death | little miss funeral

January 2, 2018

Frozen feet.

I buy UGG boots because they’re supposed to be warm. But not those fuzzy slipper-looking ones. The boots that I buy have to be somewhat stylish, since I’ll be wearing them on services. I work outside for half of my job; the days of the funerals. These days we park cars, say prayers, and wait at the gravesite once the family has said their final goodbyes. We wait until it’s finished. We take care of these bodies until they’re placed into the ground.

I try to stay warm on these cold winter days. We always have snow. The air always hurts your face. I own fleece-lined tights, fleece-lined leather gloves, hats that cover my ears, and these UGG boots. But today, I couldn’t feel my toes. Today, the ice grabbed my feet and wouldn’t let go. Today I was alone by the gravesite, with only the cemetery crew to witness this body being placed into the ground. But I waited until it was done.

My grandfather passed away in the middle of November. My grandmother decided to die during the famous October storm of 2006. Google it. We couldn’t bury her for about two weeks. And then, you all know about Eddie, who passed away on December 14th. Death always seems to come for my family when it’s cold.

Today, January 2nd, also marks a year since a close family friend died. His burial was one of the coldest I’ve ever done. I stood at the foot of his grave and watched as the vault lid went on. I couldn’t feel my feet then, either. But it’s all part of the job. Honestly, I don’t mind that much. During these times, I remember how I felt having to say goodbye. I remember the pain, feeling broken, and the tears. I remember knowing, that even though these are the shells of those that I love, that these bodies still mean something. They matter. It would have been so much easier, if the cold that I felt in my feet could have just traveled up to my heart. We sometimes think that are problems can go away if we numb out the pain.

But we have to go through this pain. We feel pain because we love, and if pain is the price we pay to love, then I will gladly take it all. All of those good times are worth it, they really are. We’re going to cry, and scream. There are days when we’ll try to numb out the pain and find that we can’t succeed. And in the middle of all of this, we’ll find ourselves laughing at a memory and then the tears will roll once again. We have to go through it.

You will always feel what’s in your heart. But today, I can’t feel my toes.

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November 9, 2017

Almost a year later.

When I was in mortuary school, I had a professor who shared her story of how she embalmed her father when he died. At first, I was taken aback, but by the end of the story, I saw what a beautiful gift the experience had been for her. For she had said how no one else could have taken better care of her father than her. I always thought how wonderful it was that I was going into the death care industry. I would be the person who would be able to care for my own family and friends one day. I could make certain that everything was done correctly and that they received the love and respect in death that they deserved.

That is, until, Eddie died.

In just a little over a month, it will have been a year since he’s died. At times, it feels as if he’s been absent from my life for years, but in the same breath it is still so fresh. I still have a voicemail on my phone from him, 11 seconds long. It’s nothing special, him asking for me to call him. But when I push the play button, I can still hear him say my name.

When Eddie died, I did a lot for him. But there was still so much that I couldn’t do. At the hospital, once Keith unzipped the body bag, I couldn’t bring myself to look upon Eddie’s face. I couldn’t be there when he was embalmed. I couldn’t even bring myself to be present while he was dressed for the visitation. It all hurt too much.

There is a growing movement for getting family and friends involved in their loved one’s funeral. There are even people who are providing opportunities for home wakes; for you to wash and dress your own loved ones when they die. As a funeral director, I can see the positives to this. Acknowledging death helps with our grief. But as a girl who has lost someone who I love, I can understand why we have professionals.

I do not regret not being present for Eddie’s embalming. Although it was therapeutic for my professor, I know that this was not something I was capable of doing for Ed. But I was able to comb his hair back and tell him I loved him on my own terms. There are so many ways that we can care for our dead, the important part is to just be with them. There are times when I think of the deaths that I will have to bear in the years to come. My grandma, my parents, and who knows who else. I often wonder if things will be different for me, if I’ll be strong enough to care for my loved ones completely on my own. But then, I think how strength has nothing to do with it. The only strength that matters, is the strength of my love for them. And if my heart is so broken that I cannot care for them myself, my new strength will come from leaning on other professionals, who are my close friends, to carry me in a time when I can’t carry myself.

Almost a year later and not much has changed. Except, everything has changed, because you’re not here Eddie. I miss you.

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September 20, 2017

5 ways to help when someone dies.

