Journal of an Undertaker

2010-05-03T09:02:00.000-07:00

My prayers goes out to parents who have had to go through the loss of a child. This video really touched me.

The Last Lecture

2008-07-29T09:30:00.000-07:00

Found in an old book of misc. articles (mostly 1930's)

2008-07-27T19:28:00.001-07:00

Funeral Home Prank Call Rickey Smiley (click play to turn off music below)

2008-07-25T19:33:00.001-07:00

2008-07-24T11:02:00.000-07:00

Ruth

2008-07-20T18:40:00.000-07:00

Ruth died this weekend. She said it would be in July and she was right. I think some people just know when it is their time.

Ruth was able to die peacefully surrounded by those that loved her and she knew she had said all that she needed and wanted to say.

At times, death can show up so unexpectedly. Other times it shows up and hovers... As much as I hate someone standing over my shoulder there might be some comfort in the warning. Either way when it leaves it steals a part of who we are and abruptly takes away all the moments that we dreamed about and looked forward to. It robs us of laughter, friendship, conversations and intentions. I quess it's the overwhelming loss of those things that we often grieve about. We always feel we have more time.

A well respected funeral director and my late mentor often said, “Grief is reaching out to someone when you need them the most and they’re no longer there.”

Ruth had a peaceful expression when I saw her at the viewing. Though her time was up, she had made a difference in this world by how she viewed the world and the way she treated others. She was ready to go and I am happy for her.

when ya gotta go, ya gotta go

2008-07-05T07:04:00.000-07:00

Reader beware: the following story is about poop and having to go real bad...

Good 'ol Denny's. Nothin like some runny eggs, cheese hashbrowns, greasy bacon strips sopped up with a biscuit and some sausage gravy. ummm ummm good.

We've all been there but we don't talk about the occassional aftermath of such a feast. First comes the sweating, then the pucker, then the "oh * " I gotta go! Then you just pray as you are hobbling to the bathroom that the clean pair of underware you put on this morning is still clean.

This story was told to me by Tom. (Tom is a director I work with who used to work in the city at a funeral home while serving his apprenticeship)

Poor Jim. A super nice retired guy, in his early 70's decides...hey, I'll help some people out, get a part time job at a funeral home! Little did he know that some funeral directors can be arrogant SOB's.

Most of his co-workers know that every morning Jim wakes up at the crack of dawn and heads to good 'ol Denny's. One particular morning he arrived at work to find he was scheduled to drive a limo for a service they were having. That day they had to leave quite early and they arrived at the family's house just on time. Jim got out of the limo and ran over to Dick, the funeral director who was driving the other limo. The conversation went like this...

Jim "Dick, I have to go to the bathroom really bad."
Dick "Jim, you are going to have to hold it...we will be late for the church"
Jim "You don't understand, I really have to go...I'll just ask them if I can use their bathroom."
Dick "You CAN'T Do that!! Just hold it. "
Jim"Dick, look, I have some good friends that actually live just down the street..I know they will let me use their bathroom! "
Dick "No. We have to go."

So the family came outside and the two funeral professionals smiled and kindly opened the doors. On to the church they went.

This story is like a terrible movie where you can imagine the ending but hope it isn't true.

As the limos pulled up to the church Jim got out with as much pride as he could muster...and waddled into the church.

Poor Jim. (There are depths of humiliation that most people can't even fathom.) He had pooped his pants in the limousine while driving the family to the church.

*the above names have been changed to conceal the original identity of those involved.

