When my father died, we kept saying the same thing.

"We don't even know where to begin."

He had been sick for a while, so the death itself wasn't a surprise. But when it actually happened, everything felt scrambled. The hospital called. The hospice nurse came by. We contacted the funeral home and arranged for cremation because that's what he had said he wanted.

After that, there was a strange gap.

No plan. No clear next step.

My brother said maybe we should keep it simple and not do anything formal. My aunt said we would regret that. I felt stuck in the middle.

A friend dropped off dinner one evening and brought a small booklet with her. She said someone had given it to her a few years ago when her own mother died. It was called Your Farewell Guide.

She didn't make a big speech about it. She just set it on the counter and said, "It helped me think."

For a few days, it sat there.

One night I picked it up and started flipping through it. It wasn't complicated. Just questions. Things like, "Where would you feel most comfortable gathering?" and "What do you want people to remember?"

We didn't follow it step by step. But it gave us somewhere to start.

One question asked what Dad loved doing most. The answer came quickly. Fishing. Always fishing.

Another question asked where we felt most connected to him. That one took longer. Finally my brother said, "The lake."

So that's what we did.

We invited close friends and family to meet us at the lake where Dad had kept his small boat. No program. No order of speakers. Just a time and a place.

We brought his urn and set it on a small folding table near the water. My nephew brought a speaker and played a few of Dad's favorite country songs. Not loudly. Just enough to hear.

People stood in small groups at first. Then someone started telling a story about the time Dad's fishing line snapped and he insisted the fish was the biggest one that ever got away.

Others joined in.

We didn't scatter his ashes that day. We just gathered.

It wasn't perfect. But it felt like we had done something that fit him.

Later that night, the Guide was still on the counter. We hadn't used all of it. We didn't need to. It just helped us begin.

Based on conversations shared with John H. Callaghan