Death
Being a Woman in the Death Care Industry
Amanda Boling
Growing up in a small rural area of Arkansas it never occurred to me that I couldn’t do anything just because I was a girl. The thought of working in the death care industry had crossed my mind a few times throughout high school but as a teenager I was more concerned with fitting in so I took the route of going to cosmetology school instead. After a few years of working in a salon I became bored and decided to move on to a new field, start a family, and was eventually laid off, which helped me make the decision to go back to school … funeral school.
The night before school started panic hit me. I thought “what if I’m the only woman in class?”
I was relieved to find that I was not the only girl but in fact that at least half of the students were female. I was surprised to learn that 57 percent of U.S. mortuary school graduates are women. The industry is definitely changing but it still shocks so many people to find out what my major is. The reactions I’ve received have ranged from nervous laughter to silence. I’ve even had a person that bluntly said “I didn’t realize women did that.”
I’m never offended by these reactions but I know that people look at me differently. I honestly don’t care if people think I’m odd. I believe the death care industry is extremely important to society and so often people chose to ignore that because we as a society do not like to think about death.
After a few months of classes I started an apprenticeship with a local family owned funeral home and I knew right away that I wouldn’t be able to blend in as I had in the past with previous jobs. Most of the funeral homes in the area are family owned and consist of men fifty years and older.
When I was hired, I learned that there was no such thing as a dress code for women so we had to come to an agreement on what would be appropriate for death calls, visitations, and funerals. Another obstacle that I faced was the fact that all the men wore matching ties and suits on certain days of the week.
The owner offered to buy me a few reasonably priced suits if I could find something that closely matched theirs to “fit in.” I thanked him for the offer but thought to myself “A twenty six year old female is going to attract attention no matter what hanging around a funeral home.” Despite the age and gender difference I’ve still managed to jump right in with the guys and do what needs to be done.
The biggest problem I believe I have faced so far is the fact that men underestimate me being a woman. Because there is a fair amount of lifting involved in this line of work the men call upon each other for assistance completely overlooking me.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t believe they ignore me to be rude but rather out of respect so I find myself constantly reminding them “I’m not as delicate and fragile as you think.” I do realize that I’m not always capable of doing everything alone but I’ve never let that stop me from pursuing my career.
Besides the obvious fact that hair dressing and makeup are not a challenge for me, being a woman in the industry is always a nice way to start a conversation when you find yourself working a funeral or visitation. I find it interesting how people are curious and seek me out to strike up conversations.
I love meeting new people especially the older generations. They always seem to be very eager to talk to me (especially the men) and find out why I do what I do. I tell them I enjoy my job because it’s not your ordinary 8-5 grind and you provide a service to families in need at the same time.
I never really thought much about it but I suppose a woman can be more approachable than a man when you are distressed and in need of comfort. It never ceases to amaze me when complete strangers open up to me and tell me how important a simple smile was to them as they passed me during the service.
When you think of important qualities that a funeral director should possess it would most certainly include being approachable, comforting, compassionate, and friendly so I think that we may have the upper hand in the so called boys club when it comes to that aspect. I’m certainly not saying that men aren’t capable of this but I think most men would agree that it may come more naturally for a woman. While I understand that this may not be the easiest profession for me to join I love the challenge and hope that other women will follow.
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I’m a 26 year old single mom from Brookland, Arkansas. I expect to have my funeral degree by May 2013. When I’m not chasing a toddler I enjoy all things girly. I have a slight obsession with fingernail polish, and I enjoy spending time with my boyfriend who is also a funeral director.
Death is Coming
“On a long enough timeline, the survival rate for everyone drops to zero.” ~ Fight Club
As human beings, there is one certainty in this life: it will end. Some lives sooner than others, some more quickly and painlessly than others, some with more tragedy or dignity than others. But, regardless of the details, everyone who ever lives will die. FACT.
Yet, what is the single thing people are most afraid of? I’ll give you a hint: it’s not heights, not public speaking, not flying, and not spiders or snakes. Give up? It’s death. Death scares us more than anything. What does it say about people when our number one fear is something as unavoidable and universally experienced as death? How does our fear of death affect our way of life?
Typically, we try to defend ourselves from the things we fear. For instance, a person can avoid heights, public speaking, spiders, and snakes. A person can even try to avoid certain means of dying. I, for example, could not imagine a worse fate than death by drowning – simply because I cannot bear the thought of being consciously aware of dying. Therefore, I do not push beyond my comfort zone when swimming or visiting the beach. In other cases, people have been known to avoid possible deadly situations by refusing to fly, refusing to smoke cigarettes, or in extreme cases, refusing to even step outside ones front door. Still, for as much control as you may try to have over how you die, no matter what you do, you cannot prevent death itself from occurring. Death comes for us all in due time.
