“Do We Have to Wear Black?”, she asked.

When Morgan came to me to plan her dad’s funeral, she had a simple but powerful question: “Do we have to wear black?”.

It was quiet, almost hesitant, like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to ask. But in that one line, I could feel how much love and thought she was already pouring into this farewell.

Morgan described her dad as bright, warm, cheeky even. He wore loud shirts, told terrible jokes, and had a way of making everyone feel welcome. The idea of standing beside his coffin in formal black felt completely wrong to her.

But not everyone agreed.

Tradition, Tension, and the Weight of Grief

Planning a funeral isn’t just about details; it’s about navigating emotion, expectations, and sometimes, family disagreement.

Morgan’s siblings weren’t too sure about letting go of black.

“It’s tradition.”

“It’s just what you wear to a funeral.”

I could see Morgan was trying to honour her dad in a way that felt true to him, but she also didn’t want to create conflict. So we sat and talked.

What Would He Have Wanted?

I asked gently, “If your dad were here right now, what do you think he’d say about all this?”

She smiled. “He’d probably say, ‘Don’t be ridiculous, wear what makes you happy.’”

That moment mattered. It was her way of remembering him not just in words, but in intention. It reminded both of us that sometimes a quiet question holds the most truth: A daughter’s quiet question and a farewell filled with colour, memory, and love.

Making Room for Both

We talked through ways she could honour her dad while respecting her siblings’ wishes.

Morgan chose to wear a bright, floral dress, something her dad had once said made her look like her mum. She paired it with a handbag he’d given her on a family trip years earlier. Her siblings wore black, and that was ok too.

She added a small note to the funeral notice and social posts:

“Dad was never one for stiff suits or quiet colours. I’ll be wearing something that reminds me of him, not because I want to make a statement, but because it helps me feel close to him. You’re welcome to do the same.”

And that note opened something. Guests started sharing stories of his loud socks, his floral shirts, his one time turning up to dinner in bright orange chinos. A few people added a splash of colour in quiet tribute.

A Farewell That Felt Like Him

The ceremony was full of heart. There were tears, of course, but also laughter, music, and the warmth of a man well remembered.

And there’s one photo I still think about: Morgan sitting on a low wall after the service, laughing with a guest as the sunlight hit her face.

That moment felt like him.

And that’s what a farewell should be.

Final Thought

If you’re ever unsure about how a goodbye “should” look, start with this: What would feel most true to the person you’re remembering?

Not what tradition expects. Not what people might say.

Just what feels honest. What feels like them.

Morgan’s quiet question gave her family permission to grieve honestly, in colour and with love. And if you’re facing something similar, I want you to know that permission is yours, too.