright and Beautiful'. She loved colour. She loved animals. Everyone's got to wear some colour. I want to set the intention at the beginning.

"This is what we are trying to achieve over the next hour. Yes we are all sad but this is what the family have asked for."

With the suicides last week I said, "I wish I could say that everything's ok but it's not. Everyone here is grieving."

Karen used to work here and they had a memorial here too. She was one of their Baristas and they were shattered.

Simon, who served us, actually spoke at the funeral and our brief was to keep it tidy. She wasn't into drugs but everyone around her was. We had two parents there who were completely dysfunctional. This one wasn't talking to that one. The mother wanted this. The father wanted that. The mother said, "I want more say in what's happening." The father said, "I'm paying for it."

There was so much family conflict and I had to try and navigate that. That was hard.

In this case, they were all too shattered to speak so I had to do all the readings. When I saw how much everyone was writing I said, "Listen guys. We're going to have to just rein this in a bit. This is heart breaking stuff. Everyone's going to be listening to my voice for an hour. What I've decided to do, with your permission, is pre-record some of these and I'll get a male voice to read dad's letter."

It's the first time I'd done that and it worked really well.

I did the intro and I read the grandparent's letter and then I said, "We've had so many beautiful tributes for Karen but everyone is too upset to read them. I've pre-recorded them."

I had a little bit of gentle background music and I'd say, "This letter is from Karen's friend Heather."

People were sitting and I could see that they were listening. I could also just stand and listen myself and have a break from talking.

It did keep it very tidy because you didn't have Heather up there, devastated and sobbing. When you see someone up there like that it's hard for me to help. I don't want to take over but I have to keep things moving.

It must have been very distressing for everyone that she had an open casket. The family visited her body in the funeral home every day, twice a day in the week leading up to the funeral. They'd had to do a lot of work.

I think viewing the body once, maybe just before they close the casket, is good if you need to say goodbye. I think more than that is too much.

Maybe that's what they needed to do to realise that she'd really gone.

One man got up at his brother's funeral and said, "I haven't seen my brother for 55 years but he was a big brother. Now I'll tell you a bit about myself." I had to cut him off. I said, "I'm really sorry but this is not the time. Maybe we could talk a bit about that later because we got a pianist about to play."

I just go with my gut feeling there. No-one's ever said, "You got that wrong."

I say, "It would be very helpful if who ever would like to speak would also give me a copy of it. Just so I don't duplicate what others plan to say and, should you stumble, so that I can take over. I need to be able to see what I'm going to be saying."

I have had one or two where it's kind of pushed a button for me and I got a bit choked up.

One of the lovely Funeral Directors here is very supportive of me and, on one occasion, I just looked at him and said, "Can you help me?" He stepped in and he finished the poem ... which was lovely.

There's somewhere in my brain which says that isn't very professional.

It's the power of music. We played 'It's a Wonderful World' at the end of my mum's funeral. Every time I hear it I still get a bit ...

I've got little techniques to control those things when I'm working. There's 'Emotional Tapping'. If you're in a public place you do it on your hands. It's very powerful. If you are having overwhelming emotions you tap on the top of your head. You tap here. These are all energy centres. It just takes your mind off what's going on. I've done it with families just before the funeral.

I did this young lady's wedding. Her dad died of Motor Neurone Disease and she was just in floods [when he died].

"I can't stop crying!"

We went into the ladies' room. I said, "You might think I'm a nutter but let's just do this together." I got her to do it.

"I feel like you've just waved a wand on me." She got through the funeral and said, "I feel so calm. I'm still sad but I feel calm."

If my grooms are tearing up reading their vows I tell them they should curl their toes up really tight or tap their fingers. The middle finger is for grief and loss. That's very helpful.

A wonderful practice that I used to work at used to pay for us to have a massage once a month. I'd go to the massage lady - she was gorgeous - and she said, "What's going on with your neck and shoulders? You've got the weight of the world on these shoulders." She suggested I go and see this lady here. She does something called 'Family Constellations.'

She had little Lego people and she said, "What's your family like? Where's your mum and dad and your grandparents? I want you to pick up a chair and go and put it in front of something in this room."

"I really don't understand what you want me do."

"Just go with the flow."

So I picked up this stool and I went and sat in front of this picture on the wall. She came and stood behind me and she said, "Your dad wants you to know that his death ... he didn't mean to kill himself. It was accident and you're looking at his Death Certificate."

