grief | little miss funeral

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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August 21, 2017

For the little ones.

I was standing near the front door of the funeral home when I saw their car pull in. Our doors have these little window panels so I quickly moved away. That’s all they needed right now, to see a person glaring through the funeral home at them. They shouldn’t even be here, I thought to myself, so try not to make them more uncomfortable than they already are.

My heart broke as they walked through the doors. I quickly introduced myself as I lead them to the lounge. I tried to not stare at her stomach as she sat down, still swollen, but now just a symbol of an empty tomb. I don’t pretend to know why things happen. Things like this shouldn’t happen.

How do you not cry with these families? At one moment, I had to catch my breath to stop my own tears from falling. The moment she just broke down as she laid her head on his shoulder. He had his arms around her and hugged her tight. I sometimes think that I don’t have the right to cry. I didn’t carry this life inside of me. How can I possibly be sad that a life has ended that I never even knew? But I still mourn with them. I said a prayer that they would always lean on each other.

In the hospital morgue, they have the little body rolled tight in a blanket. The mothers name identifies who this child is, but this child has a name. It always annoyed me that the hospitals don’t use the child’s name. If you wanted to, you could pick up this baby with one hand, but we don’t. We cradle this little body in both hands, the same as the mother would if she’d be whispering lullabies into their ear. None of this makes any sense.

The part that I hate the most comes when we arrive back at the funeral home. We unwrap this little body, and look upon this little face. It’s perfect. Tiny lips that are perfectly close, and the cutest little button nose. There is a little hat on the baby’s head. Something that the mother would have probably chosen as she took her child home. Instead, I took the child with me. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

When we arrive the next morning at the cemetery, I have everything all set up. The mother and father arrive with a teddy bear in hand. I give them time as they place the stuffed animal in the casket. I wonder if she’ll ask to hold her baby, but she doesn’t. When it’s time, I ask the father if he wants to carry the casket to the grave. He looks at me confused, saying he didn’t think he could do that. Of course he can, I assure him. He holds his baby’s casket as we walk over. He places his child into the freshly dug grave. The priest blesses the ground and speaks the most beautiful words to the family. I didn’t think it was possible, for someone to know what to say at a time like this. But he did. His words didn’t take the pain away, nor did they bring this child back, but somehow, his words brought a little comfort.

It was actually a beautiful day for a burial. It would have been perfect funeral weather, as I describe it, expect for the fact that we were burying someone who we shouldn’t have been.

In the seven years that I’ve been a funeral director, I’ve buried more babies that I should have. In mortuary school, they talk about these things. Suicides, car accidents, illnesses. They talk about how these deaths are the hard ones, and they are, but these little babies, I lose a little bit of my heart with each one that I care for.

I have no words of comfort for these families. No answers to their questions. All I have are open arms and ears. I care for these babies as if they’re my own. And I mourn each death. A fellow funeral director commented to me the other day how she remembers each baby she’s buried. I do as well. I carry these children with me.

I really love what I do, but on these days, I wish with my entire heart that I’d never became a funeral director. I wish that I never knew this life.

Every time I bury a baby, I think about my future. I don’t have any children. I want a baby, more than anything, but I am also terrified.

A baby is brought into this world by love and a baby symbolizes hope. With these precious little lives, we hope that they will know nothing but love and never have to feel any pain. We want these babies to grow into good people and live wonderful lives, so we place our own dreams and wishes into them. And when a baby dies, suddenly, the world doesn’t make any sense.

I have seen things that no one should have to see. I have cared for little ones when their mothers should have been instead. These deaths cannot be justified. This heartache has no words.

If there is one thing that I can tell to women out there who have lost a baby it is this – you are still a mother, even if your arms are empty. If you have carried life inside of you, not even death can take that title away. Your grief is real and I wish more than anything that I could fix it. But since I can’t, I will continue to do my job as best as I can. And I will pray that I never have to do a funeral for another little one. But if I do, I will take care of them and love them as if they are my own. Because these little babies deserve to be loved, even in death, even by a funeral director.

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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 31, 2017

A list of sad songs that I love.

