The offerings didn't necessarily have to pertain to Mike himself, but to his death. An icon of the Dark Mother or a pentacle, representing the circle of life.
We all shared in what was placed there. A bite was taken from the cake; a single gasp inhaled on the cigarette, before it was extinguished; a sip taken of the liquor before it was poured; the Dark Mother kissed before she was placed.
This was each individual sharing in an aspect of Mike's life. (Naturally, you would only leave a cigarette, if you smoked yourself. Otherwise that would be silly.)
At the conclusion, that shrine was a full testimony to Mike's existence. Anyone glancing at it saw Mike in all that he was. We had all touched everything that could be turned into a tableau of him. (Later the whole thing was packaged and handed to his family. It belonged to them, as he had done, as memento mori now.)
There were tears, both of mourning and laughter, as we told our tales. Now everyone reached into their bags again. We had all contributed to a funeral feast - sandwiches, cakes, tea in flasks (or bottles of the harder stuff), pastries and savories. Where possible, we'd chosen food and drink that Mike would have loved.
We sat in that circle, with the buffet laid out in the center, and we filled our plates. Not merely our own, of course, as Mike's plate was there too. Each of us added something to it too. (Later it would be left outside. For Mike, or wildlife, whoever ate it first.)
All consumed, we stood to conclude our ceremony. The Dark Mother was thanked for Her presence. We let him go. Such a stark four words for a beautiful moment of release. We let him go with Her.
The circle was taken down then, the Watchtowers equally thanked, before the rites were over. Of course, that wasn't the end of the day. We stayed together, remembering, honoring, respecting, sharing our lives, for many more hours.
That is how Wiccans say goodbye for now. None of us expect that it will be farewell forever.