At Tomorrow Funerals, we believe every farewell should be a celebration of life, an opportunity to honour a person’s story with heart, honesty, and warmth. It’s this same belief that drives Western Australian celebrant Carina Quinn, whose approach to funeral ceremonies is deeply personal and refreshingly human.
Carina brings compassion, calm, and creativity to every service she leads, helping families move through grief with a sense of meaning and connection. Her work perfectly embodies Tomorrow’s vision: dignified cremations paired with remarkable memorials that remind us love doesn’t end when life does.
At Tomorrow we concentrate on creating dignified cremations and remarkable memorials in one simple package. What do you think of this model?
What I love about Tomorrow’s model is that it gives people space to breathe. Remarkable memorials really matter, because a funeral should be cathartic, not clinical. I’ve always believed death is for the living.
When I experienced loss myself, I remember how hard it was to navigate all the tiny decisions, the cost, the confusion, the guilt of not knowing what was “right.” You’re making decisions in the middle of so much sadness and confusion and heartbreak,
and you just want someone to say, “It’s okay, this is the way.”
The simplicity of this model takes that weight away. This approach gives people permission to stop worrying about logistics. It lets people focus on what matters most honouring their person with dignity, warmth, and love.
What’s the most important thing in planning a funeral for someone you love?
I think what’s most important when planning a funeral for someone you love is recognising that it will look different every time. Grief, family, and relationships all shape what feels right in the moment. Every loss is different, every person is different.
Surround yourself with people who make sure you’re not carrying the load alone. A funeral doesn’t have to follow a formula. It can truly be anything you wish it to be. It’s about creating something that truly honours your person and gives you and
everyone who loved them a sense of peace, a moment to breathe, and a way to close that chapter with warmth and love. It’s about making it feel like them, because they were one of a kind.
One thing I wish every family knew is that funerals are always going to be layered — full of sadness, conflict, and complex emotions. And that’s okay. You’re never going to feel exactly the same as everyone else, and each loss will bring up something different. There’s no “right way” to do it.
Funerals don’t need to follow a template in fact, they shouldn’t. There are so many beautiful options available, and even if you’re only offered a narrow view, remember: you have a voice. You can create something that truly reflects your person, in the
way they lived and loved.
How did you become a funeral celebrant?
I didn’t necessarily choose to be a funeral celebrant. I was introduced to the world of funeral celebrancy when my Nanna died. I wanted to have her service outside in a park that was very pivotal to our family and central to who we were and that hadn’t been done before.
Writing her eulogy and recognising the power of words was huge for me. Afterwards, all the stories that came out and the sense of relief that I got from that time, all I wanted to do was go and talk to her and say, “Hey Nanna, I didn’t know all these things about you how amazing!”
Then, when I went to pay the bill, the director asked me if I’d ever gone into celebrancy. It was a little too soon at that stage, but it stuck in my mind.
Later, when I when I did get into Celebrancy I really felt drawn to that side of the work. Over time, through my weddings, people who knew my warmth and storytelling style began asking me to celebrate the lives of their loved ones and that’s how I found my way into this space.
What do you get out of being a funeral celebrant / why do you do it?
What I love the most about being a celebrant, be it a celebration of love or a celebration of life, is the storytelling, having a yarn, finding the connection across lifetimes and milestones. I get a real, true sense of helping and assisting. I do it because this is such a pivotal time in the lives of those who remain — and I ask myself, how can I ease that as much as possible?
How can there be glimmers of light and life taken from what is often such a traumatic time? How do we elevate and lift off from this place, instead of letting it drag us down because it really can go either way. I’m proud of the support and care I can provide in those moments of need.
I want to hear about your person, what they meant to you, how they made you feel. And I’ll do my darndest to capture that in words for those who cannot speak, and for those who cannot get the words out themselves.
Death is complex. It’s hard and it makes us feel all sorts of different things. I want to sit with you in that and normalise that however you’re feeling is okay.
I’m proud to help people find moments of light and meaning when words feel hardest to find. I listen deeply — not just for facts, but for the little moments that reveal who someone truly was. From there, I craft a ceremony that feels real and human,
something their loved ones recognise instantly as them. I bring a calm, organised presence to every service, balancing sensitivity with structure so families can focus on their person, not the logistics.
My role is part writer, part guide, part anchor. I help families find words and structure when everything feels a bit unsteady. Storytelling has always been at the heart of my work. It gives shape to memory, helps people laugh through tears, and creates
something meaningful to hold onto. I believe when a story is told well, it becomes a kind of medicine.
Having celebrated both beginnings and farewells, I’ve learnt that the same ingredients make a moment meaningful — honesty, warmth, and connection. The energy might shift, but the intention stays the same: to honour people through words that feel true.
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