Joining in Empathy: A Story about Being More than a Funeral Director
A couple years ago we had a late night house call. My grandfather and I drove up to the house and an uncle came outside of the house to meet us, explaining the situation we were about to enter.
“You guys are here for my niece, Sara.
She’s 16 years old.
Been fighting cancer for four years.
She’s in the living room with her mother, Joan.”
We entered the house, walked to the living room and were greeted by about 20 family and friends who were scattered all over the living room, some sitting, and some standing, others laying on the floor.
It was late. Or early. 2 AM. Time gets confused by death.
When a terminal person is dying under home care it’s normal for a hospital bed to be temporarily set up in a large room, enabling larger groups to visit the dying. In this case, the bed was in the living room, but the deceased wasn’t lying on it; which was very unusual. We allowed them time to explain who Sara was, what she meant to them. All families need this time.
They need to believe that through their stories Sara could be incarnated in us, so that we could love her the same … so that we could become a part of their family. Once we’re apart of “the family”, we no longer represent a cold funeral director, but a tender caregiver.
After their stories, we asked them if they were ready for us to make our removal. They confirmed that they had all said their last “good-bye”.
And then we asked, “Where is Sara?”
“She’s here”, said Joan the mother. And then we saw her. When we first walked into the living room we saw a small girl being held by Joan. The girl looked to be around ten years old, and being that it was late we just assumed that this was one of Sara’s younger sisters who had fallen asleep in Joan’s arms. But, it turned out, Sara had died in her mother’s arms and there she laid. A small pile of bones, large enough to fill a whole room.
Like the transfer of a sleeping child from one adult to the next, I got down on my knees, slide my arms under Sara’s head and thighs, lifted her starved body out of her weeping mother’s lap and carried her to our stretcher. The room was full. Full of love. Full of grief. Full of tears. And I was a part of it all.
Empathy.
I tell you this story because I want to make a distinction between empathy and sympathy. Let me explain the difference:
Imagine being at the bottom of a deep, dark hole. Peer up to the top of the hole and you might see some of your friends and family waiting for you, offering words of support and encouragement. This is sympathy; they want to help you out of the pit you have found yourself in. This can assist, but not as much as the person who is standing beside you; the person who is in that hole with you and can see the world from your perspective; this is empathy. — Dr Nicola Davies
There are times (at funerals especially) when all we can give is sympathy. When it’s outside of our ability to fully empathize with a person’s situation. After all, the person laying in the casket isn’t my father. This isn’t my daughter. This isn’t my family.
And that’s our job. You pay us to be directors. You pay us to be the stable minds in the midst of unstable souls. And we couldn’t handle much more. We have to maintain a certain level of objectivity because there’s only so much pain, grief and heartache we can share until we too start to crash … burn out.
But, there’s other times when you can’t help but be drawn into the narrative, so that you enter the narrative and become a character in the story. Not just a director, but an actual character in the drama of life and death.
We touch the core of our profession when we enter the narrative and become part of the story … when we become more than directors … when we become part of the family.
10 Ways You Can Save Money When You Die
In the United States, the average cost of a funeral is roughly $7,000. If you’re like me, you’re always looking for ways to save. Here are ten ways you can save money when you die:
One. Don’t die.
But that won’t happen. Unless you become a vampire.
Two. Find a green cemetery.
Most cemeteries require a vault. Vaults hold both a practical value (they keep the ground from sinking when the body/coffin decompose) and a psychological value (they keep things away from the body). Vaults generally cost anywhere from $700 on up. Most cemeteries charge for opening of the grave and closing of the grave. That too generally costs $500 on up.
But if you’re okay with the ground sinking over a grave and don’t mind the elements touching the deceased, then you can consider doing away with the vault.
Green cemeteries usually forbid vaults and many allow you to open and close the grave yourself, saving you anywhere from $1,200 or more. Unfortunately, there’s only 93 green cemeteries in the United States.
Although they are rare, there are traditional cemeteries that DON’T require a vault. There’s two in a thirty mile radius of our funeral home. But, they’ll still charge you for opening and closing of the grave.
But remember, vaults act as prisons to would be zombies. So, if you’re a firm believer in the zombie apocalypse, it may be worth spending the extra cash in order to save humanity.
Three. Get cremated.
You should be able find a funeral home that will perform what we call a “direct cremation” for around or under $2,000. A “direct cremation” is usually defined as just a cremation with no funeral service.
You can have the funeral service on your own without the help of a funeral home and it will save you some cash.