Not too long ago, ASD’s Public Relationship Specialist, Jess Fowler, wrote a post called 6 Songs That Help Me Grieve. In this post, she talks about the anniversary of her dad’s passing and how she uses music to grieve. The thing that I enjoyed about this post was the songs that she included. Jess truly has great taste in music. We actually bonded over a shared favorite band, Rilo Kiley a few years back, so I wasn’t surprised that I loved all the tracks she listed.

Growing up, I enjoyed music that my husband describes as ’emo’. I mean, sure, I had Myspace back in the day. And yeah, I may have owned one or two pairs of black baggy pants from Hot Topic, and maybe I was obsessed with Benji from Good Charlotte, but…I’m not helping my case here am I?

The thing is, I’ve always enjoyed music that made me feel something. I’m drawn to music and artists that can make me feel all of their emotions, sadness included. My husband doesn’t get this. He doesn’t understand why I don’t listen to music that brings out more positive feelings. And the reason I don’t just listen to ‘happy’ music all the time is because I’m human. I experience it all, sadness included. And sometimes, you just need a good cry.

So getting back to Jess; her post inspired me to create a list of my own. Songs that I listen to when I want to cry. Or songs that I listen to when I’m in a bad mood. Heck, these are just songs that I listen to when I want to feel something. So, let’s get started.

Ray Lamontagne – Empty

God. What is it about Ray? I am in love with this man’s voice. My father introduced me to Ray Lamontagne a few years back when he picked up his CD from the library. My dad and I have similar taste in music (most of the time). I think his exact words were, “Lauren, do you know that commercial with the dogs and the bone? This is the guy who sings that song!” Of course, he was talking about his song Trouble. When I first heard Empty, I turned it as loud as I could, sat in my car and let it consume me. I love the violin. I love Ray’s raspy voice. I love it all.

Favorite lyrics: “Well, I looked my demons in the eyes
laid bare my chest, said “Do your best, destroy me.
You see, I’ve been to hell and back so many times,
I must admit you kind of bore me.”

Josh Groban and Kelly Clarkson – All I ask of You

I grew up in a house that listened to the soundtrack from The Phantom of the Opera every day while we ate dinner. My mother took me to see the show for the first time when I was eight years old. I lived and breathed Phantom as a child. I don’t know if I can put into words what Phantom actually means to me. So, when Josh Groban came out with his CD, Stages, I was ecstatic when I found this track included on it.

The moment my husband hears the first notes from this song, he will walk out of the room. Because soon after, I will be bawling my eyes out. And I’m not talking about a few tears rolling down my cheek. I’m talking about ugly crying. I listen to this when I had a bad day and just need to get my emotions out.

Favorite lyrics: “Share each day with me, each night, each morning
Say you love me
You know I do
Love me, that’s all I ask of you.”

Celine Dion – My Heart Will Go On

Since we are on the topic of ugly crying.

GUYS, I CAN’T. I REALLY CAN’T.

This is one song that I have basically banned because it just makes me SOB. So many emotions. The words, Celine’s voice, the music video with scenes from the movie, so many feels. I need to stop, because I’m getting emotional just typing all of this.

I’LL NEVER LET GO JACK, I’LL NEVER LET GO.

Favorite lyrics: “Love can touch us one time
And last for a lifetime
And never let go ’til we’re gone”

Mumford & Sons – Where Are You Now

Another one of my favorite bands. I become obsessed with Mumford & Sons back in college. Once again, there is just something about Marcus’s voice and I cannot get enough of it. It was difficult for me to just pick one song, but Where Are You Now brings back memory of heartache and past relationships that so many people can identify with.

Favorite lyrics: “You said no one would ever know
The love that we had shared.
As I took my leave to go
It was clear you didn’t care.”

Rilo Kiley – A Man/Me/Then Jim

Jenny Lewis is my girl, hands down. This song is definitely one of my top five all time favorite songs. But beware, it is a sad song. I mean, it starts with a suicide and shows ‘the slow fade of love’ from three different perspectives; A Man, Me, and then Jim. This is another song that I like to turn all the way up and just breathe in. Does that make sense? I’m writing a post about songs that make me sad, so does any of this really make any sense?