Lucky's Funeral

2008-07-02T11:52:00.001-07:00

Herald Journal Article

2008-06-24T17:45:00.000-07:00

Funeral director job not for everyone
By MAGGIE SCHUETTE-VOSS

The heart has stopped. Brain waves cease to exist. Death has taken over.
In the most blatant terms, the body will be retrieved from its place of death and, if the family wishes, pumped full of preservatives.
Embalming. The thought makes some queasy, others curious. For most of us, an embalmed state is how our loved ones will last see us.
Undertaker, mortician, funeral director - over the years, those who deal with the dead have been called all three.
Their occupation surrounded in a bit of mystery and on the receiving end of a few jokes.
But there is nothing mysterious about embalming. Of the duties undertaken by the funeral director, embalming is a small part.
Funeral directors are on call 24 hours a day, seven days a week. Death is not considerate.
"Most of the times when we're called, we initiate a response to the place where the person died," Roger Carlson, funeral director at Winsted Funeral Home, said. "We make contact with the next of kin to determine wishes and discuss final plans."
If requested, the body is embalmed. Embalming is only required if the body will be transported across state lines, transported by an airline, death was due to a communicable disease, or burial will take place more than 72 hours after death.
Carlson said it is difficult to have a visitation without embalming, as the body begins to decompose immediately after death.
Bruce McBride, owner of the Paul-McBride Funeral Home in Lester Prairie, said an average embalming takes two hours.
"(Embalming) is pretty simple," said Carlson. "We use the body's circulatory system," he said.
The primary preservative in embalming fluid is formaldehyde. Because blood gives skin its color and is removed during embalming, the fluid also contains dyes to give a pink color to the skin.
Embalming fluid goes by several brand names, such as Plasdopake used by the Chilson Funeral Home in Winsted.
The first step in embalming is washing the body with a disinfectant soap to prevent the spread of germs.
The clothes worn by the person, needles, and blades used in the embalming, are picked up by a company that specializes in disposing of contaminated material.
The 16-ounce bottle of embalming fluid is placed in a pump and diluted with two gallons of water. Kevin Chilson of Chilson Funeral Home said it takes an average of four gallons of fluid for embalming.
The fluid is injected into an artery, such as the femoral or carotid. It goes into the heart and through the circulatory system, pushing out and replacing the blood, which leaves the body through a vein. McBride uses the jugular vein.
The funeral directors also use various tools to remove blood clots and open veins where the flow of the embalming fluid is being impeded.
Blood and body fluids go into a receptacle, much like a toilet, where it is then flushed into the septic sewer to be treated at the waste water treatment plant. If the person died of a contagious disease, the blood and body fluid is first treated with disinfectant.
Carlson said there has been talk of requiring funeral directors to retain the body fluids and have them picked up by a specialized company. He added body fluids are a small part of what goes into a sewage waste water treatment system.
Chilson said due to privacy laws, if the person died of hepatitis, AIDS, or other contagious disease, the funeral director cannot be told by the health care facility.
Chilson said he has been told such information by the family, which he appreciates.
"To protect ourselves, we've been advised to treat everyone as if they died from a contagious disease," he said.
After embalming, cosmetics are used on the body's face to make it pleasant for the visitation.
If a woman has died, the family is asked to bring in the cosmetics she used. The woman's hair stylist is also asked to do the deceased's hair.
Hard and soft waxes are also used for restoration if there has been trauma to the body.
The length of time after the body is embalmed that decomposition will set in is determined by the thoroughness of the embalming, McBride said. Age, cause of death, weight, and length of time between death and embalming are other factors.
"It's not meant to last for the long term," McBride said.
He added there are different types of embalming. Bodies that have been donated to science use a different type of chemical, as the concern is long-term preservation, not looks.
The tradition of embalming is unique to the United States and Canada, said Chilson. He said in Europe and especially third world countries, embalming is not a common practice.
Embalming began to receive acceptance during the Civil War, Chilson said.
"Many soldiers were buried on the battle field, but many were also sent home," Chilson explained. "The embalmer usually had a medical background and would set up a tent on the edge of the battlefield. The fluid was put in by gravity, much like an IV," he said.
Chilson wasn't positive, but thought the Civil War embalmers probably used a combination of formaldehyde and arsenic. "Arsenic is one of the most powerful preservatives," he said.
Transporting the dead soldiers home was a low priority. "A month would pass (before the body came home) and the local towns people would be amazed they could still have reviewal," Chilson said.
Funeral homes have only recently come into acceptance, primarily during the late 1940s and 1950s. Chilson thought many would remember when the funeral and embalming was done in the home.
In the past, many of the funeral tasks were done by the women of the church. "They would bathe and dress the body," Chilson said.
The family would go to the local man who made furniture and he would make the coffin. Chilson said the term "undertaker" came from, as time progressed, the man who made the coffin would undertake more of the funeral responsibilities.
Embalming was done in the homes until the 1930s.
"The undertaker would bring in his buckets and chemicals and a cooling board," Chilson said. "He would suspend the cooling board between two chairs in the parlor and do the embalming there." The wake and reviewal also took place in the parlor.
A door badge - a large black bow hung on the door - was also a tradition, letting others know there had been a death in that family.
Even though there have been changes over the years, Chilson said funerals are still steeped in tradition. Following a tradition isn't always easy. All three funeral directors agreed this business is not for everyone.
"Emotions run high," McBride said. "You learn to cope."

