Recently I filmed a Celebration of Life, and I keep thinking about it.
I didn’t know the person. I was there as the videographer the family invited. Many friends and relatives couldn’t be there: some live on the other side of the world, some couldn’t travel, some couldn’t get away. I set up two cameras so that everyone who couldn’t be in the room would still get to see it, and I know there are people far away waiting for that video.
Our original plan was to go further and stream the ceremony live as a hybrid celebration, with people in the room and loved ones joining online at the same moment. On our side everything was ready: cameras, sound and the streaming setup on site. The challenge was on the other side of the world. Many of the relatives who wanted to join were older, the time difference meant the ceremony fell at a difficult hour for them, and there was no one nearby who could help them get connected in time. So we recorded instead.
I still think a hybrid celebration is a beautiful idea. Grief doesn’t care about geography. A cousin in another country or an old friend who can’t fly anymore deserves to be part of that hour too. When it’s done well, with clear sound, steady cameras and someone looking after the technology so the family doesn’t have to, the people watching from far away aren’t just “viewers.” They’re mourning together with everyone in the room. And afterwards there’s a recording the family can keep and share.
The celebration itself was beautifully arranged. A warm room, flowers, photos on the tables, coffee and the quiet hum of people who hadn’t seen each other in years. Someone had clearly put a lot of love into every detail.
There were a few speeches. Family and friends shared memories, some funny, some that made the whole room go quiet. A few photos were shown. It was heartfelt, and it was right.
I truly enjoyed listening. Standing behind the cameras, I got to know a stranger through the eyes of the people who loved them: stories from different chapters of their life, little habits that made everyone laugh, kindnesses people still remembered years later. By the end of the hour I felt I knew this person a little.
And that’s exactly what I can’t stop thinking about. Those stories were only the ones that happened to be remembered by the people who happened to be in the room. How many more were lost? The stories only they could tell, from their childhood, from their own point of view, in their own words. Nothing had been recorded, so those stories went with them.
Maybe it’s from the movies, but I expected to “see” the person. A slideshow that moved through the decades. A short video. And most of all, I wanted to hear their voice, telling a story from their childhood, laughing about something that happened forty years ago, explaining in their own words what mattered to them.
Instead, we pieced them together from what others remembered. Those memories were precious, but they were ours, not theirs. A whole life, with all its turns and stories, was summed up in an hour of speeches and a handful of pictures. It felt like the life wasn’t fully captured, and so it couldn’t be fully celebrated.
I don’t say this as criticism of the family. They did everything they could with what they had. The hard truth is that by the time we gather to celebrate someone, it’s too late to ask them anything.
That’s exactly why I started The Life Chronicles.
We sit down with people while they’re still here and record their story in their own words: where they grew up, how they met the love of their life, what they’re proud of, what they’d want their grandchildren to know. Their voice, their face, their laugh, kept for the family forever.
There’s real research behind this. Palliative-care studies of “legacy” interviews, pioneered here in Canada by Dr. Harvey Chochinov, show they bring comfort both to the person telling the story and to the family left behind.
When the day comes, that film or story podcast becomes the heart of the Celebration of Life. Instead of only talking about someone, the room gets to hear from them one more time.
And for the people who can’t be in the room, we can help make the celebration hybrid: filmed with multiple cameras, streamed live to family and friends wherever they are, and recorded in full HD so the family keeps it afterward. What I learned is that the venue is the easy part. The key is planning early: choosing a time that works across time zones, sending simple joining instructions, doing a test call with the people watching from far away, and making sure older relatives have someone nearby to help them connect.
If you have a parent, grandparent or someone you love whose story you don’t want to lose, please don’t wait. Ask them the questions now. And if you’d like help recording it properly, or making sure no one is left out on the day, I’d be honoured to help.