Miscellaneous
Holidays: The Days that Death Works Overtime
I was lucky this Christmas. I watched my one year old son rip into his Christmas presents unencumbered by work. In fact, this is the first year in the last five that I haven’t been called in for a holiday death call.
Today, though, is New Year’s Day. My family is home right now watching the parade on TV. We have two meals we’re supposed to attend later on in the day. But I’m here at work awaiting the two families that are coming in to arrange funerals for their loved ones who died last night.
When I’m home for the holidays there’s this gnawing fear that at any moment I’ll be called in. That at any moment Death will keep its schedule of inconvenience. It’s not that I dislike work. I am, by professional accounts, a workaholic. It’s the reactions I get when I break the news to my family. “Don’t go, Caleb”, says my wife, “find someone else to go.”
“Daddy, daddy, daddy” comes from my son. Today is supposed to be special. Instead, it’s a disappointment. A huge disappointment. It’s almost easier when I’m at work on the holidays. Once I’m at work, I can’t disappoint anyone. Once I’m at work, the expectations can’t go unmet. I’ve already failed.
And as much as I want to complain. As much as I want to make this all about me, I go to work, I see the grieving faces, I see the holidays that have been completely ruined, and I’m snapped out of my little perspective. Today, I’m writing the obituary for the married father of three young children. Cancer stole him from his kids. At least I get to go home to my son. This man’s three children will have a holiday that will ever haunt their memories.
I look into their empty faces. Faces that see no future. Only the present. And the present is full of confusion, darkness and pain. This is no holiday. This is no day for celebration.
Damn you Death. Seriously. It’s almost as though you work the hardest on holidays. That you save your best work for the special times of the year. The suicides. The night deaths. The tragic demises. It’s like you whisper in the ears of the dying, “Hold off. Just hold off a couple more weeks. The holidays are right around the corner. The holidays. Yes, the holidays! Die on the holidays!”
And they listen to your whispers. And the families who had plans to celebrate must now plan to mourn. And what is meant for rest … what is meant for life … becomes a time that creates unrest as it all accentuates what’s missing … or rather who’s missing … from the family table, from the celebrations.
Do you know how many families’ holidays you ruin each year? Do you enjoying having us huddled around the beds of the dying instead of the tables of celebration? Are you jealous of us and all the life and living we do around the holidays? Or, are you just trying to include yourself in our events? Well, we don’t want you. Stay away from us. Let us live and enjoy each other for this short little time of the year. Our lives are short. Stop reminding us of mortality during these times we are allowed to really live.
I’ve come to fear the holidays because of you. I fear the disappointed faces. The empty seats at the dinner tables.
And to the living. To those of you celebrating today. If you are unencumbered by Death today. If Death hasn’t touched your holiday, then celebrate. Embrace your loved ones and friends. Tell them you love them. Hold them. Smile. Enjoy the holidays. Because the day will come when Death will demand his inclusion. And you too may come to fear the holidays.
If Death has found a place at your holiday table, then rebel against him. Raise your fist to him. And show him that you can still live. That you can still love. That you can still smile. That you can still be thankful. Raise your glass to life and love. Make Death jealous and live.
15 Things I Wish I’d Known About Grief
Today’s guest post is written by Teryn O’Brien:
After a year of grief, I’ve learned a lot. I’ve also made some mistakes along the way. Today, I jotted down 15 things I wish I’d known about grief when I started my own process.
I pass this onto anyone on the journey.
1. You will feel like the world has ended. I promise, it hasn’t. Life willgo on, slowly. A new normal will come, slowly.
2. No matter how bad a day feels, it is only a day. When you go to sleep crying, you will wake up to a new day.
3. Grief comes in waves. You might be okay one hour, not okay the next. Okay one day, not okay the next day. Okay one month, not okay the next. Learn to go with the flow of what your heart and mind are feeling.
4. It’s okay to cry. Do it often. But it’s okay to laugh, too. Don’t feel guilty for feeling positive emotions even when dealing with loss.
5. Take care of yourself, even if you don’t feel like it. Eat healthily. Work out. Do the things you love. Remember that you are still living.