Still, advances in medicine and lifestyle choices attempt to hold off death for as long as possible. We cling to life for every last breath (and dollar). So, what are we worried about, that we will go to such lengths to prevent death?
“Death is a worry of the living. The dead only worry about decay and necrophiliacs.” ~ Dogma
I think we are scared, because we are confused. If we believe the gospel and trust God’s word, then we know that Jesus died in order that we might live. And, we proclaim that at the Resurrection, Jesus defeated sin and death. Those truths confuse us. Why? Because we feel like it should say, ‘Jesus died and defeated death so that we wouldn’t have to.’ That would be GREAT news! Wouldn’t it? But, it doesn’t say that. Jesus death and resurrection does nothing to change the FACT that we will still die like every other person who’s ever walked this earth and every person who ever will.
So, what does Jesus change?
Jesus relieves us of the need to fear death. He gives us the hope and confidence to live in the face of impending, unavoidable, unpredictable death. He promises us that death is not the end of life. He promises us that death is not a journey we make alone. In Him, death is no longer that scary. Not being ruled by a fear of death, we are free to truly live. This is what is meant when Jesus and Paul talk about “abundant life.” They are referring to life when it is lived fully free from fear. Death is a reality, but it is not a reality that we must fear. Rather, it is a reality that must inspire us to live.
“Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we’ll die.” ~ Dave Matthews Band
Read through the book of Ecclesiastes sometime. Sure, initially it seems like a real downer. But, what it really is is a reality check. It’s reminding us that we should enjoy this gift we have called life, because death comes to us sooner or later. So, don’t spend your precious time working to stave off death. Spend your time relishing in God’s good Creation, embracing those whom God has brought into your life, and celebrating the good gifts God has given you. Be adventurous; take risks. What’s the worst that could happen?
Oh, yeah…death.
It is those who have not yet lived, who cannot bear the thought of dying. But, joyful are those who die in the midst of truly living.
P.S. While the preceding is written as an address to individuals, let it be understood that what is true for individuals also tends to be true for groups of individuals. Therefore, the suggestions I raise to “people” to resist being rule by a fear of death and instead embrace life, I also raise to churches, which are so often lulled into preservation-mode themselves, rendering their ministry “lifeless.”
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Here is Matt’s bio: I strive to be an innovative pastor in love with Christ, the Church, and the richness of Christian tradition, but committed to challenging the Church to vocalize their faith and tradition in languages understood by a new generation of people. Follow me on twitter (@RevGork) or by subscribing to my blog: http://ramblingrev-mgorkos.blogspot.com/.
Eulogy for Tom
Jay Cincotta
When Jay Cincotta was a young boy, his Uncle Anthony hung himself — but it was never spoken of. Suicide had a stigma in his Italian family and it was years before Jay even learned how his uncle died. Decades later, Jay’s younger brother, Tom, hung himself. In shock and grief, Jay reflected upon how he’d approach this sensitive topic with his own children, his cousins, his brother’s children and the rest of their friends and family in his eulogy for Tom.
This is the eulogy he delivered at his brother’s funeral:
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Thank you all for being here today joining my family in celebrating the life of my little brother.
If it wasn’t for Tom, I wouldn’t be here today. You see even as a young boy, Tom was a passionate entrepreneur. Tom was building a candy empire, and in his effort to protect his inventory, he actually saved my life.
We used to have a spare refrigerator in our garage in New York, and being an imaginative eight year old boy with lots of curiosity and no apparent common sense, I locked myself inside it to see if I could get out.
I couldn’t.
I learned that the light turns off when you close the door. And you can’t get to the latch from the inside. It was pitch black, cramped, airtight and nearly soundproof. As I kicked and screamed, the air got hot and thin. Sweating, panting and crying, I realized I would die and wondered how long it might be before anyone found my body.
Suddenly, there was a burst of white light. I thought maybe it was heaven. I thought an angel had come for me as I fell to the floor gasping for breath and I heard a voice. But it wasn’t the voice of an angel. It was the voice of my brother, Tom, and the voice said, “Jay, were you eating my candy?”
Tom was always clever and inventive, particularly in the pursuit of hoarding and selling of candy. In middle school he once rigged up an oversized jacket with all these inside pockets where he could hide candy and open it wide in front of potential customers, like a guy with a coat full of cheap watches.
Tom was a great athlete. He could have been a pro bowler. I think he even bowled a perfect game of 300 one time. He ran track. He loved lacrosse and played varsity in high school.
When we shared a dorm room at the University of Maryland in College Park, Tom and some of the other jocks would play lacrosse in the long hall using toilet paper rolls instead of balls to bean unsuspecting nerds enroute to their dorm rooms. Like me.
And once, while recovering from a knee injury, he raced me across the quad. Even on crutches he could still outrun me.
As we got older, we both got married, we both had two kids, we both had good jobs, and for awhile it seemed that everything was going his way.
