Maggie’s Story: Shaping a Farewell That Felt Like Her

Every so often, you meet someone briefly who stays with you long after.

For me, one of those people was Maggie.

I first met her when she reached out wanting to plan her own end of life gathering. She didn’t use the word funeral — she didn’t like it. She preferred gathering, or sometimes even party.

Maggie had a terminal illness, and she knew her time was short. What struck me most was her calmness. She wasn’t afraid — she was clear. Clear that she wanted her ending to reflect her life, on her terms.

Over cups of tea at her kitchen table, she told me about her life: years of hard work, dreams she’d held quietly, and the heartbreak of never having the chance to travel.

She’d always wanted to see the world. But life intervened. Her husband had ongoing health issues, and more than once the money she’d saved for travel disappeared before it ever became a plane ticket.

She spoke about it with a resigned shrug.

But the ache beneath it was still there.

When we began talking about her wishes, she paused and said,

“You know… I’ve been thinking that maybe I can still travel. Just in a different way.”

When I asked what she meant, she told me she wanted her ashes placed in the ocean — our ocean, here in the South Pacific, where the East Australian Current carries water and life for thousands of kilometres.

She smiled and said,

“If I go into that current, my ashes can travel the world for me.”

There was so much poetry in that thought.

Together, we began shaping her farewell.

She didn’t want a funeral, but she did want a send off — a kind of bon voyage. She chose direct cremation so her ashes would be ready, followed by a brief, informal ceremony at the water.

Family and friends gathered on a jetty.Songs from happy times were played.

Her daughter shared a few words.

A poem Maggie had kept tucked inside a book was read.

There was space for anyone who wished to speak.

A moment of reflection, and then her release.

Afterwards, there was a picnic, with her grandchildren playing on the foreshore.

And then there was Maggie’s favourite part: the paper mâché turtle urn.

When I showed it to her, she lit up. She loved the symbolism — slow, steady, ancient travellers of the sea. A dissolvable urn that would float for a time before gently releasing her ashes into the current.

When she told her family about it, she laughed and said,

“This is how I’m finally taking my trip.”

There were tears.
There was laughter.
But mostly, there was understanding.

Maggie didn’t want a funeral.

But she did want a moment,
a gathering,
a goodbye that felt like her.

Planning with Maggie was tender, grounding, and quietly beautiful. She reminded me that even when life doesn’t unfold the way we hope, there are still ways to shape meaning. Still ways to create beauty.

In the end, she found her own way to see the world after all.