6. Don’t shut people out. Don’t cut yourself off from relationships. You will hurt yourself and others.
7. No one will respond perfectly to your grief. People–even people you love–will let you down. Friends you thought would be there won’t be there, and people you hardly know will reach out. Be prepared to give others grace. Be prepared to work through hurt and forgiveness at others’ reactions.
8. God will be there for you perfectly. He will never, ever let you down. He will let you scream, cry, and question. Throw all your emotions at Him. He is near to the brokenhearted.
9. Take time to truly remember the person you lost. Write about him or her, go back to all your memories with them, truly soak in all the good times you had with that person. It will help.
10. Facing the grief is better than running. Don’t hide from the pain. If you do, it will fester and grow and consume you.
11. You will ask “Why?” more times than you thought possible, but you may never get an answer. What helps is asking, “How? How can I live life more fully to honor my loved one? How can I love better, how can I embrace others, how can I change and grow because of this?”
12. You will try to escape grief by getting busy, busy, busy. You will think that if you don’t think about it, it’ll just go away. This isn’t really true. Take time to process and heal.
13. Liquor, sex, drugs, hobbies, work, relationships, etc., will not take the pain away. If you are using anything to try and numb the pain, it will make things worse in the long run. Seek help if you’re dealing with the sorrow in unhealthy ways.
14. It’s okay to ask for help. It’s okay to need people. It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.
15. Grief can be beautiful and deep and profound. Don’t be afraid of it. Walk alongside it. You may be surprised at what grief can teach you.
What are things you’ve learned about grief that you wish you’d known when your loss first happened?
*****
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Teryn O’Brien works in marketing with various religious imprints of Penguin Random House. She spends her free time roaming the mountains of Colorado, writing a series of novels, and combating sex trafficking. She’s of Irish descent, which is probably where she gets her warrior spirit of fighting for the broken, the hurting, the underdog. Read her blog, follow her on Twitter, or connect with her on Facebook.
150 Year Old Reputation for 15 Minutes of Fame?
Over the past month I’ve been featured by NBC, CBS and the Facebook god George Takei (oh myyy). And while the NBC and CBS posts were rather innocuous, this post has been making it’s rounds. Like, it’s everywhere.
For those of us who watch “The Walking Dead” and other Zombie films, the joke is mostly funny. For those who aren’t interested in the zombie genre, though, it’s created some discomfort. Being that the post has gone viral, millions have seen it and not everyone has liked it.
One local person (who refused to give us their name) called the funeral home and demanded that I take down the post (by the time they called it was too late and the post had already gone viral).
Another person actually reported me to the Borough Council of my home town. Thankfully, the Borough Council realized my post was in jest and didn’t kick me out town.
But when a friend that I really respect was uncomfortable with that particular tweet, it made me reflect upon my platform. He constructively and kindly let me know what he thought via a Facebook message, and it provided me with a moment of clarification, which I communicated with this response:
So sorry. It is certainly something that I would never ever consider doing in real life. I understand why the thought of this would upset you and sincerely apologize. It has been a difficult process for me to understand how I can engage my generation in the death and dying conversation without being over the top. This is a process that I have continually modified based on constructive feedback. I thank you for being willing to offer me your thoughts and do know that I am very sorry this tweet called into question our trustworthiness. I will learn to do better.
I just want to make some things clear: I am first and foremost a funeral director who has the utmost respect for those I serve. And I would never, ever knowingly do anything through social media that would break the trust of my community.
Through six generations and over 150 years, our family has earned the trust and confidence of our community and I would NEVER trade that trust for anything. I would NEVER trade our reputation that my family has built for 15 minutes of personal fame. I have too much respect for my family and too much respect for this wonderful community that we serve.
So, why do I engage in social media? And why are some of my posts “edgy”?
My goal with social media is simple: I want to start a conversation about death. And, as a funeral director, I’m well suited to initiate the discussion. We need to talk about death, we need to embrace it, we need to understand it better and – at times – the best way to start the conversation about an uncomfortable subject is through a little bit of humor.
This whole death and social media thing is kinda unique. We’re doing it together. We’re learning. And we’re going somewhere. We’re learning how to live life better through a healthy perspective of death. So, learn with me. I’m trying my best.