The Third Story Window (see story below)

2008-06-24T17:26:00.000-07:00

The Third Story Window

2008-06-23T11:39:00.000-07:00

Our funeral home is a historic home in our small town. The home was built by a very wealthy oilman in 1917. The original structure had three levels with the third level frequently used for ballroom dances and fancy parties held in the 1920's. A tornado damaged the original structure and the home was moved to the current location on our downtown main street. It was purchased for the purpose of a funeral home in the 30's. The funeral home operated on the bottom floor, the family lived on the second floor and the third floor became storage.

In 1977 the funeral home was purchased for the third time. A casket selection room and other offices were put to use on the second floor. The third floor remained storage.

I have always had an eerie fasination with the third floor. The first time I ever opened the creaking door and stepped on the old winding staircase I felt this strange nervous sensation. It is like stepping back into time as you step on the dusty staircase. There is no electricity. The cobwebs and dust wave in the shadows and amongst the boxes, old magazines and furniture you can glimpse the vintage cots that picked up countless bodies over the years. At one time the abandoned floor represented two bedrooms, one bath and a huge ballroom that once overflowed with music, dancing and laughter. The bathroom has original hot and cold knobs for the sink and tiny checked tile that is broken and aged by the years.

In one of the bedrooms there is an old window. The poor thing has not aged well. Chipped paint and rusty hindges hold it in place. She hasn't been opened in years. It has to be lonely... no one around anymore to share the view of the sunshine with.

Every three months or so I wander upstairs to the third floor to look around. Just before I go back downstairs I always go to my window and pay her a visit.

One cold snowy day in December of 2006 I stepped up the dusty stairs and sensed a strange breeze. I could hear the sound of papers swirling around on the floor and I could feel the chill of the December air at my feet. As I followed the sound of the wind it called me into the bedroom with the window.

And there she was, wide open.

There was no explaination for this for if you tried to open it, it would take a crowbar to do it and besides, no one but me went up there every now and then.

It actually scared me and I ran downstairs to show the owner. He went back upstairs with me and we both stood dumbfounded. It took both of us to get it shut and latched.

To this day it remains closed.

(*Tomorrow, I will take and post a picture of the window so you can see her with your own eyes..)

boo hoo

2008-06-19T15:54:00.000-07:00

I don't recall how it came up but on Tuesday my male coworkers and I started talking about crying (since we are surrounded by it all the time). I realized that I couldn't remember the last time I had a good cry. You know, the kind of cry that just pours out from the depth of your soul and you have a hard time stopping once it starts...it feels good every once in a while to act like a big bawl baby.

As funeral directors we are trained to suppress emotions. We cannot be the one who loses it, standing by the casket. Many times as people are passing by the casket crying and I am standing right there but I have trained my mind to wander. I try to think about happy things in my life, my husband, our girls, our trip to Disney World, or anything remotely above all of the grief and despair going on around me. I have almost have this non-crying thing down to a science....sometimes.