But then it didn’t. Tom became confused. He made mistakes. His life took a darker turn. My love for him never wavered, but our relationship became terribly strained and for years we hardly saw one another.
But recently there was hope. Tom reached out to me, my brother, Doug, and our parents expressing regret and remorse. As a family reunited, we began planning a new beginning. Two weeks ago today, Tom, Doug and I spent a sunny spring day together after years apart.
Tom confessed to me that he realized his mistakes and that he was sorry for them and I truly believe he was sincere. I cried and told him how happy I was to have my brother back. Tom found the Hagarstown Recovery Mission and submitted an application which was accepted. He was about to start a new life, on the road to full recovery and redemption.
When last I saw Tom alive he was living alone in a small house with boxes piled to the ceiling. But good things were starting to happen.
I had hope. I thought Tom had hope.
One day Tom opened a door just in time and saved my life. Last Saturday I opened the door to his house just a bit too late to save his. There was an old rope tied to the doorknob. And when I opened the door I understood why: Tom had hung himself.
I will spend the rest of my life wondering why.
I dialed 911 and the next few hours were a blur as paramedics, then police came and went and people asked me questions and made me fill out forms. Finally, as a dark unmarked van pulled away I found myself alone in Tom’s front yard.
It was only then that I first noticed that his place backed to a public park. It was another bright beautiful spring day with a parking lot full of SUVs and young boys in team colors were playing lacrosse right behind Tom’s house.
They were young and intense and having fun and at a point in their lives where Tom once stood, where all that mattered was the stick in your hands and the ball and the net and the game and all your life lays out before you with all its promise and ripe possibilities.
And there’s always the danger that life can go horribly wrong when you least expect it. And you find yourself in front of an abandoned house. And a lonely cat needing a new home rubs against your ankles. And you’re left wondering why. Why?
I’m talking to you today about me and Tom because it’s the story I’ve lived. But my story isn’t really about me. Or even Tom. It’s about all of us, the people we love, and the urgency of time.
As life whizzes by it’s so easy to miss the preciousness of the fleeting moments of our lives. To forget how important we are to each other and that we have to love one another and love one another well and with all our hearts and not when it’s too late, but long before it’s too late.
Now. When it matters. When love, friendship and heartfelt concern can make a difference.
Close Friendship and Cyberloss
As more of our friendships become virtual via online communities, what happens when those virtual friends die in real life?
Today, I’m excited to host the creator of Navigating Cyberloss, a truly innovative and genuinely supportive website for an exponentially growing segment of people dealing with grief from the death of online friends. Casey is years ahead in recognizing the changing landscape of both grief and funeralization.
Here’s the story that prompted the creation of Navigating Cyberloss.
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There must be thousands of ways for a friendship to begin. My most cherished friendship began in one of the strangest. If somebody had asked me beforehand, I wouldn’t have thought it possible that two people could form such a strong bond based on five words…well, maybe if those five words weren’t “Banana and toffee, I think.”
Those were the first five words I wrote to Chris Thomas in February 2006. She was a devoted fan of George Harrison, as I am, and it was through the official George Harrison fan forum that we met. That day in February 2006 happened to be the twenty-fifth, which would have been George Harrison’s 63rd birthday. We fans were taking part in a virtual celebration for him, during which a moderator had offered some ‘banoffee pie’.
Chris wasn’t sure what banoffee was, and I wasn’t 100% certain, but I offered my best guess, and she appreciated it. We stayed in contact for a while through her forum thread, and then began to exchange emails and instant messages on a regular basis, communicating almost every night. Even though she lived in Argentina, she became one of my dearest friends.
Through reading Chris’ posts on the forum, I became aware of her battle with cancer. Although it was one of the most difficult experiences I had ever faced I remained supportive, offering what little assistance I could through our conversations and helping her get back into playing guitar, a skill that she passed on to her son.
At times when Chris’ health prevented her from updating the community on her condition, other users would keep in touch and pass any news on to us. There was an air of loving support which was present in all contact that the forum members had with Chris, and we all hoped against hope that somehow she’d beat it.
One instance raised all our hopes, in November 2006, when Chris posted on the board to say that she was in remission. Unfortunately, it didn’t last, and in January 2007, Chris and I had what would be our last conversation. She reported that she had moved across the country to receive stronger treatment, and spoke of surgery the following month. Although she expressed hope that she’d be with us all again ‘maybe next year’, I somehow knew that wouldn’t be the case. The penultimate words she wrote to me have stayed with me to this day: ‘I leave now.’ I somehow knew that phrase meant more than she was letting on…
The third of April brought confirmation of what the board community had dreaded, when one of our members wrote that he had heard from her brother that Chris only had a few days left.
