First of all Shanana, you are to be commended for your use of the word asininity. I love that that's a word!! I will use it from now on.
Secondly, seriously what is it with funeral directors? The first encounter I can remember was when I was 15 and my grandpa died. We had a small graveside funeral for him, as we had only a few family members with us. After we had sung his favorite hymns and said our goodbyes, we walked back to the cars to find the funeral director standing by his truck, tearing up. He told us the funeral was beautiful, and it reminded him of the small one he'd had for his grandmother the previous year.
This guy was at least in his late forties, and all I could think was You lucky bastard, you got your grandma for thirty more years than I did and now you stand here and brag about it as I bury my own grandparent.
Come to think of it, I may have been a touch too sensitive at the time, but I still think I'm kind of right. I'm sure the guy was trying to be nice, but all he did was make me wish his grandma had died sooner.
The second and more abominable encounter I had with funeral directors happened a few years ago when I lost my dad. My mom and sister and I walked into the funeral home looking like zombies the day after my dad died, in order to make final arrangements. In Nashville they like to make funeral homes look like mansions for god-knows-why, so we drove through this huge (grave-filled) property and parked in the front of a buiding that, I swear to you, was larger than the White House. (I think the reason that they try to disguise the overwhelming number of funeral homes as plantations must be saved for another post.)
Once inside we were left to stand at the bottom of a great winding staircase until the funeral director came out to take us up to his office. After finally appearing, he apologized for our wait, and told us it was just so difficult for him to get up and come into work today because he'd just gotten back from vacation in Mexico.
Nice. Vacation. Like my dad will ever take one of those again. So sorry to interrupt your slow wind-down to that awesome vaction you had. Douche.
Then he proceeded to get increasingly annoyed with us as we continued to pick the cheapest options for everything. My dad was not one to have the cadillac of coffins with which to lower him into the ground. My mom was, naturally, a little out of it and kept worrying over minute details that were unimportant. After she apologized to the funeral director for the third time that the shirt we brought might be a little big because of how much weight my dad had lost, he sighed, annoyed, and said:
"Ma'am, it will be alright. Honestly, we just cut the back of the shirt and pants anyway and wrap it around them in front to make it look like they're wearing it. We can fit the shirt to make it look right."
EXCUSE ME?!!? What person wants to know that? Reader, I would be willing to bet that even you - reading this on a day that does not proceed the day on which you lost your father - even you are probably disturbed by the knowledge that this is in fact how they dress the dead.
Yes, I did picture them lifting the arms up and shimmying first an undershirt and then the button down shirt until it fit properly. Yes, I do expect them to have the decency to go through this trouble. I mean, they have no problem sucking fluids from the dead, can they not manage a little shimmying? That's all I'm asking for.
But I'll settle for not knowing that all those dead people's clothes are cut in half and pinned in back - like they're all part of some high-fashion macabre model photo shoot cat walk.
Not cool Mr. Funeral Director. Not cool at all!
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Persons of Interest: Funeral Directors
Have you ever noticed that the word funeral has the word "fun" in it? Strange. Most people don't consider funerals to be very fun ("most" being the operative word). Understandably, they see them as a time for morning...a time to grieve the loss of a loved one. However, there are some who, though upset, use this time to reflect on a life; a celebration of life...and why not? You no longer need to worry about your loved one suffering. Your loved one will never again witness the asininity of mankind (toyless Happy Meals - way to be San Francisco; MTV's Jersey Shore...or really anything on MTV that's not music related).
Not long ago, my great-aunt passed away. She was 94. Merely thinking about her was enough to get her admitted into a hospital. Her passing wasn't so much a shock as it was a realization: she was gone. I knew her funeral wouldn't be a......funeral. Rather, it would be a celebration of her life. Thank God Johnny Reaper was there to host this celebration!
My parents and I arrived at the funeral home a little early for the pre-funeral viewing (it's a little like "pre-gaming" before an event, only no alcohol chilling in a cooler...just a body...chilling in a casket...yeah...I don't do well with open caskets). As soon as we got out of the car, a funeral home employee came up to us and escorted us into the home. As we walked, he very nicely asked whether or not our car would be part of the funeral procession. We very nicely said we weren't sure - depends who needs a ride. No problem. Given that there was only one other person in the room (two if you want to count my great-aunt...ZING!), things were pretty quiet...until Johnny Reaper made his presence known:
Johnny Reaper: *arms flailing* WHO'S DRIVING THAT HONDA????? ARE YOU DRIVING THAT HONDA?????
Mom: *with a look of What the hell? Did I not just go over this with someone? Though you are the owner of this funeral home, would you please show some respect and not yell in front of the cold, lifeless body of my husband's aunt!* We...don't...know...yet!
Unfortunately (or for your reading enjoyment - fortunately), I wish this was the only faux pas committed by Johnny, but it wasn't (like when he almost got into a thrown down with the priest right before the funeral mass...true story). You see, Johnny Reaper clearly no longer has a passion for the funeral business. He's just stopped caring. Which must be rough. I mean, how many people want to make a living off of death (an honest, open living)? This is a career in which one must rail against every new medical break through (when a cure for cancer is found, I bet every undertaker will die, just a little, inside. I wouldn't be surprised if these people are actually behind the Anti-Vaccination Campaign. All that being said, the family made it through the mass with little incident; thanks in part to the token Catholic in the family (you go, ma!). Even with Johnny Reaper lurking around the church, no one felt too awkward.
Then came the burial.
There we stood: graveside on a cold November day, casket ready to be placed in the ground...and no priest. According to Johnny, the priest was at a different cemetery BUT one of his minions was on his way to pick him up. Silly priest, not double checking information Johnny Reaper gives - fool!
