Putting the 'Fun' in Funerals

When people find out I'm training to be a funeral director, one of the more common questions I get asked is "Aren't you depressed all the time?"

The answer is: "No." (Imagine me rolling my eyes).
   
     While I may be around death and bodies and people crying all the time, and while I may have attended close to 100 funerals this past year, my job is anything but depressing. It can be chaotic, stressful, and demanding, but it can also be really fun and challenging. Sometimes it is even slow and boring and we all get to go home early, which is fun too.
     Creativity is key. What would you do if you were presented with a family who wants Dale Earnhardt embroidered on the inside of the casket panel? What about with a family who expects an open casket for a person who was decapitated? How do you gently tell a grieving widower that his wife's bra is too big? (Disclaimer: I can answer all of those questions, though not from true personal experience. Yet.).
     I have some really great co-workers and we are able to keep the atmosphere pretty light and productive. The truth is that our wheels are always turning and our minds are going so many different directions in a given moment that we don't have time or energy to be depressed about death. Here's a snapshot:

Now multiply that by 4 or 5 deaths/week (or 16 if it was the week before Christmas)... and that's what funeral directing is like.

(Disclaimer: we always forget at least one thing.)

     There are moments when I question my sanity. Like when I'm standing out at a graveside in a torrential downpour or sweltering heat. Or when I'm staying late to suture incisions in a corpse after a difficult embalming. Or when I'm on hold with an insurance company. Again.

     At the end of the day, we all know that funerals are for the living. As funeral directors, we do what we can to make the process run as smoothly as possible and we cross our fingers that everyone is satisfied with the results of our labors. This is a service industry and it always will be, and I think it's important to be able to have a little fun along the way. I can assure you we all have a healthy respect for the job we do and a distinct sense of reverence for the dead. Our serious moments just need to be tempered by humor every once in a while. It really is gratifying when you sit back and let it all unfold. Maybe somebody cracks a joke at a funeral or tells a funny story to make everyone laugh. Maybe you didn't put up a tent at the cemetery because, "Mama always liked to see the blue sky..." and that was the one day in the week it wasn't forecasted to rain. Maybe the music was just the right volume or the lipstick was just the right shade. On those days, I can walk away knowing I've done my job well. And who doesn't like that feeling?

Photo credit: http://www.digdang.com/image/just_buried/5135/

52 weeks

52 weeks isn't really that long if you think about it. 52 Sundays, 52 Mondays, 52 TGIF's.

     Each week holds routines, challenges and opportunities. In the funeral business, no two weeks are ever the same.
     Each week leads to another and another until we find ourselves here again, staring down the barrel at a new set of 52 weeks.
     It's January. It's a new year! And think about it, this week has never happened before and it will never happen again.
     I'm not one for resolutions, but I do see the value in stopping to take a good look at areas of our lives that need some attention. Whether that means sprucing up or re-prioritizing or whathaveyou, I wish you all the best.
     I've always been a planner {insert funeral director joke here} and I like to look at things long-term whenever possible. I know that this year will bring many changes and challenges. One of those challenges being a national DUAL licensure exam (for funeral directing and embalming) in July. Which means I have approximately 27 weeks to prepare for it. Not that I'm counting.
     Classes at my much beloved technical school resume next week. Books arrived two weeks ago and my nose will be in them for the next few months....along with work, and life, and death, and all the other things like grocery shopping and exercise. Maybe a vacation or two. We'll see.
     In whatever this year brings you, may you have joy and peace!

A word for the women.

Hers is the faith of How Great Thou Art. Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound of children laughing and singing and reading the Christmas story. Dust will gather on the tops of hymnals, the organ will fall out of tune, candles will melt into oblivion. But I have brushed up against the other side: the one without belief. The light does not shine there as it does in a wrinkled Kleenex, wet with tears. She showed me what it meant to believe, as she sat at the table, wiped her eyes again, and forced a laugh. Of course everything would fall apart at once. A hug and a knowing eye and a prayer. She showed me what it meant to believe against unbelief; sitting in that church, gripping the pew in front of her, knowing what she was going home to face, sobbing during the benediction, loving even though it hurt.

Women of my childhood, of my home church. Women I have met since I moved away. Women I can only hear about as I lay them to rest. Women who have shown me sacrifice along with hate and truth along with pain. I have seen their tears and I have heard their stories.

They are beautiful in a way only women can be; whispering, giggling, shushing well past the schoolgirl years. They carry burdens and harbor secrets, they bring casseroles and baked things and care for the children and do the housework. They smile and sing, ....oh do they sing. They write, they teach, they pray, they dance. Squared shoulders and powerful arms, gentle enough to rock even the newest of babies to sleep. Their words echo in my mind; words of wisdom, hope, empowerment.

We gather at the table (the one the women prepared), all from different places now; some strangers, all friends. A still, small voice breaks through the static, telling me to stop and listen instead of talk. To wait with the faith of Hannah and Elizabeth. To believe against unbelief. To take the things and ponder them in my heart.

I carry them with me; their smiles, their eyes. I hear their laughter and their broken voices. In many ways, I'm made up of what I've seen and heard, in other ways, I'm quite the opposite.

There are some songs we never seem to forget, some words that seem to spring forth before our eyes even get the chance to open in the morning, some recipes (especially Christmas ones) that will always lead us home. For these, and for the women who keep bringing them to me, I am grateful. I want to be this kind of woman.