Personally, I think knowing that bad news is coming sometimes makes it harder to bear.. That first night of knowing was spent wishing for sleep and praying that if it had to be that way, it would be painless. The next morning, I participated in a communal playing of ‘My Sweet Lord’ – Chris’ favourite George song, to show her, in spirit at least, that we were thinking of her as she made her way Home.
Easter Sunday, April 8 2007, was also the day that Chris passed away. Due to time differences, I didn’t hear until the ninth, the day I woke up and knew without a doubt what had happened. It was just before 7.15am when I logged onto the board, and read the news.
I was far from prepared but somehow knew what I had to do. I played George Harrison’s song ‘All Things Must Pass’ and thought lovingly of the person I’d had the privilege of knowing for an all too short period of time.
I grieved deeply for two years afterwards, and grieve to this day. Somewhere in the midst of my discomfort, I searched for assistance in dealing with the loss of online friends, and found nothing which discussed what I was trying to comprehend.
In November 2010, I started the blog Navigating Cyberloss to fill that gap, reasoning that I couldn’t possibly be the only person who had experienced meaningful online friendship, and devastating online loss. The blog is intended to provide community and support for people who have endured similar losses, offering them a place to share and remember with others who have suffered in this way. It is my hope that cyberloss will become a recognised issue which can be legitimately discussed alongside other types of loss, ensuring that those affected do not experience the same isolation I felt at first.
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Follow Casey on twitter and send your love via a “like” on facebook.
Painful Faith
Bio: Robert Martin spends his days as a computer software tester for a company in the suburbs of Philadelphia, PA. When he is not commuting back and forth, he spends time with his wife and kids and as the Christian Education Chairman for Bally Mennonite Church. As of right now, he is finishing a Master’s of Arts in Missional Ministry from Biblical Seminary. From there, when asked what he’s going to do with the degree, his standard answer is, “God hasn’t shown me that far yet.”
Mother’s Day, 2007, my world was turned upside down when my mother fell ill. Three months later, it wasn’t just turned upside down, it was shaken, rattled, and destroyed to utter rubble when her diagnosis turned terminal.
As we as a family grieved, there is one phrase that I’m so glad no one decided they needed to tell us.
“It’s all in God’s plan.”
That is not a statement that someone going through this kind of situation needs to hear, nor is it helpful, as true as it might be.
But we can’t say that for sure. We are not necessarily privy to all of God’s plans. For that matter, can we say that it is God’s plan for someone to experience the pain and grief of such a loss? To say so is too simplistic, I think.
I think the evil, pain, and loss that comes from living in this broken world is never part of God’s ultimate plan (if so, why would the final new Creation be a place of no tears?). The world is broken, so broken things happen. What IS in God’s plan is redemption, taking broken things and using them to bring about good, like the hope of a new life, or the ability to speak love, hope, and compassion into the lives of people who have experienced a similar kind of loss.
The good that happens after, that is certainly God’s plan, but the event that caused the pain? Not sure…
Now, Christ’s death…yes, God planned that. But in his ultimate plan, did he ever want to have to do that? From the beginning, his intention was for us to live in communion with him.
Christ’s sacrifice was a broken thing that had to happen as part of a broken world and the choices of broken people, but God used that brokenness for a wonderful thing to give us hope that such brokenness is only temporary. That’s the beauty of Easter. That the pain is only for a time as there is something more to come that will blow our socks off…
For me, my mother’s death was one that struck me to the core. We prayed…and prayed…and prayed FERVENTLY that she would be healed. In the midst of the ICU we prayed. On the road back and forth from Hershey and Chambersburg I prayed. Every night during that horrible 3 months I prayed, “God, heal my mother. I know you can. Don’t take her from me.”
And she died anyways.
Over a gall stone.
How absolutely stupid, non-sensical… Seriously?!?! A GALL STONE KILLED MY MOM!
God, how could you?
Was the sad thing that happened to me part of God’s plan? Or was it simply a matter of the fact that we live in a world that is cracked, broken, damaged by centuries of sin and that her death was just one in a whole litany of lives taken that should never have been lost?
God’s plan… we like to say that nice little “pat” answer “Oh, it’s all in God’s plan.”
What a load of crap.
The broken world around us was never part of God’s plan.
But God is bigger, stronger, better, and wiser than that. He takes even something as stupid and horrible as my mother’s slow fade into morphine-steeped oblivion and turned it around into a passion and a fire in my soul as I saw her life reflected in the lives of others and realized how significant one life lived passionately for God could be.
Her death was never part of God’s big plan. But my life is.
And this is what we must remember: what is important is not figuring out why the sad thing had to happen, but what is our reaction to it. Are we going to continue living in that brokenness? Or are we going to live a redeemed life?
For me, as Joshua said, and my house…we’ll serve God, even in the midst of brokenness.
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Robert blogs at Abnormal Anabaptist. You can follow him on twitter @tristaanogre.