I read in one of our trade magazine that alcoholism in the funeral industry is almost an epidemic. Heart attack, stroke and other sudden illnesses are common due to prolonged stress. Some jobs are very physically demanding but in the 8 years I have been directing I realize that it is the emotional exchange and the constant empathy that can literally drain the life of a funeral director. cheers to that irony....

Back to the story I really wanted to tell. While most of the time I work with families when someone has died, I also help families with pre-need arrangements. 90% of the time it is a healthy couple that is planning ahead to spare the kids from having to do it years down the road. We keep it light hearted~most people like to joke and say, "oh honey, just throw me in a ditch somewhere" and we all laugh because we know no one ever does that...wait, except for Lorena Bobbit...okay, bad joke~

So I met with Ruth* Wednesday. 72, dying with cancer, had endured already 8 rounds of radiation therapy already, the sweetest lady anyone could hope to meet. I had helped her last July when her second husband died. She had been one my favorites.
Ruth is the "darlin, baby, sweetie" kind of person, always speaking kindly of others, no matter what her circumstance might be. It pained me to go over to her house and see her without hair and in a wheel chair. I sat next to her and put my hand over hers and said, "thank you for having me over Ruth~how are you feeling today?" Her sense of humor and sweetness came out right away and she answered my question with a smile and "enough about me darlin...how are your girls doing?"
We got reaquainted and she then began to tell me her wishes. For the first time in a long time...my throat started getting that terrible knot in it~you know the knot that feels like a marble stuck in your throat? I wrote down all she was telling me and tried really to hard to find some happy thoughts...it wasn't working. The reality of the honor of being able to talk with this sweet lady about her loves, her dreams, her career, her hobbies, her family and her death, caught up with me.
It was time for our meeting to come to a close. I looked up and took her hand. She said, "I can't thank you enough for helping me today with all of this. Honey, I just know it will be next month."

I couldn't say much of anything. My heart was so sad that this sweet soul's time was up. With tears in my eyes and that damn lump in my throat, I choked, "You're welcome Ruth...goodbye ."

And with that, I walked out to my car and bawled and bawled and bawled...

That night, after I put the girls to bed, I thought to myself, wow... this has been a day.

And I poured myself a glass of red wine.

Time

2008-06-11T07:53:00.000-07:00

My mother has told me all of my life, "Annie, the older you become the faster time goes by" I am understanding the wisdom in those words as I flip the calender pages faster and faster each week. Where do the weeks go? The days of May are already gone....did I make them worthwhile? Did I truly take time to do the things I enjoy or was I too busy trying to plan for the next day....?

Yesterday I was able to catch a sweet glimpse of another perspective on time. A couple (both in their late 80's) came to in to the funeral home to add some more detailed instructions about music and clothing to their files. After I had taken their information and we had vistited a bit I asked, "Well, what do you have planned for the rest of the day, anything fun?"

She giggled like a school girl and said, "It is our anniversary!" I said, "Oh, wonderful!" (and assuming as I sometimes tend to do...I asked) "How many years?" She shot him a flirty glance and said, 18 months....

It was all coming to light "You are newlyweds! Well that is even better!! " I said.

As I was walking them out the door she told me they had been to breakfast, then to an exercise session and they had a special steak dinner planned for that evening. He grinned proudly... I could tell he had planned quite well....

She then said, "We decided when we got married to celebrate each month because at our age we don't know if we have years."

With that lesson learned, I have decided to celebrate the months as well. In this day and age, even if it is a text message sent on every 22nd of the month to my husband just to let him know I love him.

Because at my age, I am not promised years either.

Mommy, why?

2008-06-05T13:00:00.000-07:00

The mind of a four year old...it will make you laugh, make you shrug, leave you speechless and make you really creative when it comes to answering the utmost question~why?

I have often hesitated when my four year old asks, mommy...what do you do at work? When she was three I said, "your mommy is a professional hugger...." I was pretty darn proud of myself for coming up with such a sweet explaination until my husband said it kind of sounded like a hooker. Well ... that's just great.

