How a Day at the Funeral Home Changed My Life Forever

It was 7:55 a.m. and I recall sitting in my car, which was parked out in front of the funeral home. My stomach was feeling a little queasy and I found myself wondering if this was such a great idea after all. You see, I like to know first-hand what my clients do, and some of my clients happen to be in the funeral industry. Can you see where I’m headed here?

But wait, there’s more to this story. I was curious. I was curious to know what kind of person would choose this profession and why. I was curious to know what a typical day would look like at a funeral home or if there was such a thing given the clientele. And truthfully, I was curious to know what it would be like to be around dead bodies all day.

That sounded morbid, didn’t it?

Actually, let me be more specific. I was curious to know if my views on life would change after spending a day helping out at a funeral home…a day which included working with both the living and the dead.

So that’s why I was there. I wanted to experience the experience and was granted permission by the owner/CEO. In fact, he was so appreciative that I wanted to learn more about his industry that he promised to expose me to as much as he could on the day I was scheduled to be there.

And that’s also why I didn’t want to get out of the car. That day had come and I was afraid of what I had gotten myself into.

Just then a car pulled into the spot next to me. It was Harold Banes, the operations manager; the same man I was scheduled to meet with at 8 a.m.

He pointed toward the front door. “Come on in, Greg,” he said smiling. “We’ve got a full day planned for you.”

I jumped out of my car and ran up to greet him, heart pounding a mile a minute.

“Hey Harold. I’m looking forward to today,” I mumbled, lying through my teeth. “But go easy on me,” I pleaded. “Remember, I’m a rookie.”

“This is your first time?” he asked, looking rather surprised.

“Afraid so,” I replied.

“Not to worry,” he said. “I think you’re going to get a real good sense of what goes on here on a typical day.”

We walked through the lobby and down a set of stairs. After two quick lefts, we moved into what’s called the preparation room; a specially designed room equipped for preparing the deceased for final disposition. We headed over to one side and sat down at a desk with chairs. The room was very cold with bright lights shining down on us from above.

I glanced around and suddenly my body froze as the details of the rest of the room came into focus. Along the walls were specially designed shelves reserved for the bodies of the deceased who were scheduled for viewings and needed some final touch up. I’ll spare you the details but let’s just say it was going to be a very busy morning for the make-up artist.

“Are you okay?” asked Harold, seeing the shock on my face.

“I’m fine,” I replied, knowing that I wasn’t. “I just didn’t expect to see all of this quite yet.”

He nodded. “It is hard to get used to.” He looked around and paused. “These aren’t just corpses to us. Each body represents a life…a life with incredible stories and experiences. It’s our job in this room to prepare these bodies for viewing so that their loved-ones see them at their best and in a state of peace. If we can do that, we’ve done our job.”

Goosebumps rolled up and down my arms. “Harold, I felt that,” referring to what he just said. “You really are passionate about this.”

“This isn’t a job to me,” he said, “this is a calling. I’m here because I want to help people at one of the most difficult times in their lives. Ask around,” he said, “you won’t find anyone whose here because of the paycheck.”

“But doesn’t it get depressing being around so much death?” I asked.

He shook his head. “We serve the families, Greg, and they are very much alive.”

As Harold continued to talk, I found my attention drifting over to the other side of the room where four bodies, covered with sheets from the neck on down, lied peacefully. I remember feeling an overwhelming sadness as I tried to imagine the lives they each must have lived. And yet at the same time I felt honored to be with them during this final phase of preparation. It was like I wanted to reassure them that they were each being treated with the utmost respect and dignity at the end of their lives and that they didn’t need to worry. They were in good hands. They were in Harold’s hands.

“Greg, I’ll ask Leslie to show you the embalming room when you two return from the hospital.”

“The hospital?” I asked.

Leslie walked in as Harold rose. “Greg, meet Leslie. She is studying to be a funeral director and has been with us for 5 years now.”

Leslie was a very beautiful and confident woman with a strong grip to her handshake. “Ready?” she asked.

“I think,” I said.

“Greg, you and Leslie are going over to Children’s Hospital for a pick-up.”

I looked over at Leslie and then Harold. “Wow, just as I thought I had been through the worst…”

Leslie shook her head. “Honey, the day has barely begun.”

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