I read a lot of books. Since I’m a funeral director, I read a lot of books about death/dying and grief. In this video, I talk about 5 Ways to Help When Someone Dies; ideas that I got from “Sorry For Your Loss: What People Who Are Grieving Wish You Knew (Good Things To Know)” by Alicia King.

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July 28, 2017

On handling negativity.

I’ve learned a lot of important lessons while being a funeral director. Lessons that I don’t believe I would have been blessed with in my young age if it were not for the career I’ve chosen. I’m forever thankful for that.

I’m learning a lot of other lessons through sharing myself and my journey online.

I was just going through some of my old posts when I came upon one comment in particular in which the person who wrote it had nothing good to say about me. Honestly, it got me down.

That’s the thing about openly sharing things through the internet. You’re inviting people in. These people are only getting a glimpse of who you are and what you do. And like my mama always says, not everyone is going to like you.

I feel like people read what I post because they’re curious. I’m a funeral director and that’s not a common career choice. I’d be curious too, if this wasn’t my ‘normal’. But people don’t like me. I’m not saying that people don’t like ‘Lauren”, but people don’t like “Lauren the Funeral Director”. They don’t like me because I represent one of the worst experiences of their lives. I am an evil necessity.

After reading this particular comment and feeling low because of it for a moment (or longer, let’s be real) I quickly realized that this person was judging me for a mere glimpse into who I am as a person. They have no idea who I am, as a whole. And I could let their words bother me, or I could shake it off, because one person’s opinion on me does not define my worth.

I’m going to keep sharing my ideas and experiences so I’m going to continue to invite people into my online world. But I hope, that I can invite in more people who think deeply about their lives and their mortality. And my wish, is that these people would think a little harder about how they live their lives. I hope, that I inspire people to hug their loved ones a little tighter and say “I’m sorry” when they’re wrong. I hope that these people talk to their families about their own final arrangements, so when their time on this earth is complete, their family is a little more prepared.

There are always going to be people who don’t like you, but do you know what’s awesome about that? Their negativity is not your problem. If someone holds hurtful words or hatred in their heart, they are poisoning themselves, not you. These words can only hurt you if you let them. So pick yourself up and brush it off, because you are amazing! You hold the power to change lives, so be the sunshine on a person’s face, not a cloud over their head.

You can like me or hate me, but I know who I am and I’m proud of the women that I’m constantly becoming. And eventually, you’re going to need someone like me who is involved in the death care industry. (But hopefully, that’s not for a very long time.)

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June 29, 2017

I’ve broken my rule.

I’m about to contradict myself.

I have gone on and on about how it’s so important to take care of yourself before you can take care of others; putting your own needs first. Being selfish.

And these last few busy weeks, I have not done that at all. I couldn’t do it. The funeral home was so busy and I was just one person who only had so many hours in the day. I was up before the sun rose and I went to bed way after my bedtime. I had to. There was no other way I was going to get everything done.

But something funny happened these past few weeks; I was energized.

Now I’m going to explain this the best way I can. When I say I was ‘energized’ I’m not saying I wasn’t tired. Because I was exhausted. It’s just that, I was getting so much out of helping these families in their time of need, that I forgot about all that other crap that comes along with this job. These families were wonderful people who appreciated everything that I was doing, and I was doing my job well. For as busy as I was, everything was working out perfectly.

I was exhausted, but I was making a difference.

I was doing the very thing that made me fall in love with funeral service in the first place. That feeling of helping people who can’t help themselves. I was drinking it all in.

Now what are we at? Day sixteen or day seventeen? Regardless, Everyone needs a break at some point. Everyone needs a chance to breathe. To be selfish. I was selfless for a time, breaking my own rules. But you know what they say? Everything in moderation.

Now it’s time for a glass of wine, a bubble bath and a good book. I think I’ve earned it.

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May 24, 2017

Why I’m always thinking about my death.

Any time I pass by a cemetery I think if I’d like that to be my eternal resting place.

Any time I hear of a tragedy I think of what would have happened if I had been there.

Any time I hear of someone passing away from an illness I think of how I’d react if I would have been in their shoes.

A lot of people may see this as me being a pessimist. Why would I spend my days thinking about all of this negative stuff? Why don’t I just focus on the happy things in life?

