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Karen Partridge, a humanist celebrant, recalls meeting a man three weeks before his death: \u201cI asked him, \u2018How would you like to be remembered?\u2019 And he said, \u2018As a world class pianist, but unfortunately, I can\u2019t play the piano!\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n Karen smiles at the memory. \u201cThat was the opening I used for the ceremony,\u201d she says. \u201cIt made people laugh. It just summed him up.\u201d<\/p>\n Reporting on the stories that matter to you. Only with your support.<\/p>\n Over the past decade, she has officiated more than 350 funerals across the South West, helping families create ceremonies centred on a person\u2019s life, values and character rather than religious belief.<\/p>\n It\u2019s work she describes as both a \u201cprivilege\u201d and, at times, \u201cemotionally draining\u201d. She helps terminally ill people plan their own funerals, listens to life stories, supports families through grief and guides people through some of the most difficult conversations they will ever have.<\/p>\n Religion has long helped people make sense of death \u2014 some thinkers argue that\u2019s precisely why it exists.\u00a0<\/p>\n Ernest Becker, writing in the 1970s, who argued that our fear of death \u2014 what he called \u201cdeath terror\u201d \u2014 drives the systems we build to create meaning: culture, religion, status, achievement and legacy.<\/p>\n Religion, he suggested, offers the promise of \u201cimmortality\u201d \u2014 whether through heaven, reincarnation or an afterlife \u2014 it provides an answer to the great unknown of what happens when we die.<\/p>\n But in an increasingly secular city like Bristol, where many no longer believe they will \u201cmeet their maker\u201d, what do we turn to instead?<\/p>\n Tea and cake at the Death Caf<\/strong>e\u00a0<\/p>\n Just off Bath Road in south Bristol sits the Victorian-era Arnos Vale Cemetery, the resting place of educational campaigner Mary Carpenter and Hindu reformer Raja Rammohun Roy. Amid this historic setting is a more modern, novel approach to mortality: the Death Caf\u00e9, one of several now running across the city.<\/p>\n \u201cThrough listening to other people\u2019s stories and sharing their own anxieties, I\u2019ve seen people change from feeling really frightened about dying, to feeling a bit more comfortable.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n Invented in 2004 by Swiss anthropologist Bernard Crettaz, Death Caf\u00e9s set out to challenge what he called the \u201ctyrannical secrecy\u201d surrounding death. Informal gatherings where people talk about death \u2014 usually over tea and cake.\u00a0<\/p>\n The room fills and the session begins. Around thirty of us split into smaller groups. Mine discusses lasting powers of attorney, what happens after we die and fear of death.\u00a0<\/p>\n Well \u2014 specifically, my fear of death.<\/p>\n Despite being the youngest in the group, and less than half the age of some attendees, I seem to be the only one visibly unsettled by my own mortality.<\/p>\n Mary Tutaev, the caf\u00e9\u2019s facilitator, has led the Death Caf\u00e9 here for seven years, after first attending as a participant. She later reassures me: \u201cWe have members who, regardless of age, feel the same way.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSome people with real death phobias have shown tremendous courage to come to these meetings,\u201d she adds.\u00a0<\/p>\n For many, it is easier to talk about death with strangers. \u201cIf you try and talk to your family or friends, they can get concerned,\u201d she says. \u201cThey might think, \u2018Are you feeling all right?\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThrough listening to other people\u2019s stories and sharing their own anxieties, I\u2019ve seen people change from feeling really frightened about dying, to feeling a bit more comfortable.\u201d<\/p>\n It held true for me: for all the heaviness of the subject, the tone was light. Conversations drift easily between grief and humour, practicalities and anecdotes. And surprisingly, perhaps, talking about death leads us to speak just as much about life.<\/p>\n Burial or cremation?<\/p>\n Spiritual benefits aside, coming to terms with mortality makes practical sense. Not talking openly about death with our loved ones has significant implications.