I saw this illustration on my Pinterest feed today and it just seemed to encapsulate how we’re all feeling right now. If I’d been in a positive frame of mind, I’d have related to it as a roar of strength – a powerful symbol of energy, pride, patrolling my territory and feeling overly confident like all good tigers. Sadly, I’m not feeling strong and positive. The news is just more and more depressing – whether that’s Covid confusion or the world being on fire, and I’ve just led another ceremony for masked mourners whose emotions are literally having to be covered up and constrained.

So, unlike tiger here, my energy is low from all this constant anxiety, my pride in my work is being knocked by a constant sense of not being able to give families what they need, my territory is a mystery as I’m not completely sure where I’m allowed to visit or stand, and none of that lends itself to a confidence boost.

If, like me, you’re feeling frustrated, exasperated, restricted and not at all jolly and bouncy like Tigger, then throw your head back, open wide and… 1,2,3… “ROOOOOAAAAARRRRR!!”

There. That’s better…

I love hearing life stories and listening to music. So it will come as no surprise that Desert Island Discs is on my list of favourite podcasts. And this week’s episode with explorer Steve Backshall was interesting on many levels, not least for learning about his dramatic brush with death and the impact that had on his life.

In 2019 Steve was kayaking down rapids in Bhutan as part of a new Expedition series. Forced into a tight gorge, he dropped down into water and was sucked in. He remained there, held in the freezing glacial-melt water for four and a half minutes. Enough time to realise he was drowning. Enough time to realise he’d never see his wife and son again. Luckily, he was saved by friend and safety kayaker Sal Montgomery who got a safety line and dragged him out. 

Steve told presenter Lauren Laverne, “ It turned out to be the best day of my life because there is something very liberating about getting a sense of being close to death – it gives you such a greater appreciation of all you have to live for. It was one of the turning points in my life when everything changed. I had a much greater appreciation of what I had and what I had to lose.”

It’s not surprising such a terrifying near-death experience had so profound an impact. Surviving a distressing ordeal like that would make you feel very glad to be alive. But you don’t need to be in extreme physical danger to appreciate that life is precious. Knowing we are all mortal, that our own journey of life – our own expedition – will draw to a close one day,possibly with no warning, is enough to give us a real sense of gratitude for what we each have to live for.

So stay in touch with your mortality. It’s the key to finding happiness, feeling grateful and making the most of these precious lives of ours.

Listen to Steve’s interview on Desert Island Discs HERE and read more about the positive benefits of mortality awareness HERE.

Steve Backshall – Explorer and guest on this week’s Desert Island Discs.

So I decided to give my website a bit of an update this month, including some new pictures of me taken by a photographer based in Bedfordshire called David Clarke. After I booked Dave, it turns out he had actually been to one of my funeral services last year! It was for a good friend of his – a fellow Mod – who sadly passed away very suddenly at a young age. I remember it was a really vibrant celebration of his life, with great music, lots of scooters and very sharply dressed family and friends. So, considering David isn’t local to me, that was a huge coincidence!

I’d certainly recommend David to anyone looking for a photographer. You can see his work at dammophotography.co.uk

It’s been an emotional week this week, as new guidelines around the coronavirus have led to crematoriums enforcing a 10-person attendance rule for all ceremonies. So now families have to choose who they can and can’t invite to say farewell to their Mum, Husband, Daughter, Granddad...

It’s an essential move to reduce the spread of the virus and one I welcome. Up until the 19th March I was still visiting families at their home and, that same day, I led a ceremony for a young man with 250-plus people in attendance. It really wasn’t safe to continue.

With these new rules comes the sight of family members sat two meters apart from each other. All keeping their distance and not being able to comfort each other. I can’t get close enough to offer private words of comfort, shake their hands or give a much-needed hug.

But, with this enforced distancing, rather than making me feel further apart from the bereaved, it’s bringing us even closer together. We’re sharing in a farewell carried out under the most extraordinary circumstances. And rather than my words collectively addressing a large group of family and friends, I’m speaking directly to a handful of individuals – those who were closest to the deceased – and so my words feel all the more personal.

But that means the ‘safety barrier’ I usually use to stop myself from getting caught up in other people’s grief is no longer working in the same way. And, I’ll admit, I’ve shed a few tears this week on the drive home from the crematorium. It’s impossible not to feel moved, and all the hand sanitiser in the world doesn’t protect me from the weight of emotion I’m coming away with – the weight of responsibility as I try to comfort people who are experiencing loss on so many levels right now.

And what next? If the virus ramps up, as we expect it to, there will be no ceremonies at all. It will be straight to cremation or burial, as they are forced to do in Italy and some other parts of the world. In terms of dealing with infection and preventing even more deaths, it’s the right decision. For grieving families, not being able to say goodbye in person will be another loss they may never come to terms with.