2024

Hello there - it’s been five years since this first blog was published. I still think it’s a pretty good story. :)

Pine Box Funerals continues to provide end of life planning services as well as cremation and natural burial when death occurs in the greater Edmonton area. Five years later, we’re doing pretty good and are grateful to those who have trusted Pine Box when circumstances have been challenging and sometimes, overwhelming.

Today, I want to share another Danny Michel tune. Danny plays sold out shows at Festival Place, pretty regularly. He covers all the tough stuff of life and when the show is over, I always go home feeling encouraged and uplifed. He’s been interesting to follow through the years, and this tune gets me up and moving everytime. It’s also a great meditation for me - a bit of mental self care. Could be for you, too.

Thank you Danny Michel!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kpZeX3TUaSs

2019

If you know much about me, you know I’m a big music fan. It’s common knowledge in close family circles that Dennis and Bonnie’s favourite Saturday night is at home, tuned into CKUA Radio with a couple of adult beverages. If you listen to CKUA or have attended music festivals in Canada, you’ll know Danny Michel as a great Canadian musician. He penned a tune called, “Who’s Gonna Miss You When You’re Gone?” 

It was a dull grey morning in March with a bitter north wind blowing. They huddled in small groups outside the funeral home doors. They were there for their friend who had passed and they were there for each other. It was an unexpected death. Heart attack. Austin was in his late 40s, had a great vocation as a trades instructor. He worked hard and he played hard. The tight little groups of people outside wore leathers, the smoke was thick, and I noticed a small flask making its way from one hand to another. 

Austin’s buddies had trailered his treasured Harley Davidson motorcycle to the funeral home as a focal point for the front of the reception area. There was a framed photo and a vase of traditional lilies on the table. At just about five minutes to the hour, the shivering bunch outdoors collected themselves and shuffled in, head down, eyes lowered and no one wanting to make eye contact with a funeral director. 

It was a nice service -- a hired Celebrant who brought the pieces together for the family and covered all the bases. At the conclusion, all in attendance were invited to stay for a small lunch. The guests grabbed their belongings and headed back to the parking lot for a smoke while staff reset the room for visiting. This is the part of a Celebration of Life that is my favourite. Each of those in attendance grabbed a plate of lunch and found a seat around a table where they would visit and share their stories. I remember the music play list - it was mostly Johnny Cash, some Beach Boys. The chatter around the tables grew energetic and the room became warm and intimate.

I was at the back of the room when I saw this man rise from his chair. He slowly walked to the front of the room where Austin’s personal mementos were. He stood about a pace back from the photo table and slowly surveyed what was in front of him. He then gently reached into his shirt pocket, twisted on the button and lifted out a package of cigarettes. As he stood ever still he opened the pack and took a smoke out. He closed up the package, put it back in his pocket and stepped closer to the photo of his buddy. As he lowered his head to look at the photo, he rolled that cigarette between his fingers - back and forth. His lips moved gently for just a few seconds and then he lifted the smoke to his lips, gave a gentle kiss and placed it at the bottom of the frame. He stood for a few more seconds, then turned and went back to his table. It was in this moment that I recognized a sacred moment. He was saying goodbye to his friend. He was saying “I’m gonna miss you, when you’re gone.”

As we consider the reality of our mortality, what a great reflective question this is. Who’s gonna miss you when you’re gone?