If I can bring you joy on a day like today…
It’s different
Designing for a wedding is a thrill. There’s a time limit, folks are getting ready and are a little jittery, and I’m working with live materials that may or may not be the exact color or shape I anticipated, so I often have to pivot. Generally, I have to be ready for anything and make things work. There’s an excitement to that. The energy is big and grand and hopeful and full and spreading.
Designing goodbye flowers is different. Folks are quiet or laughing, remembering. Sometimes their minds are a little fuzzy, processing. And what I hear are stories. Stories that I listen to and take in and translate into the language of flowers. It’s quieter work. And the energy is more focused and narrow. Because the moment feels sacred.
Seeds and weeds
My first funeral flowers were for a sister-in-law’s dad. My brother called and told me stories about him. He had a degree in horticulture, and he loved seeds. He saved all sorts of seeds, and he planted unidentified ones, eager to see what would sprout, even if it was just weeds! He served in the Vietnam War, and it took many years for him to recover from his experiences. He had four daughters, whose growing-up experiences with Dad progressively reflected that slow recovery, from the oldest to the youngest.
I included tropical leaves for his time in Vietnam, soft blush spray roses to represent his girls, and Proud roses to reflect our collective gratitude for his service. I used myrtle for his English heritage, seeded eucalyptus to remind of all the seeds, and down-home chamomile for the weeds. I told my brother later some of the specifics of how I chose to reflect his father-in-law’s story, and he must have passed them on, because when it came time to pull out a stem to drop on the casket, his wife asked me, “Which one was to look like the weeds?” I showed her the chamomile, and she pulled it out with a smile on her face and laid it on the shiny black surface.
That is my goal. If I can bring you just a little joy on a day like this…
Something tangible
During the visitation, the grandkids had played. Hide and seek around the stage. They ran their hands over the raised embroidery stars of the flag, feeling the fuzzy threaded texture. And for some reason, it was a fun game to touch their noses to the thistle in the floral spray. And they looked and asked questions and touched. When a loved one suddenly is not there anymore and can’t be touched, it’s nice to have something still that can be.
At home in a garden
My most recent funeral was for a woman my age, with school-aged kids. Our kids acted in plays together, and another friend and I were part of the rotation that helped tend her garden years ago when she and her family were out of town. She had a lovely garden. There was a whole cast iron tub in her backyard, filled just with strawberry plants! And she had veggies growing on trellises, and lots of flowers. My friend and I even brought some more plants to tuck in to her empty planters, as a surprise for when she returned home.
So I felt like I knew what she would like, or what would feel like home to her children and husband and parents. Instead of a flat spray on her casket, I created a garden of greenery and flowers. I listened to the Little Women soundtrack while I worked. Because she was such a vibrant, energetic, powerful, loving woman, and the mix of solemn and fun and triumphant tunes grounded my heart and gave me direction.
She was an educator, to her own children and others, and so it felt fitting that I had a young protege (along with her mom!) helping me create additional garden florals to grace the stage behind and the floor in front of her casket. The sanctuary was so full, and people showed up early and formed a steady line to say goodbye to her. I hope the garden we created around her helped soften the impact of her loss, by reminding of the beautiful things that had always surrounded her.
If I can just bring a little joy on a day like this, it is my quiet, sacred privilege.
