Those who aren't involved in the business of dying assume, not unreasonably, that it's the emotional funerals (see last post) that are the most difficult.
They are not without their troubles and their wear and tear, it's true, but if we can genuinely feel that we are helping someone in the most awful of circumstances, then the "difficult" funerals can be rewarding and, perversely, very life affirming.
So what is really testing? Doing funerals for people that we can't stand.
Now, maybe it's just me - I'm a woman of a certain age who no longer feels the need to make everyone like me. That said, on the whole, I try to be fairly warm, sympathetic and friendly, so there aren't many people that I seriously fall out with.
But some families.......
I turned up for a meeting the other evening. The lady opened the door. I explained who I was and she looked me up and down before saying "oh" in a way that emcompassed disgust, displeasure and disappointment.
There are many possible reasons for this:
1) I'm no oil painting - but I did have clean, smart clothes on and my shoes weren't dirty. It's usually enough to get me in the door. She didn't give the impression of someone who worried a huge amount about being a picture of glamour.
2) She doesn't want to have need of a funeral celebrant. Perhaps this was just the way that her grief was coming out.
3) My name is one of those that, with an adjustment in spelling, can be for either gender - she may have been expecting a man.
4) She's not a very nice person.
To be honest, it was not an easy meeting. The family had elements of dysfunction about them and were not the most communicative. It was one of those times when I'm looking at my notes (pretending to read them) thinking "throw me a bone, here" and desperately trying to come up with a question that will get a response of more than two or three words.
Of course, I will do my best, but this lot have really got on my threepennies. They want a ridiculous number of pieces of music - I have explained that we probably won't hear more than a minute of each, and that will still be half of the ceremony time. At the end, I'll present them with a bible, a complete works of Shakespeare and ask them what their luxury item will be.
I have been waiting for over a week for more details, following a meeting between other family members (in another part of the country), and nothing has been forthcoming. I have a feeling I will be handed a piece of scrappy paper with a few handwritten notes at the chapel door and be expected to slot perfect prose in between hits from the golden age of songwriting.
Do you see the problem? Because these people weren't terribly welcoming, and not awfully friendly, my tolerance levels are far lower than the people who are complete fluff-heads, but kinder hearted.
The weakness is in me, I understand that and I will do my utmost to make sure that they never know just how irritating I find them - I will wear my best suit, my kindest smile and put every effort into the funeral.
And then I will never have to see those .... (insert word of choice here) again.
So how do we cope with these people? Well I do resort to childish name calling - readers of earlier posts may remember "That Bloody Man", and this lot will be forever known as "Freak Show", but only in the confines of X.Piry Towers, of course.
The other coping mechanism is "eye on the prize". By the end of funeral day, I will have completed my job with professionalism, the FD (and if this family have been a pain to me, there is a good chance that the FD has had problems, too), will be pleased with my work, and I can sit down in the evening, purring as contentedly as the cat on my lap.
I've talked in the past about my concerns for people after the funeral; a lack of "pastoral care", but in this case (and I'm not proud of it), I really don't give a monkeys.
Love and peace to all.
Thursday, 26 August 2010
Monday, 23 August 2010
(Not so) silly season
It's quiet out there, too quiet.....
Yes, it's that time of year when the funeral directors have time to sit and chat (as it gives them a break from their filing and cleaning), and we watch our workload drop for the summer.
In some ways, it's a "breathing space" a chance to clear our heads ready for the next nasty cold snap.
In my limited experience, however, I've found that these things are self-balancing. There are not so many deaths, but those that do occur make for harder funerals. This week, I have a ceremony for a young lady in her thirties. It's a while since I've experienced that much tangible grief while visiting her family. I want to lessen their pain, but that is not something I am able to do or, frankly, have the right to do. Their grief is their own - I just have to hope that I can make them feel listened to and cared about.
And then, last week, I had a phone call. "You did Ethel Sludgebucket's funeral at Seatown a couple of months ago?"
"Yes I did."
"I was there, I thought it was very good."
"Thank you."
"It's just that my son died yesterday....."
I speak to my father every day. I started doing this after my Mum died to check that he was okay (I live a little distance away) and to make sure that he spoke to somebody every twenty four hours. As it turns out, he has a very full social calendar (we call the road where he lives his "harem") and talks to more people than I do. But he is a very good listener. I share these experiences with him, and he makes all the right noises.
I hope that all celebrants/ministers/officiants have someone like this. They make our job much easier, especially during the not so silly season.
Yes, it's that time of year when the funeral directors have time to sit and chat (as it gives them a break from their filing and cleaning), and we watch our workload drop for the summer.
In some ways, it's a "breathing space" a chance to clear our heads ready for the next nasty cold snap.
