Yesterday, I led the memorial service for a man who’d died suddenly, leaving his group of friends in shock. Because he was living abroad at the time and was cremated fairly soon after his death, none of them had been able to be there at the time to say goodbye. As a group of people united in their grief, they needed to find some creative way of marking his death and also, most importantly, celebrating his life. Gathering together to say to themselves and each other ‘he was here, he was our friend…and we miss him’.

Brought together by his wife, they decided to hold an event here in Cambridge. With a mixture of different faiths among his friends, and knowing that he wasn’t religious, they felt that a humanist ceremony was the best option for them, and the best way of bringing everyone together to celebrate his life in the way he deserved. Non-traditional but creative and, most of all, inclusive of everyone who loved him.

One friend, tasked with finding them a celebrant, did a quick search online… and found me! I am so, so glad that they did, because it turned out to be one of the best, most fulfilling experiences I’ve had in five years as a celebrant.

I learned so much from watching and working with this group of friends. In my closing words I said that it had been a privilege to bear witness to their collective grief, to the way that they supported each other, and to how they helped each other start to make sense of such an enormous loss. And I meant every word.

Over the course of a couple of months there were dozens of online meetings, shared documents and WhatsApp conversations as we pieced together the outline of a ceremony that would make space for everyone who wanted to speak about their memories of what had been a formative friendship for so many people.

I said early on that it would need to be a collaboration, and that’s exactly how it turned out. We all worked together to decide on the music, the venue, the order of service, the flowers and the catering - everything. We negotiated some complicated and difficult family dynamics (his family were not, in the main part, going to be at the service)… but we did it together. Even on the day itself, we all met early to put out the tables and chairs, set up the music and test all the tech and, as the room hummed with activity, I noticed people also taking moments of quiet reflection or conversation. All an important part of the grieving.

We included elements of faith too, to honour the Catholic background of his wife’s family and also to include two friends who are ordained ministers. As one friend, who led prayers at the end of the service remarked, “a service held in a Catholic parish hall, led by a humanist celebrant and with two Anglican vicars… that really is the essence of inclusiveness, and a reflection of how he brought us all together in life”.

I also said in closing that I hoped that creating the ceremony - the collaborative and collective expression of their grief - could represent the start of their healing journey. I really believe that it will be.

The morning after, over my first bleary-eyed cup of coffee, I started thinking about the importance of collective grieving, of having the opportunity to creatively express - and share - our feelings of loss, especially when we have nowhere else to ‘put’ that grief.

Like many people working in death care in some way, I feel so strongly about raising awareness of the alternatives. It’s not about us telling you what should happen, or what a farewell should look like. It’s about us supporting you to create the ceremonies and rituals that are the right ones for you. It’s about opening up spaces for collective grieving. Grief doesn’t need to be hidden. It doesn’t need to take place in isolation.

A lot of the articles out there on collective grieving are about big world events, and how we can process them together. But I think the same applies to losses like these. The sudden and shocking loss of a friend, experienced by people whose main connection to each other is that person, a shared grief translated into collective action and creativity. It’s a powerful thing - and a real privilege - to be a part of.

They were an incredible group of friends.