Favorite lyric: “Diana, Diana, Diana, I would die for you
I’m in love with you completely
I’m afraid that’s all I can do”
She said, “You can sleep upon my doorstep
You can promise me indifference, Jim
But my mind is made up
And I’ll never let you in again”

Gregory And The Hawk – A Wish

This is another one of my college songs. It was never about Gregory And The Hawk, but more about this particular song. This song is about being young, confused and caring for someone more than they care for you. It makes me feel vulnerable.

Favorite lyrics: “And it’s hard to find
What I want
When it’s buried beneath the biggest rock”

Ed Sheeran – Supermarket Flowers

When I bought Ed’s most recent album and listened to Supermarket Flowers, my first reaction was, “Wow.” I know that I’m very open when I write about my feelings and job, but this song just invited us all into a very personal time in his life.

But there is something else that makes this song special to me.

If you’ve read my blog before, you are aware that in December I lost Eddie. To this day, I still struggle with his passing. About a month ago, I was alone at the funeral home and decided to yell at Eddie, something that I do often when I miss him. I was in the middle of telling him the nerve he had for leaving me, when all of a sudden, this song came on my Pandora station. Immediate tears.

Now, every time I listen to this song, I think of him.

Favorite Lyrics “Oh, I’m in pieces. It’s tearing me up but I know
A heart that’s broke is a heart that’s been loved.”

I hope you all enjoyed this list of songs. And serious thanks to Jess from ASD. Thanks for being my inspiration to write this post and thank you for being so open about your own grief.

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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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June 11, 2016

My thoughts after a particular arrangement conference.

Today was a busy day. We had three death calls and I was the funeral director who met with every family. Now to my bigger firms, three calls may not seem like a lot, but for a smaller family run funeral home, well, let’s just say I was constantly on the go during this twelve-hour day.

All of these deaths were unexpected. Two were in their fifties. One was just doing some physical rehab. All families were devastated. These circumstances obviously made for *really fun* arrangement conferences. (Sarcasm, guys, sarcasm..)

Anyways, during one of these conferences, a daughter of the deceased casually commented on how she was “so happy” that she was donating her body to science so her kids didn’t have to go through “all of this”.

I commented on how great it was that she was donating her body to science, since the act does benefit others, but quietly wondered to myself what she really meant.

You see, during arrangement conferences, I often cannot say exactly what I’m thinking. Because it’s not about me. It’s about the honoring the dead and working with their loved ones. But now, I do want to comment on that little remark. Because even though donating your body to science is a great thing, it does not save “anybody” from going through “anything.”

If you choose to not have a viewing, your family will grieve.

If you choose to have a full funeral service, your family will grieve.

If you choose to have a green burial, a direct cremation, or a celebration of life, your family will grieve.

You cannot save your family from the heartache that death brings.

You can, however, make it harder for your family, by not talking about your wishes.

You can make it harder for your family by not having a will.

Prepare for the day when your heart stops beating. Love your family with everything you have. And don’t you dare believe for one second, that when the day comes, that they will not mourn. Having a funeral is not a chore. Having a funeral is an opportunity to say good-bye. To acknowledge that a person mattered and made a difference in our lives. Regardless of how you personally choose to honor that person, that funeral is a sign of respect.

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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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April 30, 2015

For JW.

My husband lost a friend this past month.

A young man who I never got the chance to meet, but whose death I grieved greatly.

About a year ago, his family heard that word that stops even the strongest of men in their tracks.

But he was a warrior and he beat the cancer.

At the wake his father said that he gave so much of his heart away, that in the end he did not have enough for himself.

I hugged his mother and sister, not able to find words for comfort.

No words could bring him back.

I want them to know that even though I never met Jed, I loved him very much.

My husband sat and told me stories of them together as kids.

And I thought to myself, how amazing to have lived such a short life and to have affected so many.

How amazing to have gone through something so horrible, but to have brought such peace into the world.

What a legacy to leave behind.

To not curse the hand you’ve been dealt, but to play your cards righteously.

To fight with all you have.

To give so much of your heart away to others so as not to have any left for yourself.

Tag: grief