So there we still stood: family shivering...my amuptee uncle trying to rent out his wheelchair to anyone who wanted to sit...Johnny Reaper lurking around nearby tombstones (checking out his past work?)...waiting for the priest to arrive.
All of a sudden, Johnny Reaper appears, somewhat out of nowhere as I'm sure he was pretty far away a second before. No one can find the priest.
Naturally, I was very concerned. So I turned to my mother and yelled,
"WHO'S GONNA BURY THE BODY?????"
Johnny Reaper, that's who! He decided it would be best if he took over the prayers and at this point, what was the worse that could happen? So he lead us all in prayer.
Before I continue, let's establish something. Basic speaking skills dictate one needs to take pauses when speaking. Basis grammar dictates that a period is an indication for the reader to make a full stop, a comma indicates a half stop...that's something the British understand very well. Johnny Reaper is not British:
"OurFatherwhoartinheavenhallowedbethynameThykingdomcomethywillbedone..."
This is exactly how he recited the The Lord's Prayer. I'm not sure what the rush was. It's not like the guest of honor was going anywhere. If she was even there. I think Johnny grabbed the casket closet to the door at the funeral home. I bet he rushed us along so no one had a chance to notice the big switcheroo. Apparently his tactic worked, because that was the moment when the family broke out into laughter (led by the token Catholic and me. Something that got us scolded for by the rest of the family. Really? Please. I bet Joseph of Arimathea was laughing as he placed Jesus' body in the tomb, "I can't wait to see the pharisees' faces three days from now. Jesus is gonna be all 'Wickedy Wack, I'm Back!' " This is how I mourn...deal with it).
Looking back, I only wish two things: I hope my great-aunt somehow knows the solace/joy this calamity brought to her family; and that she takes comfort knowing we will never again seek the services of Johnny Reaper...over my dead body.
Not long ago, my great-aunt passed away. She was 94. Merely thinking about her was enough to get her admitted into a hospital. Her passing wasn't so much a shock as it was a realization: she was gone. I knew her funeral wouldn't be a......funeral. Rather, it would be a celebration of her life. Thank God Johnny Reaper was there to host this celebration!
My parents and I arrived at the funeral home a little early for the pre-funeral viewing (it's a little like "pre-gaming" before an event, only no alcohol chilling in a cooler...just a body...chilling in a casket...yeah...I don't do well with open caskets). As soon as we got out of the car, a funeral home employee came up to us and escorted us into the home. As we walked, he very nicely asked whether or not our car would be part of the funeral procession. We very nicely said we weren't sure - depends who needs a ride. No problem. Given that there was only one other person in the room (two if you want to count my great-aunt...ZING!), things were pretty quiet...until Johnny Reaper made his presence known:
Johnny Reaper: *arms flailing* WHO'S DRIVING THAT HONDA????? ARE YOU DRIVING THAT HONDA?????
Mom: *with a look of What the hell? Did I not just go over this with someone? Though you are the owner of this funeral home, would you please show some respect and not yell in front of the cold, lifeless body of my husband's aunt!* We...don't...know...yet!
Unfortunately (or for your reading enjoyment - fortunately), I wish this was the only faux pas committed by Johnny, but it wasn't (like when he almost got into a thrown down with the priest right before the funeral mass...true story). You see, Johnny Reaper clearly no longer has a passion for the funeral business. He's just stopped caring. Which must be rough. I mean, how many people want to make a living off of death (an honest, open living)? This is a career in which one must rail against every new medical break through (when a cure for cancer is found, I bet every undertaker will die, just a little, inside. I wouldn't be surprised if these people are actually behind the Anti-Vaccination Campaign. All that being said, the family made it through the mass with little incident; thanks in part to the token Catholic in the family (you go, ma!). Even with Johnny Reaper lurking around the church, no one felt too awkward.
Then came the burial.
There we stood: graveside on a cold November day, casket ready to be placed in the ground...and no priest. According to Johnny, the priest was at a different cemetery BUT one of his minions was on his way to pick him up. Silly priest, not double checking information Johnny Reaper gives - fool!
So there we still stood: family shivering...my amuptee uncle trying to rent out his wheelchair to anyone who wanted to sit...Johnny Reaper lurking around nearby tombstones (checking out his past work?)...waiting for the priest to arrive.
All of a sudden, Johnny Reaper appears, somewhat out of nowhere as I'm sure he was pretty far away a second before. No one can find the priest.
Naturally, I was very concerned. So I turned to my mother and yelled,
"WHO'S GONNA BURY THE BODY?????"
Johnny Reaper, that's who! He decided it would be best if he took over the prayers and at this point, what was the worse that could happen? So he lead us all in prayer.
Before I continue, let's establish something. Basic speaking skills dictate one needs to take pauses when speaking. Basis grammar dictates that a period is an indication for the reader to make a full stop, a comma indicates a half stop...that's something the British understand very well. Johnny Reaper is not British:
"
This is exactly how he recited the The Lord's Prayer. I'm not sure what the rush was. It's not like the guest of honor was going anywhere. If she was even there. I think Johnny grabbed the casket closet to the door at the funeral home. I bet he rushed us along so no one had a chance to notice the big switcheroo. Apparently his tactic worked, because that was the moment when the family broke out into laughter (led by the token Catholic and me. Something that got us scolded for by the rest of the family. Really? Please. I bet Joseph of Arimathea was laughing as he placed Jesus' body in the tomb, "I can't wait to see the pharisees' faces three days from now. Jesus is gonna be all 'Wickedy Wack, I'm Back!' " This is how I mourn...deal with it).
Looking back, I only wish two things: I hope my great-aunt somehow knows the solace/joy this calamity brought to her family; and that she takes comfort knowing we will never again seek the services of Johnny Reaper...over my dead body.
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