This post was originally placed in my “havenlife” blog in March 2011. It must be the snowy days because this story came to mind again today . . .
It seems like the funeral director in your town or neighborhood has been there forever, right? The turnover rate is so low in some places that you get the impression that he was born in the funeral home.
But when a new director does come, it’s a transitional period for the community as well as for the funeral director. He has to learn all the names, the relationships in all the families. He needs to learn where all the churches and cemeteries are located; develop relationships with all the pastors and cemetery sextons. He will learn all of the town and village clerks and the local veteran’s services agent. He will also build bridges with other area funeral directors and service organizations. I think you’re getting the picture.
Life for the new funeral director is very interesting, indeed. And in the early part, it’s like you never really catch up, and you’re praying like mad that things go well.
I remember Mrs. C, an amazingly gracious woman. Her husband had passed away in during a cold, snowy winter. She no longer lived in the area, but she understood the plight of the new funeral director; where he needed assistance with information that the previous director would have known, Mrs. C amicably provided it.
It turns out the cemetery was quite far away and it was not one that was utilized by this funeral home often. For peace of mind, it was necessary to drive out, look over the cemetery, and develop confidence in the route for a successful processional. Having done that, it seemed we could relax a little about logistics and concentrate on service.
The calling hours and funeral service ended, it was time to proceed to the cemetery. An accurate and orderly processional was created and off we went. Driving, slowly, but just driving.
And then, we noticed out the driver’s side window that Mrs. C’s car had pulled up along side of our car, having pulled out and passed the hearse to make the maneuver. This was in 2003 and cell phones had not migrated into the elderly portion of the population at all, so this was her only method of communicating with the funeral director.
So we pulled over, lowered our window, and heard Mrs. C kindly say, “I’m not familiar with this route to the cemetery.” Which was enough to send a creeping pink line up the funeral director’s neck (my dear husband) as he looked around to determine our location. They discussed the situation and decided how to get things back on track for that successful processional.
As there was no cross-road nearby, a turn-around was the course of action chosen. The “about-face” went amazingly smooth, as numerous cars executed the needed maneuvers to stay out of ditches and snow banks.
Mrs. C was, indeed, very kind about the whole situation keeping the intimate details of that conversation discretely to herself. Of course, we now know where all the cemeteries are and have not repeated this mistake!