Caleb Wilde
(218 comments, 980 posts)
Posts by Caleb Wilde
10 MUSTS for EVERY Ethical Funeral Professional
1. Strict adherence to The Funeral Rule. Obv.
2. Guide families to choose financially responsible funerals that won’t make them “funeral poor”.
3. Educate families in alternative options even if those options are detrimental to the bottom line.
4. Always choose transparency and disclosure over secrecy and intention omission.
5. Make sure every choice the family makes is completely theirs sans sales pressure.
6. Integrity is doing what’s right when nobody is looking. Ethical funeral directors always practice integrity.
7. Never encourage families to purchase out of guilt, or equate love of the deceased with a high priced funeral.
8. Never put yourself or the business in a financially strenuously situation where you might be tempted to overprice your service and merchandise.
9. Practice responsible self-care to avoid burnout and compassion fatigue.
10. Know your knowledge boundaries. Direct those questions outside our professional knowledge to the people who are qualified to answer. We aren’t lawyers, doctors, grief counselors or theologians.
When death is a friend
They say, “She’s at rest.”
Their bald mother lays with distorted breast.
Breasts that fed
Removed.
Arms that held
Motionless.
Her warm smile
Her voice
Her love
Locked in the vault of the soul.
Her children’s liminality has ended.
Today, they are only parents
They can throw away the adult diapers
The myriad of pills and medical terms.
The night watch.
Both relief and grief
As they say “she’s at peace.”
Ten years she battled.
Vomiting.
Fatigue.
Incontinence.
Tears and more tears mingled with fear.
Doctors, doctors and — as it spread — more doctors.
“She battled for us” they said.
“For her grandchildren and children”
The end wasn’t met with a fight
But embraced
Because death was the savior.
Death the midwife of peace and freedom
From the pains of a broken body.
“We are at peace”, they say
After a last look, they walk away.
“I don’t want to see her body!”
© 2009 Don LaVange, Flickr | CC-BY-SA | via Wylio
“I can’t, I can’t!” screams the 30 year old mother of two
with trembling body and clouded mind.
Her grandmother, once familiar, now foreign.
Hands cold, lips shut.
Eyes closed with glue.
A body that once embodied love
now fear.
Once comfort, now pain.
Her parents urge her again . . .
“I don’t want to see her!”
The protestations echo though the walls and down to our bones
“What’s going on?” “WHATS GOING ON?!”
asks the protester’s two year old daughter.
Her small voice isn’t lost in the noise.
Her four-year-old brother quickly hugs her
and whispers
“It’s okay”
She finds calm in his arms.
I listen.
I watch.
Waiting.
The stampede of grief settles like dust.
The two year old drops her crackers on the floor.
Her protesting mother picks them up one by one
“Let me throw them out.” I say.
“You never know what kind of germs are on a funeral home floor.”
The humor finds a small crack
that allows laughter instead of tears.
A kind word and a touch of humor.
A moment later, she straightens her back.
Wipes her face.
Grabs the hands of her children
She walks to the casket.
Listening to the screams of a bereaved mother
© 2009 Quinn Dombrowski, Flickr | CC-BY-SA | via Wylio
I write this as I’m listening to a mother frantically scream, “That’s my baby!!!” as she views the body of her deceased 24 year old son for the first time since his death. She’s kicking
screaming
stomping
weeping.
I write this as my own therapy … it’s hard to listen to. It must be harder to be her. I can’t imagine.
A Jewish couple who met in school, they were unable to have any kids of their own so they adopted what became their only son, now snatched away from an overdose.
Cold.
Limp.
Unnatural.
Helpless.
My dad comes over to me. We stare at each other for about 30 seconds in silence before he says, “Any mother would do that…” It’s hard to listen to. There’s nothing to say at these times, yet everything wants to be said.
*As with all my posts, circumstances, dates and details have been changed to protect the privacy of those involved.
When “I’m Sorry” isn’t enough. An apology for the misdeeds of the funeral profession.
A scene from the Tri-State Crematory
We’ve screwed up.
Committed sacrilege.
334 uncremated bodies left to the elements and the animals making us look like monsters.
Two mummified babies found in the ceiling tiles of a funeral home.
Jessica Mitford.
The FTC. The Funeral Rule.
The price gouging. The emotional exploitation.
“I’m sorry” isn’t enough.
Even we can’t bury these dead bones.
One bad apple … but it hasn’t been just one.
A corporate guilt we must all eat.
I’ve been honest. Most of us have been honest.
Compassionate to a fault.
Honorable. Transparent.
But the guilt is stitched on our chest like Hester Prynne.
We cover the letter with suits and ties
and fear and over-blown self-importance and self loathing and defensiveness.
“I’m sorry” isn’t enough.
When we earn your trust.
When we treat you fair.
When we act with compassion
When you see us, not as funeral directors
but as family.
Our service offers hope for redemption.
because “I’m sorry” isn’t enough.
