What Death Has Taught Me About Life

When I first became a funeral celebrant 11 years ago, I thought I was entering a profession that was all about death.

I couldn't have been more wrong.

Over the years, I've sat with hundreds of families. I've listened to stories around kitchen tables, in living rooms, over cups of tea and sometimes through tears. I've heard about extraordinary lives and very ordinary lives. People who travelled the world and people who rarely left their hometown. People who achieved great things and people whose greatest achievement was simply being there for those they loved.

And what I've learned is this:

Death isn't really my teacher.

Life is.

Death simply has a way of making the lessons impossible to ignore.

Isn't it funny how death can teach you about life?

One of the biggest lessons I've learned is that the things people worry about most during their lives are rarely the things people talk about after they're gone.

I've never had a family tell me how much their loved one earned or how much time they spent at work. 

Instead, families tell me about kindness.

They tell me the times the shared times.  

They tell me about the way their person made them feel.

They tell me about fishing trips, burnt dinners, terrible jokes, handwritten notes, Sunday traditions and the way someone always answered the phone.

The moments that mattered most often seemed insignificant at the time.

I've learned that our lives are made up of thousands of tiny interactions that become our legacy.

I've also learned that people are wonderfully imperfect.

When families gather to share stories, they don't tell me how perfect someone was. In fact, some of the most loved people I've ever met were gloriously flawed.

They were stubborn.

They were opinionated.

They made mistakes.

Sometimes they drove their families crazy.

And yet they were deeply loved.

We spend so much of our lives trying to be enough, when the truth is that the people who love us often embrace us because of our quirks not despite them.

Working with grieving families has also taught me not to postpone joy.

I have heard too many stories that begin with, "We were going to..." or "One day we planned to..."

Life doesn't always wait for the perfect time.

The perfect time is often now.

Make the phone call.

Take the photo.

Go on the trip.

Have the lunch.

Tell people you love them.

Not because something terrible might happen tomorrow, but because today is already worth celebrating.

Perhaps the greatest lesson of all is that connection matters.

At the end of life, relationships are what people talk about.

The friendships.

The family gatherings.

The neighbours who checked in.

The colleagues who became friends.

The partner who stood beside them.

The grandchild who made them laugh.

The people who showed up when it mattered most.  

Again and again, I am reminded that a meaningful life is rarely measured by what we accumulate. It's measured by the connections we make and the impact we have on others.

Being a funeral celebrant has given me a front-row seat to humanity.

I've seen heartbreak.

I've seen resilience.

I've seen families find strength they didn't know they had.

I've seen love continue long after someone has died.

And while death is often viewed as a sad and difficult subject, it has given me an extraordinary appreciation for life.

For ordinary Tuesdays.

For shared meals.

For conversations that run longer than expected.

For people.

For memories.

For photographs.

For moments that seem small until one day they become everything.

So yes, after 11 years as a funeral celebrant, death has taught me a lot.

But perhaps what it has taught me most is this:

Life is happening now.

Not someday.

Not when everything is organised.

Not when the timing is perfect.

Now.

And that's a lesson worth paying attention to.