So one of the many conversations have gone like this:

"mommy, why do you go to work?"
I go to work to help people sweetie

"Well, what do you do?"
I help people who have died

"what does died mean?"
Well, it means they leave their bodies and get to heaven

"I want to go to heaven!"
not yet baby, it's not your time

"Mommy, I don't like to take turns!!"

And the latest (and greatest in my opinion....)

Overheard by my daughter's teacher~
"What does your mommy do at her work Emma?"
"She helps people"
"Oh!! She's a SUPERHERO!!?" hahaa

You are a what?

2008-05-25T11:01:00.000-07:00

The Life of a Funeral Director
As a little girl I always dreamed of becoming a funeral director. Literally. What I mean by that is that as far back as I can remember (even elementary school) I dreamt that I was attending funerals...but the eerie thing was that my view of the funeral wasn't from one of pews (or the casket, thank goodness-). I was always witnessing the funeral from the back of the church. As strange as this may sound I believe those dreams were God's way of pointing me in a direction I would otherwise never go.
I truely love my "job". If you were asked if being a mortician would be on your life to-do list, you would probably laugh and quickly change the subject.
I get to be a part of celebrating a life well lived. The families share with me hilarious stories, secrets (they thought they were taking to the grave) and wonderful memories (the good stuff hallmark cards are made from).
At my "job" I have laughed, cried, hugged and listened. And it was okay.
The difficult days are witnessing the emptyness, guilt, regret and the overwhelming emotions that come with grief.
As Steve Huston often said, "Grief is reaching out to someone when you need them the most and they're no longer there."
Going to work everyday reminds me that I am not promised tomorrow and sorry, life is just not fair. You have to tell people you love them because one of these days you won't be able to.
I have so many stories to share. Not all of them are mine, nor do they all stem from my home town (so dont waste your time trying to decide who's family I may be talking about). I will tell these stories with the upmost respect. Some of them are funny, some of them are unbelievable, some of them are sad but all are very interesting!!
~keep checking.... more stories coming soon!!!

Hey Ya'll!

2008-05-24T13:00:00.000-07:00

It's been too long since I have posted~happy to be back!!!

Why would you say that, Emma?

2007-09-29T13:58:00.000-07:00

My husband thinks I am a little crazy when it comes to shopping. You will either find me, depending on what kind of mood Im in, at a thrift store Or in (one of my mall favorites)
Ann Taylor. There are days I want to go to a Goodwill and spend an hour sifting through other peoples clothes and happily pay $12.00 for five "nearly new" outfits and other days I want to go to the mall and spend $300.00 on a new suit.

Last weekend we hit the mall to get the girls some new fall clothes. As we passed my dear friend "Ann"....my husband gave me the "we've already spent too much money today" look. I smiled sweetly, ignoring his expression and grabbed by four year old by the hand and went on in. I instantly saw some darling jeans (that happened to be on sale!) and we were headed to the dressing room.

Don't you hate it when you head towards the dressing room and there are 8 ladies in front of you with their arms full of clothing and you want someone to say, "oh, you just have one pair of jeans to try on....you can go ahead of me and my five outfits..." but that never happens.

My fidgeting side kick and I finally get to our room. As I quickly (I know my husband is checking his watch) get undressed, out of nowhere~this loud Booming voice says...

"Mommy, why don't you have any panties on?"

Now, I don't know what in the world possessed her to say that~because I did!!
I tried to cover up by saying "Why would you say that Emma?"
I have never been so embarassed to walk out of the dressing room with all these ladies in line looking at me like "ewwww....she better buy those jeans......"

The Witch Doctor

2007-09-29T13:01:00.001-07:00

Many things can trigger an emotional response. It has been my experience that the one thing that can bring down the house is music. Of course you have your traditional favorites (I can almost sing them to you by heart, off key...) "Amazing Grace", "The Old Rugged Cross", "In the Garden" and oh, lets not forget...."Prop me up beside the jukebox if I die". Yes, I have actually witnessed this song played....living in Oklahoma we have many a cowboy...