Because life isn’t all rainbows and butterflies.

Working in a funeral home, I am surrounded by more death on a daily basis than most people will have to face throughout their entire lives. When you’re surrounded by something constantly, it’s difficult to not think about it. But I see the death in my life as a blessing.

By understanding that everyone I love will one day die, I am able to cherish every moment I have with them as if it were my last. I don’t have the luxury of saying, “I’ll reach out to them tomorrow” because tomorrow may never come. By thinking about their deaths, I am able to truly appreciate and love them with everything I have in this moment.

By constantly thinking about my own death, I am able to live my life in the here and now. I think to myself, “If this is my last day, how would I want it to go?” This thought doesn’t mean that I live recklessly by completing bucket list items, such as skydiving or participating with the Running of the Bulls, but instead, making me think about my actions.

If I die tomorrow, I want to be kind to every person I meet today. If I die tomorrow, I want people to say that they enjoyed my company. I want to tell people I appreciate them and that they matter to me.

And sure, some days, maybe I will have opportunities to live a little more recklessly. Sometimes, I think that people don’t understand that it’s not necessarily the experiences you have in life that matters, but who you surround yourself with. If I never make it to Italy, in the end, it won’t matter, because every single morning get to wake up next to someone who loves me. That alone is enough to make my life rich.

But above all, when I die, I do not want my last moments to be of anger or hatred. I want to close my eyes and feel love inside of me as I slip into my next life. That way, I can be surrounded by the greatest love there is and tell Him that during my time on Earth, I tried to show others the love, forgiveness and compassion that He has shown to me.

You see, I am always thinking about my death, so I can savor every moment of my life.

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April 6, 2017

How actions can speak louder than words.

This past week I had a very difficult funeral.

A young person passed away under traumatic circumstances. During the visitation, I found myself making up excuses to steal their mother away so she could come and sit in the office with me for a few moments. She needed a break.

Each time she would tell me that all of the callers were saying the same thing over and over again to her. She was drowning in her grief as it was, and the amount of people who came to pay their respects was overwhelming her.

I told her that each person would tell her things from a good place in their heart, but during times of grief words fall short.

When someone dies, no matter the circumstances, we don’t know what to say. We tell the grieving that we are sorry for their loss. That their loved one is in a better place. Or that their loved one is not suffering anymore.

These are sayings that have become so familiar with those of us who visit funeral homes that at times we may not really know what we are saying.

And nothing that you say can make a death better. No words can bring someone back to life. So what do you say? Maybe, instead, it should be what you can do.

You would be amazed at the healing work a hug can do. Or the next time you have to go to a funeral, you could share your favorite story of the deceased with their family. Or maybe in the weeks following the funeral, you’ll stop by with a warm meal, or you could offer to take them out to dinner so they can get out of the house.

Words cannot fix a death, but actions can help us feel less alone.

Words can be empty promises, but actions are proof that people care.

Sometimes, you don’t need to say anything at all. Sometimes, you just need to be there.

I know that this person’s mother appreciated all of her family and friends coming to pay their respects. But I have a feeling that in the days and weeks to come, she’ll remember those who were there for her in other ways a lot more than some of the “I’m sorry for your loss” statements that she received during the funeral.

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March 19, 2017

Carrying them with me.

I still get really sad.

It’s been three months since Eddie died and there are moments when I’m at the funeral home half expecting him to still walk through the front door.

It’s been over two years since my dog Bandit died and sometimes when I walk into my parent’s home I’m still surprised when he’s not sitting on the top steps of the living room.

And even though my grandfather died over fifteen years ago I can still feel tears behind my eyes when I’m in St. Andrew’s Church working a funeral home and the organist starts to play “On Eagle’s Wings”.

But there are a lot of smiles in between the sadness, too.

When I think of Eddie I think of how he protected me and how he allowed me to see the soft and caring side of him. I smile when I remember how I could never travel in his car with him without exiting with so much ash from his cigarettes. Something that I would roll my eyes at when it happened but something that I now miss so much now, dammit.

I find myself smiling on cold days remembering how Bandit used to burrow under the covers of my blanket and keep me warm. And how I would refuse to get up because I knew he was comfortable and how I never wanted to disturb him. I laugh when I watch old videos and hear how he used to snore and make ‘old man’ noises when he slept. Sounds that used to carry me off to sleep.

