Funeral Giggles

You know the feeling. It starts out as a slight snicker. Something funny happened. Somebody said something or did something---intentionally funny or not--- and all of a sudden you can't stop laughing. You replay the scene over and over in your mind and it gets more funny each time. It happens at the most inconvenient times. Usually at church. Usually during a prayer.
     You know the people you can't look at... they'll just make it worse. You bite your lip. You think of puppies abandoned by the roadside. Something, Anything, to make it stop. As soon as you think it's gone. It's not. Your eyes burn hot with tears. You keep laughing that deep, breathless, silent laugh, trying with all your might not to squeak or gasp or snort.

It's really bad when you get the giggles at church. Trust me, it's even worse at a funeral.

     Fortunately, we funeral personnel are usually tucked away out of sight during a service and don't often get caught. There have been times when I have had to step outside to regain my composure after seeing an especially amusing outfit or hearing especially amusing conversations. Sometimes funny things happen at funerals and sometimes everyone laughs. Sometimes, however, funny things happen and nobody laughs at all--which typically makes us laugh even more. There are also times when situations are SO somber that one little funny thing can initiate a serious case of the funeral giggles.
    One particular incident comes to mind: 
     
     It was a stormy day and we had an afternoon funeral. The deceased was relatively young, and we knew to expect a large crowd for the service. The church filled up and as the service started, latecomers gathered in the small narthex. One of my coworkers started to duck out to make a telephone call. He meandered his way through the crowd with ease and quietly slipped out the door. The wind outside, however, caught him off guard. The door closed behind him too quickly and trapped part of his coat tail as it shut. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of his coat tail as he tugged on it from the other side of the door. After a few good pulls, he finally freed it from the grip of the door, but it was too late: I had the funeral giggles. I was cornered in the narthex by the overflowing congregation and did my best to not make eye contact with anyone. As I stared at the floral carpet and bit my lip, all I could think about was my coworker as he stood outside in the storm with his coat tail stuck in the door. It didn't help that another coworker had seen the same thing and was across the little room fighting my same battle with the giggles. I knew that in any other situation, it would not be as funny, but in that moment, it was so difficult to contain laughter. 

    Situations like these happen on a weekly basis and I'll admit it does add a certain amount of emotional relief from otherwise depressing occasions. I've always had a healthy sense of humor and am notorious for causing funeral giggles among my coworkers. We love to recount stories and tease each other about things after-the-fact. I am learning the importance of not taking myself too seriously, and when something funny happens at work, we just roll our eyes and smile with knowing eyes. Full blown funeral giggles among the staff, however, make for potentially awkward situations with funeral-goers. We all have our own way of quickly shifting back into 'funeral mode' on a dime, but I have a feeling that I'll have some pretty awesome stories of funeral giggles for years to come.

The In Between

It has been said that the funeral profession is one that exists in between this world and the next.
     It is true that in my little corner of the world of being a funeral director, life and death seem to overlap. Every once in a while, the reality of my position between the two hits me.
     I'm sitting in church halfway between being settled and being ready to get up and leave if my phone rings. I glance down at a text message that reads, "All the jewelry will stay on." I'll be leaving soon for a funeral. All the jewelry will stay on. A beloved grandmother will be buried with her cherished wedding band and a small, glittery pin in her hair. The last time her family will see her is when I close the casket at the front of the sanctuary before we leave for the cemetery. All the jewelry will stay on.

    The two worlds, life and death, collide every day. Some people experience more loss than others and some losses are more painful than others, but loss is still experienced every single day by someone, somewhere.
      Life and death brush up against one another as I help transfer a corpse from the removal cot to the embalming table. My hand firmly grips the shoulder of a lifeless body, pulling it towards me in the most delicate yet intentional way I can manage. Death spills over at times, from the body onto the table, into my nostrils, soiling linens and making me wish I could hold my breath a little longer.
    They co-exist, these two worlds, in whatever twisted way that is possible, as I hold the details of a funeral service: date, time, place, music in my mind amidst the grocery list and the nagging reminder to get the oil changed in the car.
    Dirt covers the grave at the end of a day. Like death, it's not fresh. Like death, it has been around for a long while; it is the same dirt that has been sitting in that spot since the last disruption. Like death, it settles now, with a certain finality.
    I come home. Take a shower. Scrub my hands a little extra. I water my little herb garden and marvel at the life in the little green plants. I stir the compost in the bin, noting the color and consistency of the dirt. Life and death collide every single day, and you'll often find me between them, probably sweating in the August heat, but nonetheless content to be in between.