A few other interesting choices families have played are:
Friends In Low Places (Garth Brooks)
All My Exes Live In Texas (and this person WAS married four times)
Highway to Hell (ACDC) Yes~I couldnt believe it either
and
The Witch Doctor

The Witch Doctor will forever be a special one to me because something really odd happened.
I was the director who helped the family plan a memorial service for *Joe*. Very sad situation, motorcyle accident, in his 60's. As I met with his wife she told me his favorite song was "The Witch Doctor". Since my "generation" is summed up with the 80's I wasnt immediately familiar with the song but his sons helped me out with a duet of "oo E oo ah ah, bing bang, walla walla bing bang" I havent heard that song in years! We cleared it with the minister (it was one of his favs too...) and it was to be played for the final song of the memorial service, which was Monday morning 10am.

Monday's are my days off and I typically hang around the house with my two girls. That Monday morning of the memorial service I was in my four year olds room, picking up a few barbies and getting some coloring books out. The thought crossed my mind~"I hope that memorial service is going okay today....." As I hollered at my daughter to come into her room I picked up the t.v. remote and flipped it on. All at once I had a eerie rush of emotion. There, playing on the Disney Video channel (which I didnt even know we had that channel) was

"The Witch Doctor"

The time was 10:25 am~the same time the guys said they played it at the church.

Family Trees

2007-07-02T10:10:00.001-07:00

Family trees
All family trees have that special branch that broke off somewhere along the way. When someone dies all the branches come together to cry, laugh, remember and sometimes beat the crap out of each other.
Working with families gets very interesting when they are caught in a family feud. Most the time, it ain't no game show.
As a funeral director you do your best to stay neutral and you never, ever take sides. During the arrangements they will yell, accuse, point fingers and stomp out. Most of the time it's the remaining children that can't agree or just can't stand each other. Sad really.
However, never underestimate the power of creativity when it comes to getting back at one of your siblings.
I was working with two sisters (in their 70's) that were planning a funeral for their mother, Mary. It was clear they did not get along and they disagreed about everything.
One sister lived in town and the other was from out of state. The local sister couldn't stand the other because she told me she was so nosy.
After the service was over the local sister came in to pick up the remaining flowers. I helped her get the plants and flowers in her car. As we were loading the flowers she started laughing. She turned to me and said, "guess how I got back at my sister for all the things she has done to me over the years?"
I didn't know if I wanted to know.
"My sister is so nosy. She has to know everything. So...I sent this beautiful bouquet of flowers to mom along with a special note"
She handed me the card and it said,
"To Mary...you have and always will be the love of my life." Love , Bill.
I said, who's Bill?
She said..."your guess is as good as mine! My sister will try to fiqure out who Bill is until her dying day. Serves her right."

Ghost pager

2007-07-02T10:09:00.001-07:00

For the first three years I worked at the funeral home I was on call at night. We have an answering service that takes our calls aside from our business hours. When we recieve a death call, the answering service pages or calls the director that is to pick up the body and embalm. We then get up, put a suit on and head to the location of death. Most of the time it is the hospital or the home, sometimes it's the scene of a car wreck.
One night~in the middle of the night~my pager went off. I was sound asleep but awoke, turned on the light, and looked at my pager. It was blank~no numbers. I looked at the clock, it was 12:03 a.m. I thought, that was weird. I guess I dreamed that it went off. I went back to sleep.
Just as I drifted off to sleep, the phone rang. It was around 1am. The lady at the answering service said, we have a call in the Via Christi ER. She gave me the name of the person and that the family was waiting. I asked her, did you try to page me earlier? She said no.
I drove to the hospital and found the family in the ER waiting room. After visiting with them for a little while it was time to go to the nurses station and get all of his information and room number.
As I filled out our first call sheet, I asked the nurse for his time of death.
I am not making this up.
She said 12:03

