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.

At the end of each year, I have a little sort out of the printed scripts and service sheets that I have accumulated during the past 12 months. I have a digital copy of every script on my computer, so I re-cycle the paper version but keep the order of services. I always find it really moving to see the faces and recall the names of those whose lives I've helped to celebrate. I remember the family visits, the music played, the tributes paid... and I think, what an honour to have played a meaningful part in all these farewells.

Here's a picture of all the service sheets from 2017, during which time I led more than 150 ceremonies. That's a lot of families who will be experiencing their first Christmas without that special someone. I'll be thinking of them, and hope they can take comfort from all they shared together and the many happy memories they left behind.

"I caught sight of this cosy red jumper and thought it was the sort of thing my late father would love."

Here's a heart-warming story in the news this week about a woman who was out shopping with her family and the sight of a red jumper triggered a sudden feeling of grief for her dad who died 10 years ago. She tweeted her thought and was overwhelmed with the response that followed. Read about it HERE...

If you were watching BBC Breakfast News yesterday morning, you may have seen film director Steven Eastwood being interviewed about his new film 'Island'. It's 'a life-affirming phenomena of dying' as he follows the last 12 months of four terminally ill patients at the Earl Mountbatten Hospice in Newport on the Isle of Wight, bravely including the moment of death.

I wanted to find out more about the film, and about Steven, and came across a feature he wrote for The Independent last week. In response to his experiences of filming and meeting the patients, he says...

"We fear proximity to death will change us, depress us, forge lasting negative associations with people we love. But it doesn’t. What was it like and how did I feel, when Alan died? I felt elated. Beautiful, unspeakable and strange. To my mind [the film] isn’t harrowing or burdensome. I felt uplifted and empowered by the extraordinary events I was fortunate enough to be invited to bear witness to. I hope that something of that feeling of empowerment has translated to the screen."

The film premieres at the BFI London Film Festival this weekend and I'm hoping it will be available to view in the months to come. In the meantime, if you want to see the full Independent article, you can read it HERE.