My interest in non-religious funerals dates back to the death of my father. I was working abroad when he died; by the time I returned, things were cut and dried, and the funeral director had already engaged a local minister. The resulting service seemed a travesty, not only because we weren't a religious family, but also because the ceremony itself seemed in no way to recognise my father as an individual. There was scarcely any mention of his achievements, his love of his family, his principles, or the things he believed in, such as social justice. My mother and I left the crematorium feeling short changed.

My mother told me later that she did not want a religious funeral when she died. And so I approached the British Humanist Association and obtained their booklet Funerals without God. Eventually I became accredited to conduct humanist funerals, an activity that has become an important part of my life since I retired from my NHS post as a cardiac anaesthetist.

Humanists are atheists who believe it is possible to have morality without religion. Religion is rejected on the grounds that there simply isn't enough evidence for belief in a caring, loving God who created the universe and who answers our prayers. Thus the humanist takes an “evidence based” or scientific view of the world, as opposed to a belief based one.

After conducting a few funerals, it struck me that there was a similarity between visiting bereaved families in order to gather information to use in a ceremony and visiting cardiac surgery patients and their families at the bedside preoperatively. This is not primarily because the cardiac surgery patient knows there is some risk of not surviving, but rather because there is an immense need for trust. The patient and family are usually very pleased to have a consultant visit at the bedside, especially if he or she gives the impression of having time to stay and answer a few questions. They will already have seen the surgeon, but that could have been months ago. They often pin their faith on this new visitor, in whom they very much need to have confidence. This new doctor, they want to believe, will look after dad. It feels much the same making a visit before a funeral. I often, especially in close knit families, feel the family reaching out to me, relying on me, implying “we trust you totally to do the right thing for dad.” And just as an anaesthetist takes a pride in delivering a patient in good condition to the recovery ward, as a humanist officiant, I take a great pride giving the bereaved family the help and support they need at a difficult time to mourn their loved one.

Since I don't conduct religious ceremonies, I have no control group with which to compare, but I have a feeling that non-religious funerals are often requested by truly remarkable people, who have led unusually full lives, sometimes exemplary ones. They have often been close to their families and are dreadfully missed. They are often noted for their willingness to help others, and have been active in educating their children to be rounded individuals. They are inventors and innovators. One man at whose funeral I officiated, an engineer by profession, had noted haematuria during a long distance flight he made in his 70s. On returning home, he made a microscope slide of a drop of urine, thought he saw some abnormal cells, and showed them to his doctor. The patient was right: he had diagnosed his own bladder cancer.