Four. Have a viewing THEN get cremated
If you want embalming, and you want a public viewing and you want to save money, try having a viewing and then get cremated. Usually, cremation costs less than having to buy a vault and paying for the opening and closing of the grave. And most funeral homes have some sort of inexpensive options for caskets. If you choose this option, can might be able to save upwards of $2,000.
Five. Cut the extras
Flowers. Belly dancers. Elton John personally performing, “The Circle of Life”. All extras. Don’t need ‘em.
Six. Buy an inexpensive casket
Why do we buy such beautiful pieces of casket work and then promptly bury them? Confusing. Spend that money on something worthwhile like Netflix or pizza.
Seven. Direct Burial
For the most part, you don’t need embalming if you chose a direct burial. If you want a service, you can have a graveside service. You could possibly save a couple hundred to nearly a $1000 if you choose a direct burial.
Eight. Have a home funeral
Home funerals are still on the fringe of public consciousness regarding death care; but, they need to be on the forefront.
In most states, YOUR FAMILY CAN PERFORM THE ENTIRE FUNERAL ON THEIR OWN. No embalming needed. No funeral director needed. If you have a home funeral and a green burial, you’re talking about saving a whole lot of money. I’m a huge supporter of home funerals not only for financial reasons, but mainly because I think it’s healthier for families to practice death care on their own.
If you want to choose the home funeral option, you need to start thinking about it now. It’s probably not something you can pull off last minute (I’ll be writing more about this in the future).
Nine. Do Like the Amish
The Amish hire a funeral director to embalm the body and perform the legal paperwork, and then the Amish do the rest. They dress the body, casket the body, have a home viewing and perform the logistical work of the funeral. This option will probably save you a couple grand, but – like the home funeral option – it’s something that you’d have to prepare for before the actual dying happens.
Ten. Donate Your Body to Science
This isn’t something you can just do. You have to pay some time in research. First, NOT ALL BODIES ARE ACCEPTED BY SCIENCE. Yes, unlike Jesus, Science doesn’t love everyone. Secondly, find a program in your area. Start off by searching, “willed body program” and your city or state. And then go from there. You may still have to pay some money for transportation, etc., but it should be very minimal.
If you are accepted by Science, you should make yourself a t-shirt that says, “Science loves me for my body.” Because you deserve that t-shirt.
Predicting the next 100 years of the funeral industry
PREFACE: These predictions are simply conclusions based on fringe ideas I see being developed today. These “predictions” aren’t necessarily my “preferences”.
10 Years.
By 2024, embalming will no longer be the majority choice, while cremation and alternate burial options (green burials, etc) will not only count for the majority of dispositions, but will continue to rise in popularity.
Pet burials and maybe even pet funerals will continue to gain momentum.
20 Years.
In 2008, the cremation rate for England was at 72.4%. In 2034, America will have reached the same rate. The remaining 17.6% will probably be either direct burial (with no embalming) or some other type of sustainable full burial option. Embalming will only be performed on those who suffered tragic deaths; or on bodies that need some type of shipment.
It wouldn’t surprise me if Alkaline Hydrolysis (or something similar) has a major foothold in the disposition of the deceased. It’s possible that Alkaline Hydrolysis takes over cremation due to the fact that it’s a more sustainable option.
40 Years.
The euthanasia topic will be a settled issue at this point. Even today, in 2014, seven out of ten Americans are in favor of physician assisted euthanasia. By 2054, the question won’t be “is it legal” but “how do we adapt to the large number who request it?”
With the ability for a death date to be determined via euthanasia, it’s possible that a person’s life is celebrated through ritual BEFORE their death, instead of after it. This changes the whole landscape for the funeral industry.
60 Years.
Throughout the next 60 years, end-of-life discussions be a hot topic. Whether it be insurance concerns, euthanasia ethics or various other topics that arise, we will all have an opinion. In 2075 the conversation starts to shift, as people begin living very long and healthy lives through advanced technology, medicine and various synthetic forms of longevity aid.
It’s possible that death becomes a welcome friend, instead of a hated foe … that when people reach the age of 150 they simply want to die. It’s possible that we will be able to sustain life much farther than we sustain health. It’s possible, at this point, the euthanasia become the dominate cause of death. Instead of funeral homes, there’s now “Celebration Centers”.
100 Years.
At this point, technology allows us to be anything we want to be. And we’ll all choose to be Batman … the rich kid who has all of his needs fulfilled so he decides to test his fate by pushing limits. And we’ll all die stupid narcissistic heroic deaths from rock climbing or space explorations or deep sea diving. At this point, humanity will kill itself off via stupidity and dogs will rule the world. You heard it here first: Planet of the Dogs starts in 100 years.
