How I came to realize we should have celebrations of life before it is too late for those to celebrate their own lives.

Have you ever heard that most people receive more flowers dead than they do alive? In many cases, the sad fact is: we do not celebrate a life until the living are gone. What we usually call “Celebrations of Life” are beautiful occasions, but unfortunately, the celebrated are not there to receive the love. What’s more, they are not there to give that love back. Why is it that we wait until someone passes on to assemble all their most important people in one room?

A few years ago, I wondered this very thing at the funeral of a friend’s mother. She had tragically died of pancreatic cancer and hundreds of people gathered for the service. As the pastor spoke in the calculated cadence of measured emotion, I sorted through the memories I had of her during my high school years. I would never be able to thank her for the generosity she bestowed upon us rowdy and ungrateful teenagers. The pilfered snacks, the packed basements, the unbridled energies that led to broken screen doors and vases that she (and so many other parents and grandparents long gone) endured without the appreciation she deserved.

As the Nurses Honor Guard started performing the Nightingale Tribute, I started thinking about my own funeral. I thought about who I wanted to attend, who I wanted to speak, and who I wanted to perform. I imagined the venue, the attire, the photos displayed, the videos shown, and, ultimately, the tone I wanted it to have. I did not want it to be morose. In fact, I was sure I wanted it to be a party. A dance party, to be exact. As I started to clearly picture the event in my mind, I thought, “Hey, I want to be there, too!”

Looking around the church, I realized that my friend’s mother would have loved to attend this ceremony. Her two children sang a tear-jerking rendition of “What a Wonderful World.” Her friends shared memories of her ranging from heartwarming to hilarious. Pictures of her from every facet of her life adorned the perimeter of the room. Of course, in many ways, she was there. But, I thought, couldn’t she have been there more than in spirit? With a disease like pancreatic cancer, couldn’t there have been a way for all of us to show her all of this love, for her to be there to receive all that love, and for her to be able to express that love back in the way she wanted before her passing?

That night I began my plan of creating what I’m calling a “culmination.” I did not want to call it anything that signified an “end,” a “final,” or a “goodbye.” Rather, I wanted to focus on everything that a person had already done in their lifetime, signaling an achievement to get to where they are now. Thus, I came to the name, “Culmination.” Though it could be for those who are close to the other side, I identified a culmination could be for anyone who wanted to celebrate their life while they were still alive. Why gather your nearest and dearest for only weddings and funerals?

In these times, we are sorely in need of more reasons to gather and be joyful. In fact, we are inventing new ways to do this and turn them into traditions. Had anyone heard of a gender reveal party two decades ago? My hope for creating culminations is not only to add more jubilation to our lives, but also to change the way we confront the beginning of the end of our lives. Moreover, I want to help those, who have so much to carry as they face the unknown, recognize there is still time to rejoice. I want to get my flowers while I’m still around to smell them, don’t you?

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