In my limited experience, however, I've found that these things are self-balancing. There are not so many deaths, but those that do occur make for harder funerals. This week, I have a ceremony for a young lady in her thirties. It's a while since I've experienced that much tangible grief while visiting her family. I want to lessen their pain, but that is not something I am able to do or, frankly, have the right to do. Their grief is their own - I just have to hope that I can make them feel listened to and cared about.
And then, last week, I had a phone call. "You did Ethel Sludgebucket's funeral at Seatown a couple of months ago?"
"Yes I did."
"I was there, I thought it was very good."
"Thank you."
"It's just that my son died yesterday....."
I speak to my father every day. I started doing this after my Mum died to check that he was okay (I live a little distance away) and to make sure that he spoke to somebody every twenty four hours. As it turns out, he has a very full social calendar (we call the road where he lives his "harem") and talks to more people than I do. But he is a very good listener. I share these experiences with him, and he makes all the right noises.
I hope that all celebrants/ministers/officiants have someone like this. They make our job much easier, especially during the not so silly season.
Wednesday, 4 August 2010
Death of a supermarket revolutionary
So, Theo Albrecht, the man who, along with his brother, brought us the Aldi supermarket chain, has died.
According to the article, his funeral, a private burial, has already taken place.
But you know that you’re in the funeral business when you read about a death, and wonder how the ceremony will go.
Now, please understand, I mean no disrespect to Heir Albrecht or to his shops (I’m as happy to buy cheap groceries as anyone), but I began to ponder his funeral, if it was like a visit to one of his stores.
Of course, like a bargain laptop, everyone would have to wait until they’ve got a coffin available, so there could be a bit of a delay, and then a quick “window of opportunity”, while caskets are in stock.
On the day itself, mourners would arrive, but not too early, due to the restrictions on parking (can’t be more than an hour, or it won’t be free). The spaces would be small, and there is nowhere in particular for the hearse to go.
An order of service would be available, giving all of the details in eight different languages.
When the FD and his team arrive, they would look very like any other FD….but not quite. Their uniforms are slightly different, and don’t fit too well, but they cover all the important bits, so job done. The coffin is a little dented and scratched, but still serves its purpose.
The flowers would be just inside the door of the chapel, wrapped in bright cellophane and stuck in a cardboard box.
The coffin would be carried in, very fast, and then the bearers would stand, like check out operatives, looking impatient as the mourners make their way to their seats (accompanying music? Money’s too tight to mention?). And, of course, there would be no fancy carved catafalque; the coffin would be on a pallet.
Finally, everyone is in, the FD returns to his bearers, who all bow, in respect to the man in the box. And then we hear the little clicks, as they each get their £1 back from their trolley.
This is meant as a bit of fun, rather than a poke at Mr Albrecht. I wish him and his family nothing but good. But it makes you wonder, doesn’t it? How popular would the supplier of the “no frills” funeral be? There are a few breaking into the market now, so let’s see how they do.
According to the article, his funeral, a private burial, has already taken place.
But you know that you’re in the funeral business when you read about a death, and wonder how the ceremony will go.
Now, please understand, I mean no disrespect to Heir Albrecht or to his shops (I’m as happy to buy cheap groceries as anyone), but I began to ponder his funeral, if it was like a visit to one of his stores.
Of course, like a bargain laptop, everyone would have to wait until they’ve got a coffin available, so there could be a bit of a delay, and then a quick “window of opportunity”, while caskets are in stock.
On the day itself, mourners would arrive, but not too early, due to the restrictions on parking (can’t be more than an hour, or it won’t be free). The spaces would be small, and there is nowhere in particular for the hearse to go.
An order of service would be available, giving all of the details in eight different languages.
When the FD and his team arrive, they would look very like any other FD….but not quite. Their uniforms are slightly different, and don’t fit too well, but they cover all the important bits, so job done. The coffin is a little dented and scratched, but still serves its purpose.
The flowers would be just inside the door of the chapel, wrapped in bright cellophane and stuck in a cardboard box.
The coffin would be carried in, very fast, and then the bearers would stand, like check out operatives, looking impatient as the mourners make their way to their seats (accompanying music? Money’s too tight to mention?). And, of course, there would be no fancy carved catafalque; the coffin would be on a pallet.
Finally, everyone is in, the FD returns to his bearers, who all bow, in respect to the man in the box. And then we hear the little clicks, as they each get their £1 back from their trolley.
This is meant as a bit of fun, rather than a poke at Mr Albrecht. I wish him and his family nothing but good. But it makes you wonder, doesn’t it? How popular would the supplier of the “no frills” funeral be? There are a few breaking into the market now, so let’s see how they do.
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