With everybody dying from tragic acts of stupidity, most bodies aren’t recovered and the funeral industry dies. : )
The end.
A Sailor’s Dying Wish
Today’s guest post is written by Jennie Haskamp:
After signing my Pop, EM2 Bud Cloud (circa Pearl Harbor) up for hospice care, the consolation prize I’d given him (for agreeing it was OK to die) was a trip to “visit the Navy in San Diego.”
I emailed my friend and former Marine sergeant, Mrs. Mandy McCammon, who’s currently serving as a Navy Public Affairs Officer, at midnight on 28 May. I asked Mandy if she had enough pull on any of the bases in San Diego to get me access for the day so I could give Bud, who served on USS Dewey (DD-349), a windshield tour.
The next day she sent me an email from the current USS Dewey (DDG 105)’s XO, CDR Mikael Rockstad, inviting us down to the ship two days later.
We linked up with Mandy outside Naval Base San Diego and carpooled to the pier where we were greeted by CMDCM Joe Grgetich and a squad-sized group of Sailors. Bud started to cry before the doors of the van opened. He’d been oohing and pointing at the cyclic rate as we approached the pier, but when we slowed down and Mandy said, “They’re all here for you, Bud,” he was overwhelmed.
After we were all out of the van directly in front of the Dewey, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries, Petty Officer Simon introduced himself and said as the ship’s Sailor of the Year he had the honor of pushing Bud’s wheelchair for the day. Unbeknownst to us, they’d decided to host Budaboard the Dewey, not at the Dewey. And so they carried him aboard. None of us expected him to go aboard the ship. I’d told him we were going down to the base and would have the chance to meet and greet a few of the Sailors from the new Dewey. He was ecstatic. The day before, he asked every few hours if we were “still going down to visit the boys from the Dewey,” and “do they know I was on the Dewey, too?”
Once aboard, we were greeted by the CO, CDR Jake Douglas, the XO and a reinforced platoon-sized group of Sailors. To say it was overwhelming is an understatement. These men and women waited in line to introduce themselves to Bud. They shook his hand, asked for photos with him, and swapped stories. It was simply amazing.
They didn’t just talk to him, they listened.
Bud’s voice was little more than a weak whisper at this point and he’d tell a story and then GMC Eisman or GSCS Whynot would repeat it so all of the Sailors on deck could hear. In the midst of the conversations, Petty Officer Flores broke contact with the group. Bud was telling a story and CMDCM Grgetich was repeating the details when Flores walked back into view holding a huge photo of the original USS Dewey. That moment was priceless. Bud stopped mid-sentence and yelled, “There she is!” They patiently stood there holding the photo while he told them about her armament, described the way it listed after it was hit, and shared other details about the attacks on Pearl Harbor.
Bud finally admitted how tired he was after more than an hour on deck. While they were finishing up goodbyes and taking last minute photographs, GMC Eisman asked if it’d be OK to bring Sailors up to visit Bud in a few months after a Chief’s board. I hadn’t said it yet because I didn’t want it to dampen the spirit of the day, but I quietly explained to GMC Eisman the reason we’d asked for the visit was simple: Bud was dying.
I told him they were welcome to come up any time they wanted, but I suspected Bud had about a month left to live. Almost without hesitation, he asked if the crew could provide the burial honors when the time came. I assured him that’d be an honor we’d welcome.
Leaving the ship was possibly more emotional than boarding.
They piped him ashore. CMDCM Grgetich leaned in and quietly told me how significant that honor was and who it’s usually reserved for as we headed towards the gangplank. Hearing “Electrician’s Mate Second Class William Bud Cloud, Pearl Harbor Survivor, departing” announced over the 1MC was surreal.
Later that night Bud sat in his recliner, hands full of ship’s coins and declared, “I don’t care what you do with my power tools; you better promise you’ll bury me with these.”
He died 13 days later. For 12 of those 13 days he talked about the Dewey, her Sailors and his visit to San Diego. Everyone who came to the house had to hear the story, see the photos, hold the coins, read the plaques.
True to his word, GMC Eisman arranged the details for a full honors burial. The ceremony was simple yet magnificent. And a perfect sendoff for an ornery old guy who never, ever stopped being proud to be a Sailor. After the funeral, the Sailors came back to the house for the reception and spent an hour with the family. This may seem like a small detail, but it’s another example of them going above and beyond the call of duty, and it meant more to the family than I can explain.