The Birds

2007-07-02T10:08:00.001-07:00

There was a young man~in his late 30's~that died several years ago. I'll call him Joe. He had a severe handicap since birth and he had spent most of his life indoors being cared for by his mother. Joe couldn't speak, walk or see but he could hear. He loved listening to his stereo beside his bed. Joe's mother told me that his favorite song was Songbird and they wanted us to play it at the graveside service. She said it always calmed him. Here are the lyrics:
Songbird
For you there'll be no cryingFor you the sun will be shining'Cause I feel that when I'm with youIt's all right I know it's rightAnd the songbirds keep singingLike they know the scoreAnd I love you I love you I love youLike never beforeTo you I would give the worldTo you I'd never be cold'Cause I feel that when I'm with youIt's all right I know it's rightAnd the songbirds keep singingLike they know the scoreAnd I love you I love you I love youLike never before Like never beforeLike never before
I will never forget his graveside service. It was a bright clear day. The minister started the service with a prayer, then he began to talk about Joe's life. It was at that point, I was to play Songbird. Then the most amazing thing happened.
As the song began to play, we could hear hundreds of birds in the distance. The birds became louder and louder and before we knew it, they were flying directly over the graveside tent. The huge flock of birds was so loud that we couldnt hear the song anymore, all we could hear were the birds. Everyone just looked at each other in shock. Ill never forget the Dad (who was elderly) started crying and shaking his head in amazement.
The birds passed over the tent just long enough for the song to play. I sensed that it was Joe's way of saying goodbye.

Where am I going and why am I in this handbasket?

2007-07-02T10:06:00.000-07:00

This is one of my favorite funny stories. (In the end, the family found it funny too~or I wouldn't be laughing)
While working in the city we had a service for a man that was pretty young~in his 50's. The family was going to email us the poem for the memorial folders. We recieved the email, from one of the daughter-in-laws. She gave us the songs, soloists and a few other details about the service and then the "poem".
We thought that for a man's service, the lines seemed kind of strange, but if that was what the family wanted~that's what we do.
We printed approx. 250 folders and handed each and everyone of those out at the service to all family and friends in attendance.
I was driving the family limo that day. After the church service we were settled in the cars and about in procession to the cemetery when one of the sons said, "What does this all mean?" I glanced over and he was pointing to the memorial folder. I wasnt sure what he was talking about so I said, "Did we make a mistake on the folders?" He then said, "I didnt send this to you."
Okay, I was starting to sweat. No way did we make that big of a mistake. All at once, a shaky voice from the back (the daughter-in-law that sent us the email) said, "I did".
"I sent that email about the songs and soloists but the sayings below were just my footnotes that are on every email I send"
So the top lines of the memorial folder read like this.....
If men are from mars, why don't they just go home?
Mothers of little boys work from son up to son down
Where am I going and why am I in this handbasket?
What if the Hokey Pokey is what it's all about?
The laughter in the limo that followed greatly calmed my nerves. It's one of those moments where you dont know whether to laugh along with or not. The family said that *Pete* had the greatest sense of humor and they took it as his way of making them laugh.
I can't help but wonder what all those people thought as they were reverently sitting in the pew, quietly reading the folder.

