Best friends come in all shapes and sizes.  Sometimes they have big ears, whiskers.  And a four-legged loss can be just as devastating as a two-legged companion.

Such was the case with Biff, a dog who was memorable in many ways.  When he passed, after a long and colourful life, he was cremated.  And kept.  It was difficult to let go of him, partly because his owner didn’t know how.  A spiritual person, she wanted some kind of memorial service for him, one that honoured him. When she discovered she could have exactly what she wanted, she was ready to scatter his ashes.

Here’s part of the ceremony, as spoken by Biff’s owner:

Love of life.   Love of every part of the day.  The morning snuggle.  Home-made food.  Getting out in nature and thanking God for another day.  Riding in the convertible in the summer.  Burnt orange sunsets in the autumn.  A good towel-off when it’s wet outside.  Meeting and greeting new and old friends. The rustle of the cheese wrapper.  Dessert after main course.  A brush and massage before bed.   And lots of hugs in between.

All simple things.  But not in the least simple.  I believe fully and sincerely that the best things in life aren’t things.  They are people and moments.   I include you in the “people” category because I know you were (and are) are a very old soul…one of the oldest wisest souls I have ever met.  I thank God for matching us up, and giving me the chance to become a much better person.  I will always be grateful for our time together.

I continued a little section, called “Lessons Learned from Biff”:

• You’ve shown that the people we love don’t need fixing…they are just fine the way they are.

• And if someone tries to fix us, it’s ok to love them anyway.  But if they push too hard in the areas that are the most critical, it’s o.k. to give them a little nip…just as long as you let them know that they are still loved.

• You’ve shown that what we do with those we love is not as important as the just being together.

• That when you welcome people well, they want to come over more often.

• And that when people don’t have to worry about being judged, they are safer and happier.

• That when we look back, the simple moments are the ones we treasure the most.

• You’ve demonstrated that real friends are always faithful and consistent; they love you the same way to your face and your back.

• That if you get bitten once, it shouldn’t dominate the rest of your life.

• And that pedigrees and job titles are just bits of paper people need to feel more important, but what they are inside is even more important.

• That mutts and unanticipated guests may add some unpredictability to life, and that’s a very good thing.

• And finally, that there is no greater gift than being genuinely appreciated by someone else.

Rituals help us come to closure when we’ve lost someone.  Often there’s the ritual spark:  “we should plant a tree in his memory”  or “let’s scatter her ashes in this place.”  Then most of us begin to flounder as we look for meaningful ways to make our idea take shape; after all, this is not something we do every day.  As someone said to me recently, “We’ve got the place, date and time.  I’m afraid we are going to be standing there, holding the urn, saying: ‘now what do we do?’”

The gap between “this needs to be really special” and “this is how everyone else does it” can be massive, and it tends to deepen, given our connection to the person we’ve lost. If it’s strong, then we really want to honour that person, to make the ceremony all about them (rather than us). We want a ceremony they would be honoured to attend, if they were still with us.

That was the case with the South End Community Association (SECA).  Their local mentor Gino Sedola passed away in October 2008, but his memory is still very much alive in Nanaimo’s South End.  A Memorial Tree planting made perfect sense. He was a stellar man, and it needed to be a stellar event…a ceremony just like Gino: comfortable, authentic, creative, joyful, and full of good stories.

Rain was expected, so the rituals needed to be designed accordingly.  And given the weather, there was no idea of the numbers that would attend.

On a grey Sunday morning, about 50 people gathered.  They said hello to Gino in their own way.  They heard about a Gino Sedola that few people knew, transported back in time to a vibrant neighbourhood where “Folks said hello. Families connected. Kids played.  Gardens grew.  There was food, wine and song.  And a real sense of community.”

The tree was planted intentionally in steps, with stories shared by a family member, a local dignitary, the SECA chair, & a neighbour.

Everyone attending got the chance to participate in some way. In a delightful turn, the local poet laureate/ street musician pulled out his flute and played a few interludes.

Once we finished planting, I offered this:

“Here stands Gino’s tree.  It will look down Irwin Street, which holds both the roots of his past and his hopes for the future.  It will stand in his place and watch over the neighbourhood he loved.”

While there was lots of warmth and humour in the ceremony, the funniest part, as usual, was unplanned.

Click here to view the embedded video.

At the close, just as we were offering a blessing to thank Gino, someone nearby started a muffler-less truck, revving it mercilessly to warm up the engine.  The last line?  “When we hear the heart of the South End beating – we remember Gino.”  I haven’t laughed so hard in ages. Gino would have loved it.