Lake Farewells: saying goodbye where the water holds you

Some goodbyes belong to water. There’s a way a lake keeps quiet for you—the light resting on the surface, the tiny lap of waves, the feeling that the world is breathing a little slower. Families often tell me, “This is where they were happiest.” A dock at sunrise. A little cove off the path. A worn bench with a view you can’t forget. The ceremony becomes more than a moment; it becomes a place you can return to.

If you’re planning a farewell by a lake, here’s a gentler, more human way to think about it—no perfect script, just what I’ve seen help again and again.

Choose a spot that feels like them

Walk the shore with your hands in your pockets. Notice what your body says before your mind does. Maybe it’s a tucked-away inlet for privacy, or an open stretch of water for big sky. Think about how easy it will be to come back, and take a minute to check local guidelines for scattering. When the place is right, something inside you softens. Trust that.

Let the light help you

Morning or late afternoon usually brings kinder water and fewer people. If wind picks up or plans change, let them. Presence matters more than schedules.

Bring less, feel more

You don’t need much. A biodegradable water urn that floats for a moment, then sinks and dissolves. A handful of petals (native, if you can). A small towel. One short reading or a song on your phone. If your family is spread out, consider mini biodegradable urns so each person can hold their own release—same hour, different horizons, one intention.

How the moment can unfold

Arrive and stand together. Say their name. Three slow breaths with your feet firm on the ground.
A line to begin is enough: “We return you to the water you loved.”
One memory—short and true.
When you’re ready, hold the urn together if you can. Set it gently on the surface and watch as it drifts, sinks, and dissolves. If you brought petals, let them follow like a blessing.
Close with a minute of quiet. Maybe a hand on a shoulder. Maybe a line to keep:
“Thank you for your life.”
“Your love stays with us.”
“We’ll meet you in the water and the light.”

That’s it. Truly.

If children are there

Give them a small job. Let them sprinkle petals, pick the song, or say one sentence: “You taught me to skip stones.” Participation turns fear into tenderness.

Keep it kind to the lake

Choose biodegradable everything—urn, notes, ribbons. Skip glitter and confetti. Take home all packaging so the shore looks as peaceful as when you arrived. Small choices add up to a goodbye that also cares for the place that’s holding you.

When you can’t all be together

Love travels well. Invite everyone to gather where they are—same day, same hour. Afterwards, share one photo of the water and a sentence about what you said or felt. Different lakes, one circle.

After the water

Some families take a slow walk, others share a quiet meal, some light a candle at home that night. Mark the date somewhere. Take a photo of the light on the water. These anchors are gentle ways to return when you need to.

I’ve stood at many lakes with many families. What I never forget is the quiet—how it gathers around you while love does its work. If you’re planning this now, I hope the water is kind, the light is soft, and the words—whether spoken or silent—feel like yours.

With tenderness,
Virginia