Rosie

2007-07-02T10:05:00.000-07:00

Before moving back to my home town, I served for two years as an apprentice at a funeral home in Oklahoma City. It was there that I met Rosie. The funeral home had a cemetery connected to it and Rosie's husband was buried there.
If I had to guess she was in her 90's. She always had someone drop her off or sometimes she would arrive in a taxi. My desk faced the front glass doors so I would see her in her green coat taking slow baby steps with her cane towards the door.
The first time we talked I didnt quite understand why she was there. I didn't realize at the time she was there to teach me something.
Rosie came to the cemetery every chance she got to visit her husband she had lost several years earlier. She would come back into the funeral home and wait for her ride and thats when she began to talk to me about her life.
She began to tell me about her husband. I'll never forget it, she would say, "Honey, you just know a good lookin man when you see one." I laughed so hard because it doesnt matter how old ya are~that's true, girl.
She would talk about her husband being in the service and all the places they traveled to over the years. She cried when she got to the end of her stories and she would always end our conversation with, "oh, we had such a wonderful life."
It was then that I realized that she wasnt only mourning over losing her husband, she was mourning over losing her "life" too.
At my age I had so many things to look forward to, people to meet, places to see, opportunites everywhere. Rosie had reached a place in her life~a place we all will one day~where all she has to look forward to in her life was the chance to relive those memories by telling her story to someone who would listen.
I try to remember Rosie when I am in a hurry ~running to the store, stressed out because my toddler is screaming that she wants more candy, baby has a dirty diaper~irritated at my husband.... One of these days, these will be the days I'll miss.

Thought for the Day~

2007-06-16T17:20:00.000-07:00

Isn't having a smoking section in a restaurant kind of like having a peeing section in a swimming pool?

Your Dash

2007-06-14T17:09:00.000-07:00

As I was stirring the onions into my sizzling hamburger meat last night for some reason I was thinking about all of the obituaries I have written in the last seven years. It's sad really, the fact that I have to sum up someone's entire life in basically a few paragraphs.

Here are the standard "highlights": born (when and where) parents names, schooling, when, where and who they married, a few hobbies, a sentence or two about what kind of person they were, survivors, preceded in death by and memorial contributions.

It seems that only occasionally I have the privilage to read that life story written by the family~rich with details of memories, adventure, humor and personality.

Why don't we take the time to tell our own story? Maybe it's because we are afraid to. I have had people tell me that they don't want to even think about their own death, fearing that just the forethought alone will trigger it.

Well, one of these days, we will all have our story told. I think this poem says a lot about life and how we live it. Something to think about~

I read of a man who stood to speak at the funeral of a friend.He referred to the dates on her tombstonefrom the beginning...to the end.

-He noted that first came the date of her birthand spoke of the following date with tears,but he said what mattered most of all was the dash between those years.

-For that dash represents all the time that she spent alive on earth...and now only those who loved her know what that little line is worth.

-For it matters not, how much we own;the cars....the house...the cash.What matters is how we live and love and how we spend our dash.

-So think about this long and hard...are there things you'd like to change?For you never know how much time is left.(You could be at "dash midrange.")

-If we could just slow down enoughto consider what's true and real,and always try to understandthe way other people feel.

-And be less quick to anger,and show appreciation moreand love the people in our lives like we've never loved before.

-If we treat each other with respect,and more often wear a smile...remembering that this special dash might only last a little while.

-So, when your eulogy's being read with your life's actions to rehash...would you be proud of the things they say about how you spend your dash?-Author Linda Ellis

6am...here I come!

2007-06-11T11:23:00.000-07:00

With sadness and a twinge of guilt I have to return to work tomorrow after enjoying many weeks of being home with my sweet newborn. I do have to admit (and this may be the cause of my twinge) I am looking forward to some adult interaction again!

Those of you who stay at home I have a new found respect for you. It is not all about watching Dr. Phil and Oprah (although I did manage to squeeze them in most days)!! Many days were filled with trying to help my three year old adjust to not being the only princess in the house. She would climb on the furniture, chase the cat, spill her drink and stick her tongue out at me when I attempted to carry her to time out. We also had the "pinching" episode in which she swore that the cat pinched baby Kate.

So I will say hello to the snooze button again, squeeze into my suits and slip on the panty hose and high heels. (sigh...)

Blog?

2007-06-11T10:35:00.000-07:00

As I begin this blogging adventure I am somewhat nervous about this first blog. So, how do I begin? It has to be great~being the first one and all! Okay, this is too much pressure...ummm......
Here~that will do. whew! Glad I got this first one over with. Now I have to fiqure this all out.