<\/p>\n Last year, according to the 2026 Cost of Dying report<\/a> by life insurance company Sunlife, more than half of funerals in the UK were arranged by people unsure whether the deceased would have preferred burial or cremation. While 18% didn\u2019t know their loved one\u2019s funeral wishes at all.<\/p>\n A 2025 survey<\/a> by the Money and Pensions Service found that over half (56%) of adults <\/a>hadn\u2019t made a will. Last year, the average cost of a basic funeral was around \u00a34,285. With 39% of UK adults having less than \u00a31,000 in savings, bereavement can quickly become not just emotional, but financial too.<\/p>\n And there\u2019s a cultural cost too. For Mary, modern society doesn\u2019t always allow space to grieve. \u201cThere\u2019s a feeling of disconnection in the way people are supported after death,\u201d she says. \u201cWe\u2019ve learnt to hand over the responsibility and the whole business of arranging a funeral to funeral partners.\u201d<\/p>\n Rethinking ritual<\/p>\n Lockdown restrictions during the pandemic meant that, at one point, only ten people could attend a service \u2014 often the people closest to the person who had died. \u201cThey don\u2019t need to hear about that person\u2019s life because they\u2019ve lived it,\u201d Dee explains.\u00a0<\/p>\n She believes this shift has had a lasting impact on how funerals are organised. Eulogy-led ceremonies became less central. Instead, mourners brought objects connected to the deceased, placing them on the coffin and sharing stories through them.<\/p>\n Dee describes this as \u201ca much richer approach\u201d to talking about someone after they\u2019ve died. It is a ritual she and the Divine Ceremony still use today.\u00a0<\/p>\n Forgoing rigid traditions opens up a world of possibilities for how a funeral can reflect the uniqueness and richness of a person\u2019s life.<\/p>\n Karen recalls a ceremony she led for a man who loved gardening and spent years growing vegetables on his allotment to share with neighbours. Instead of flowers, mourners brought vegetables to lay on his coffin.<\/p>\n \u201cWe had carrots, leeks, some potatoes and cauliflowers,\u201d she remembers. Afterwards, the produce was donated to a food poverty group.<\/p>\n She shares another story from a colleague: a funeral for a man living in a hostel who had died with no obvious community. After learning he had served in the military, the celebrant contacted his unit and the ceremony was filled with retired soldiers from his squadron.<\/p>\n It is the kind of unpaid work celebrants undertake to ensure that even people they have never met receive the best possible goodbye.<\/p>\n Even Lady Di only had a 45-minute funeral<\/p>\n Death is a topic we are, societally, tempted to push aside. I\u2019m no different. Spending weeks talking, thinking and writing about it has been challenging. But I\u2019m inspired by those who are confronting mortality \u2014 taking control of how they are remembered and planning for what comes after.<\/p>\n There is a kind of peace in engaging with it rather than avoiding it. Those who confront death often gain a new perspective on life.<\/p>\n Dee recalls watching Princess Diana\u2019s eulogy and realising: \u201cEven if you\u2019re a princess, your ceremony is only 45 minutes long.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n \u201cSo if something is not important enough to be spoken about in my 45 minutes, how important is it right now?\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n Similarly, Karen says her work has left her knowing more than anything else that life is: \u201crandom, unpredictable, and can turn on a sixpence.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIf any opportunity to do something comes up, I take it and I never miss opportunities to meet friends,\u201d she says. \u201cBecause I\u2019m all too aware that life is short.\u201d<\/p>\n Independent. Investigative. Indispensable.<\/p>\n Investigative journalism strengthens democracy \u2013 it\u2019s a necessity, not a luxury.<\/p>\n The Cable is Bristol\u2019s independent, investigative newsroom. Owned and steered by more than 2,600 members<\/b>, we produce award-winning journalism that digs deep into what\u2019s happening in Bristol.<\/p>\n We are on a mission to become sustainable, and to do that we need more members. <\/b>Will you help us get there?<\/b><\/p>\n
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