That was a bit weird. I went and sat ... and she said, "What's your biggest regret?"

"My biggest regret is that I've got a wonderful husband and two great children and they didn't get to know him. He never knew them."

I don't know if she was intuitive or psychic or whatever but she said, "He's pretty proud of you and you've done very well." It was all encouraging stuff but it did kind of shift something.

The same thing happened after mum died in 2007. It was wonderful that my brother came.

I was asked to take part in a nursing book which asked, "What's been the best thing about nursing?" I said, "The best thing about nursing was being able to look after my mum with confidence. I knew exactly what to do." I still needed help and it was still hard but I felt like I was giving her ... I ensured she had a good death.

I did all her care and I had all my nursing buddies. We had a roster and they'd come and help me with her care.

Her husband, who is Croatian, was very uncertain even looking after her at home. I said, "It's ok. We can do this. The doctor comes in. The nurses come in. We know when to give the medication."

I even said that on the weekend with the dog. It was the first time my son had seen something die. I said, "He's had a good death. I know that must sound hard for you to hear but I have so much to do with it. He was peaceful. He was surrounded by us. He wasn't afraid. He wasn't stressed. He just went to sleep. It was beautiful after a good, long life."

We sat with the dog quite a long time after he died. He was still warm and then, in the morning, he was cold. It just ... he's really gone. His essence has gone. That really upset me.

I said to my son, "Where's he gone? Where's his soul? Where's his personality gone?" I find that hard to get my head around.

I've read a lot about the Buddhist philosophy. They often say that at that moment when you die, your spirit is like a candle going out but another candle is lit somewhere.

Has he just been reborn as a puppy somewhere? [laughs]

Mum and I had four years to discuss her death because she went into remission and then she declined again. She told me she didn't want to go to a Crematorium. She didn't want to be buried. She didn't like the Crematorium at Fremantle because it squeaked. The conveyor belt squeaks.

We went to a lovely chapel in Hilton which was a bit non-religious but it had nice stained glass.

All through mum's illness her and I had been making origami butterflies. She had this bit of brain irritation where she just used to fold tissues.

She and I made hundreds of these butterflies. They went all over the hospital and the nurses and doctors would come in.

"Here. Have one!" They were spreading all over the hospital. My aunty was saying, "What will you do with them all?"

"I reckon we could incorporate them into the funeral. Instead of having flowers, let's have butterflies."

Everyone got a choice to pick up a butterfly as they came in and hold it for the funeral. When we had the reflection time people could stick it on the casket. Her casket was completely covered in butterflies.

If you're lucky enough and a butterfly lands on your hand, you go, "Wow! This is amazing!" It doesn't stay there long and it eventually has to go.

That's Hospice. You look after a guest which is a privilege but then you have to let it go.

Years before I'd been given this card by this lady - I don't know if she's a psychic or whatever - and it kept falling out of this book. It happened three times over the space of a month. I rang the number and I said, "I was given your card years ago and I never got around to coming. It keeps falling out of a book." It was the 'Anam Cara' book which means 'Soul Friend' in Gaelic.

She said, "I can see you tomorrow."

I'd heard you had to wait months to get in to see her. I arrived at the door. She opened the door and she went like that...

I said, "Are you alright?"

"There's just butterflies everywhere!"

I had a bunch of flowers for her and she put them in the vase. "There they are again! Before we even start... your mother wants you to know she went out in style and her soul is no longer being crushed."

Her husband loved her a little bit too much. He held on too tight and sort of cut her off from all her friends. She didn't drive so she couldn't go out so what she said much such sense to me.

"She's free."

When she died we washed her and we dressed her so that when she left our home to go to the Funeral Director, they didn't have to do the preparation. It was done. That was one of the stipulations. No embalming and we don't want her touched again. We've done that preparation. We also did it with my husband's dad at Fremantle Hospital.

I often say to my families, "When the death occurs, you know you can do that if you want." That's often a really special thing for them to do.

You don't have to embalm the body. You need to say that otherwise you'll see that cost - $2,000-$3,000 - for chemicals.

We've got a natural burial here. On the stipulations is that you can't have embalming.

[It's essentially toxic waste.]

You need to tell them that. The reason a lot of Funeral Directors keep doing it is to keep the practice up and also the cost.

