Comment: Funeral Directors

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!