There are more photos, and I’m sure I missed a detail, or a name. What I didn’t miss and will never forget, is how unbelievable the men and women of the USS Dewey were. They opened their ship and their hearts and quite literally made a dream come true for a dying Sailor.
They provided the backdrop for “This is the best day of my life, daughter. I never in my whole life dreamed I’d step foot on the Dewey again or shake the hand of a real life Sailor.”
Without question, it’s the best example of Semper Fidelis I’ve ever seen.
*****
Jennie Haskamp is a Marine Corps veteran. Follow Jennie’s personal blog HERE. And to read a follow-up to the post you just read, click HERE.
Grief Shaming: Why some people believe your grief over Robin Williams is misguided
My social media feeds have been spattered with statuses such as this:
“People need to wake up! He was JUST a celebrity!”
Or this:
“Why are so many people grieving over Robin Williams when Mike Brown was shot and killed for NO REASON!!!”
And then there’s the complaint that we forget crimes against humanity, like those atrocities being committed by ISIS against the innocent:
“The media covers celebrity deaths, but they totally forget that ISIS is slaughtering children.”
And I admit, I’m guilty of the same type of grief shaming and grief measuring. There’s been a few times when I’ve walked into a nursing home, hospital or home to see the grandchildren and children weeping over the body of a 90+ year old deceased person. And I want to say, “You know last week I buried a 15 year old boy who was struck by a car … that family has a right to grieve, but this person that you’re crying over … this person has lived 90 full years of life.”
Or, something like this: “Most people never get to see their parents live into their 90s. You should be celebrating that fact that you shared so much time with your loved one. STAAAAPH CRYING!!!”
And, from a level of objectivity, I (we) are right.
I mean, have you read about the recent Mike Brown tragedy? An eighteen year old unarmed black male gunned down by a white cop in Ferguson, Missouri.
And the ISIS stories are so horrific that it’s difficult to recount. ISIS is slaughtering children. And turning other children into monsters.
ALL THIS IS GOING ON IN THE WORLD AND YOU’RE MOURNING THE DEATH OF A COMEDIAN??? A COMEDIAN WHO COMMITTED SUICIDE???
The problem with grief shaming and grief measuring is this: there isn’t objectivity.
See, grief is proportional to love and intimacy. The more you love someone and the closer you are to them, the more you grieve. And telling someone that their grief is misguided is as wrong as telling someone their love is misguided.
Sure, the death of a 90 year old isn’t as tragic as the death of a 15 year old, but that doesn’t make the grief for the 90 year old any less real or any less valid. You grieve because you love and we all love differently. We love different people. We love those people in different ways. And our attachments are as varied as we are unique. I’ve learned the grief NEVER deserves judgment, but it ALWAYS deserves compassion.
My friend Tracy, who has an incredible way with her words, wrote this:
I saw a thing today complaining about the focus on Robin Williams’ death instead of the horrible atrocities in Iraq and around the world. Can I tell you something? Mr. Williams’ death HAS affected me more deeply. Even if that makes me a bad person.
I think it’s because I understand something about depression and have no concept of being a refugee. I think it’s because I’ve considered suicide at one point in my life but I’ve never needed to climb into a rescue helicopter to escape genocide. I think it’s because I’ve been touched more than once by mental illness and addiction in the lives of those around me but I’ve never had to see a neighbor child cut in half. I think it’s because I can’t do absolutely anything at all about Iraq or Sudan or DRC, but I can look in the eyes of the people around me and make sure they are actually ok and not just pretending. Step up to my own war against profound and crushing grief and sadness. Do something small to release the stigma of mental illness in my own corner of the world.
I’m not one to really care much about celebrities and their divorces/affairs/babies/
movies/whatever, but this one hits me. And instead of lashing out at those who mourn a suicide by calling their attention to “more important” deaths, maybe we need to check in with the people who are mourning Mr. Williams and make sure they’re ok. (I’m ok, really. Thanks.)
Many of us grew up with Robin Williams.
He was the Genie in Aladdin that made us laugh.
He made us believe in the magic of Neverland.
Williams sparked our imagination in ‘Jumanji’.
He somehow softened the blow of divorce in Mrs. Doubtfire
And now, he’s making many of us reconsider our understanding of depression and suicide.
Instead of shaming and measuring other people’s grief, isn’t it more helpful if we open up a space in our hearts for compassion and empathy? And maybe, if we show others empathy for their grief, they will in turn show empathy for ours.
The key to solving problems like ISIS and the injustice of the Mike Brown tragedy doesn’t start with shame and judgment. The key to solving problems big and small starts with showing compassion. It is love, after all, and not judgment, that covers a multitude of sins.