We've got refrigeration. You don't need ... They used to do it for preservation because there might be a delay but with refrigeration you don't need that.

I couldn't speak at her funeral. I wrote the ceremony. My husband, both of my boys and my brother spoke. The Celebrant helped us pulled it together and even he cried because mum's early story was pretty sad. A friend read the eulogy and he cried. Everyone cried.

I just wanted to not be ... up there. I wanted to sit.

[I like this idea that grandchildren often talk on the behalf of their parents.]

The number of times I've gotten up and said, "You can see how proud Bill was of his grandchildren. How amazing that they've been able to speak on their parent's behalf."

One of my boys is very confident and very good at public speaking. He read 'The Circle of Life' from 'The Lion King'.

"Some of us fall by the wayside and some of us soar to the stars." It was beautiful. I've got a recording of it and I quite often watch it because I was so proud of him. It broke my heart to see them upset.

We had a journal there and everyone wrote their special message. One son wrote, "I loved nana. She used to call me 'sugar plum.'" [laughs]

One of the nicest things I remember was all the grandkids wore just black trousers and a white shirt. They all looked smart which was just lovely for her.

I've talked to quite a few people about her death. I have a very good network of colleagues but I did go and have some grief counselling. The 10 sessions. I didn't go to anyone in town because I know them all so I booked someone up in Fremantle. I walked in and realised that I'd trained with her as well.

I went, "You know what? It must be meant to be. I'm not going to change this now ... Here's a flow sheet. I don't want to go back over all this old stuff. Here's where I've come from. Surely this isn't about my dad."

At the end of it she said, "You have a tendency to over function." [laughs]

"You've got to be a 'good girl'. You're caring and compassionate and you're looking after everyone."

Every now and then I go, "Laura. Stop over functioning!" That's part of my personality.

I didn't shut down after mum's funeral but did shut down when my kids left home. I had trouble letting go and that was the catalyst to ... "What have I ever done apart from nursing? Maybe I'll go and become a Celebrant?"

There's a young girl here who had a still-born bub. Grief. She fell into a big black hole. She had a dream one night where she was walking along the beach and saw all these happy children. She walked up to them and asked, "Why are you all so happy?" They'd been drawing in the sand and they'd written her baby's name.

She got up the next morning and went to the beach. She wrote his name in the sand and took a beautiful picture and got it framed.

She was interviewed on the ABC and by the time I heard of her she had written 48,000 names in the sand. People came to her.

This is before the days of having a funeral for a still-born baby.

The doctors used to say, "You'll be able to have another one. Just get over it."

My niece had a still-born bub up at King Edward and she asked me to come up. We had a service for him. They do little hand prints. They do honour it.

[Historically one of the few photos that might exist of a family is when a child died. There's a whole tradition of staging the child for a photograph.]

One of my dear friends lost her 96-year old dad two months ago. He was a Burma Railway survivor. He died in one of the local nursing homes and they called me when he died. I was a good friend of the family and I knew I was doing his funeral.

I did a memorial at the nursing home and then we went to Karrakatta. He had a military funeral. Marching. Bagpipes. The works.

He'd just died when I walked into the room and they were all devastated. I went, "Can I go and say goodbye?"

I looked at them and said, "With your permission, can I just put a rolled up towel under dad's chin and close his eyes? Is it alright f I just make him look comfortable?" Which is what we would do.

They said, "We hadn't even thought to do that. Now he looks so peaceful."

Then I said, "I'm just going to ask the question. You don't have to but if you want to take a photo now, it might bring you comfort down the track." We put his Tartan scarf on because he always had a scarf on. I took a picture of their hands with his hands. That moment goes ...

I have my mother's ring. Mum told me this was her engagement ring but I never ever saw a wedding ring or a wedding photo. Because they weren't married... they couldn't get married because dad was already married. Mum's ring is special to me.

I didn't have anything of dad's really. He didn't have anything.

They'd be working all day in the restaurant. They liked to party and they'd go out saying, "You'll be alright won't you? There's a bag of chips." I'd watch telly and stay up late.

I used to go and get a piece of their clothing. I always regretted that I didn't have anything that belonged to dad. I didn't have the forethought ... I've got some photographs.

I found a letter that a Psychologist had suggested that I write to my father. An Unfinished Business letter. I'd written it in green texta. I didn't read it all the way through but it was basically forgiving my parents for not being there for me.

 

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