And when I think of my grandfather, I smile remembering how he always wore that blue sweater, no matter what the weather was like outside. No matter how ratty it ended up getting, he loved it and wouldn’t listen to anyone who told him to take it off. My heart is warm thinking of my grandfather, because I know, truly, what it is like to be the joy in someone else’s life. He was one of the first people who taught me what it means to love and to give to others.

When I think of these people in my life that I’ve loved I think of what a privilege it has been that I got to spend any time with them at all. I think of all the ways that they’ve shaped me into who I am today.

I still get really sad. Time does not heal all wounds, but instead we become warriors who carry the love we’ve shared inside us. It’s okay to never get over a death. But we need to also remember the happy times, because it’s not okay to never move forward.

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December 4, 2015

December 4, 2015: Death in the check out line.

True story.

Today I was standing in the check out line at Hobby Lobby, picking up a few Christmas items, when a page rang out that “so-and-so” had a phone call on line one. The cashier in my line had just finished ringing out the woman in front of me and picked up the phone call as I started to unload my items. Her eyes grew large and in a hurried voice she told whoever was on the other line that she would call them right back.

Not good.

I asked if everything was okay and she tried to hold back tears as she told me that her uncle had just passed away. I asked her if his passing was unexpected and she said, not really no. He had surgery, but was thought to be doing well. She said she was going to ask her manager if she could go home. She cashed me out (I tried to switch lines but she refused, probably with the thought of staying busy to keep her mind off of things) and before I left I told her that I hope her day got better.

Hoped her day got better?

I’m a funeral director, surrounded by death constantly and the best I could do is tell her I hope her day got better? Real nice, Lauren.

I know I was caught off guard, I mean, who walks into a store to find themselves in a situation where they’re trying to comfort an employee? But I could have done better.

And I’m thinking, how horrible it is, that in the culture in which we live, we are so taken aback by death. People are dying everyday. Strangers, celebrities, family and friends. Death should not make us uncomfortable. Death is a part of our lives.

This December 4th, I am praying for the cashier at Hobby Lobby, but I’m also praying for everyone else who has lost a loved one during this season. Death is harder during the holidays. I wish that I could have been more of a comfort. I wish that I would have had better words to give her. But most importantly, I wish that she could know that the love we have for others does not die with the person. Guys, we have no idea what is going to happen. Please, go out there and hug someone. Tell them how you feel. Let this holiday season be a reminder to be more kind, more forgiving, but most importantly more loving to all. We may not always have the right words, but we can have the right actions.

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August 12, 2014

On suicide, my experiences and Robin Williams.

I do not understand suicide. The reason I do not understand it, is because even in my darkest days I never was surrounded by so much pain that I saw death as the only option. And I am blessed that my depression never took me down that road. But I understand feeling lost. I understand sadness. I understand feeling alone. I also understand that life is constantly changing.

I’ve met with a lot of families who have lost a loved one to suicide. A lot more than I would have thought some four years ago when I graduated from Mortuary School. There is nothing I hate more about being a funeral director than these meetings. The survivors. They have pain in their hearts and “what if’s” on their minds. They will spend the rest of their lives going over scenarios of actions they could have taken to prevent their meeting with me, the funeral director.

I’ve learned to speak more gently to these families. I curve my words hoping that they will land more softly on their ears. I’m quieter. More somber. Because I’ve known people who have taken their own lives. The sadness is raw. The confusion hangs in the air. And I bear the pain of the survivors on my shoulders as I usher them through the funeral process. I stand over the bodies of their broken loved ones and I pray to God that they’ve found peace and hurt no more. But mostly, I pray for those left over. That they comes to terms with the fact that people’s actions are not their own. And that they can take their loss and use it to help others. I do not understand suicide, but suicide is nothing to be ashamed of.

My heart breaks for the Williams family.

This death affected so many because Robin Williams affected so many.

It’s confusing. It’s messy. It doesn’t make sense. And I pray for those who have the same sickness that Mr. Williams had keep walking down the road that they’re on. I pray that instead of cutting their journey short, they see it out until the end. Because life is constantly changing. Things do get better. Kindness still exists in the world and people still care. I care. And I’m willing to bet that a lot of you reading this right now care.

We’re in this together.

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