Memoirs of a Cancer Orphan
Today’s guest post is written by Lynsie Lee:
They say you can’t help someone if they don’t want it for themselves. You can shove resources into their face, offer time, money, every ounce of yourself. But if they don’t want help, there is nothing you can do. Sadly, this is the case with my mother while she is dying from cancer.
Maybe she’s in denial. Maybe she is still trying to be the strong, independent woman that raised six children on her own. But now, when I walk into her dark, dingy apartment – the smell of old dishes and mildew filling my nostrils – I feel like maybe she just wants to die.
She has disconnected herself from us; much like when she was an alcoholic. We don’t know how to feel, what to say to her, how to help her. She has abandoned my siblings and I and it’s beginning to feel like she is already gone.
My family has always been the epitome of dysfunction. Our mother kept us from knowing relatives, so none of us have ever dealt with a death in the family. Questions, stresses and frustrations all swarm my mind when I think about when she actually does pass- not fully for the pain of the loss of my only parent, but for the realization that we will have to plan a funeral. The dread of needing to clean up an apartment that has been hoarded in for nearly 30 years. There’s also the weight on our shoulders of what to do with our eldest sister who still lives there because of psychiatric issues that our mother chose to neglect and refused to address. My mom is choosing to let herself die and leaving us to handle all of the issues she never could.
I’m not angry with her, which I know is a stage of the grieving process. I refuse to have anger toward somebody that did what she could with what she had (mentally, emotionally and physically). I spent enough of my childhood and adolescent being mad at her, hating her, wishing she would die. But now she is dying and it kills me to think that this is what she wants.
It kills me to see her curled up in a fragile ball on a couch surrounded by boxes with all of the light bulbs in her home burnt out. It kills me that my eldest sister has to live in these conditions and see this image every hour of every day. And it kills me that my mom refuses to let us improve this.
I’ve been grieving publicly for a few weeks and while it does mean a lot to me when I receive condolences, or when others relate with their own personal losses to cancer, I still feel alone in the fact that my mom is dying in these conditions. She’s choosing to be alone in these conditions. She’s choosing to abandon her children when she is all we have ever had.
I tried expressing to her the other night that I was sad and scared and she told me to leave her alone, that she just wanted to rest. You can’t help someone who won’t accept it. My mother doesn’t want help. My mother wants to die.
*****
From Caleb: As a funeral director, I’ve had to learn to control my emotions. Not because I’m a selective empathetic, but because grieving families need me to be the level head in the midst of grieving souls. But I couldn’t control my emotions when I first read this post. I cried. I cried because Lynsie pulled me into her story. I cried because I’ve served families whose loved one’s have chosen to die alone. By their own choice. I’ve seen the empty pain in those left behind. The helpless pain. The grief that has been disenfranchised by the one who has died. When someone chooses to die along, it leaves behind a lonely grief. An orphaned grief.
I hope this post finds its way to other “orphans” because I know it will give them a small sense of comfort, knowing that although your loved one has barred you from grieving, there’s a community of the lonely … an orphanage for the lonely grievers.
Thank you Lynsie for being willing to share.
The Funeral Industry Olympics
In Nederland, Colorado, there is an annual “Frozen Dead Guy Days“, which, among other things, includes a casket race (pictured below).
This type of macabre sport got me thinking, “What if there was a funeral industry Olympics?” So, I asked this question to my facebook community:
And you guys responded with nearly 200 glorious answers, many of which were very much industry specific (i.e., if you don’t work in the funeral business, you may not fully grasp the event. And, some of the events might seem disgusting to you, but are very real to us).
I absolutely love getting together with fellow funeral directors. Because we’re sort of a unique industry, it’s almost like we’re a part of some club. And when we’re together, we can share a part of ourselves that we hide from everyone else, even our closest family.
So, the idea of an Olympics would be AWESOME. And even though I have no plans to organize this event, if anyone else wants to, here are some event suggestions:
And here are some of my favorite event suggestions:
This one may just be my favorite: 
I’ve had some practice in this event:
And this guy would be the director of the Olympics ’cause he’s taking it all very seriously
:
And this is REALLY hard:
Absolutely disgusting. Seriously, though, I’d be good at it.
I hate it when this happens.
