Wednesday, October 29, 2008
I Haven't Died... Rather I Am On a Search For Civilization...
I have not forgotten about my blog, but life seems to be forgetting about me. It keeps moving and I have become stagnate. I will be back to writing as soon as I find a reliable internet source and a new job. I am no longer with the my current place of employment due to my injury (40 lb. weight limit does not allow you to move the deceased). I guess this just gives me a much needed break and no excuse to not work on writing my great american novel.
Friday, October 3, 2008
Are You "Fluffy"? If So, I Still Want to Know You...
I belong to a community service club that does all kinds of activities. Recently a club member came up with the idea of having all the members read the same two books and discuss them at our December meeting. Normally I wouldn't see this as a problem, in fact, I would enjoy it, but then I saw the books. I don't usually read "fluffy", or I guess I should say I never read "fluff". Both of the books are about murders and food. That's right, murders and food. I thought this a tad unusual. I have had a heck of a time reading them. I would start a chapter, big print, small pages, hardly any words that contain more than five consonants and two vowels, and yet it would take me forever to finish it. I would find myself wandering while reading. It is hard to get into a book that just doesn't seem as though it has much depth. I would not catch the little details because, frankly, I would not allow myself to become interested. I don't care if the policeman had a crush on the baker and that the baker's cat has a ten page, morning routine (which shows up after every fourth chapter). Now that I am getting toward the end, I am ashamed to say that it has been a much more clever book than I thought it might be. I had to re-read a few chapters to piece it back together, but now that I am almost finished, I have been pleasantly surprised.
Funeral directors sometimes fall into a rut of not wanting to mess with the "fluff". We may meet with a different family every day of the week, and though they all might have a few little quirks, I would venture to say that nine times out of ten the families are your run of the mill, middle/lower class family. What happens is the funeral director, myself included, can become guilty of wanting to skip over the "fluffy" parts, whether it be because we are over worked and tired, have a hundred and one things that need to be done, or heaven forbid, we have become bored with our profession. This is when the family may suffer a little, but the funeral director is the one that is really missing out. Not missing out on sales that might make them commissions, or other business contacts, but rather on the true reward of the work. We miss out on a chance to really get to know people.
Each family's "fluffiness" is indeed different. They have special little antidotes about how grandma once set the kitchen on fire trying to bake three dozen pies for the county fair, or how crazy uncle Bob use to be able to play the accordion, while standing on one foot and smoking a cigar, in the middle of a hail storm. Each family has a pet that has a morning routine that could take ten pages to write about, and every family has a history that is rich and diverse. By not letting ourselves become thoroughly engaged in what the families are telling us, we are missing out on getting to really know people.
The reward of a funeral service related job is hardly ever monetary, rather it is the stories, the people and their quirks, and above all the mental connection we make, that becomes our reward. It is that sense that you have gotten to know someone and have done your best to help them through one of the toughest situations they will ever have to deal with. It is, in the end, a lasting reward.
Bill Clinton has often commented that he just loves getting to know people and to learn their stories. You can tell when he is being interviewed or is in a sense interviewing the public that he employees active listening techniques. His eyes don't wander around the room, he doesn't repeatedly check his watch, and his face doesn't glaze over. He would make a great funeral director. To be able to give each family a chance to tell you their "fluff ",and to be able to listen attentively, is probably the most therapeutic act a funeral director, or any one for that matter, can do when a loved one has died.
So, the next time someone offers me up a book that looks like "fluff", and starts out reading like "fluff", I give it the benefit of the doubt. The next time I meet with a family and they start telling me their "fluff", and it sounds like the average run of the mill "fluff", I will promise to devote myself to listening attentively. Now, if the book turns out to be total crap, I may have to dump it off at the nearest thrift store, but I promise if the family I am meeting with turns out to be the epitome of average "fluff", I will not dump them off at the nearest thrift store.
Funeral directors sometimes fall into a rut of not wanting to mess with the "fluff". We may meet with a different family every day of the week, and though they all might have a few little quirks, I would venture to say that nine times out of ten the families are your run of the mill, middle/lower class family. What happens is the funeral director, myself included, can become guilty of wanting to skip over the "fluffy" parts, whether it be because we are over worked and tired, have a hundred and one things that need to be done, or heaven forbid, we have become bored with our profession. This is when the family may suffer a little, but the funeral director is the one that is really missing out. Not missing out on sales that might make them commissions, or other business contacts, but rather on the true reward of the work. We miss out on a chance to really get to know people.
Each family's "fluffiness" is indeed different. They have special little antidotes about how grandma once set the kitchen on fire trying to bake three dozen pies for the county fair, or how crazy uncle Bob use to be able to play the accordion, while standing on one foot and smoking a cigar, in the middle of a hail storm. Each family has a pet that has a morning routine that could take ten pages to write about, and every family has a history that is rich and diverse. By not letting ourselves become thoroughly engaged in what the families are telling us, we are missing out on getting to really know people.
The reward of a funeral service related job is hardly ever monetary, rather it is the stories, the people and their quirks, and above all the mental connection we make, that becomes our reward. It is that sense that you have gotten to know someone and have done your best to help them through one of the toughest situations they will ever have to deal with. It is, in the end, a lasting reward.
Bill Clinton has often commented that he just loves getting to know people and to learn their stories. You can tell when he is being interviewed or is in a sense interviewing the public that he employees active listening techniques. His eyes don't wander around the room, he doesn't repeatedly check his watch, and his face doesn't glaze over. He would make a great funeral director. To be able to give each family a chance to tell you their "fluff ",and to be able to listen attentively, is probably the most therapeutic act a funeral director, or any one for that matter, can do when a loved one has died.
So, the next time someone offers me up a book that looks like "fluff", and starts out reading like "fluff", I give it the benefit of the doubt. The next time I meet with a family and they start telling me their "fluff", and it sounds like the average run of the mill "fluff", I will promise to devote myself to listening attentively. Now, if the book turns out to be total crap, I may have to dump it off at the nearest thrift store, but I promise if the family I am meeting with turns out to be the epitome of average "fluff", I will not dump them off at the nearest thrift store.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Don't Suffer From Device Dependence
Cell phones can be necessary for work. They can also be several other adjectives such as annoying, addictive, ... o.k., those are the only two I can think of at the moment. I more or less was addicted to mine. I had been given a cell phone when I started my job in a small town because, frankly, I was on call all of the time. Of course they let me use it for personal purposes as stated by a clause in my contract. The problem with this was it didn't work. Oh it would be just fine if I was on the interstate or highway, but since all interstates are more than an hour away and I hardly leave town I wouldn't really consider it a perk.
Then came the day they asked for it back. Even though the damn thing hardly ever worked and I never really got to use it, I was sad to see it go. Rather than sign a contract to get a new cell phone, I just decided to buy a tracphone for emergencies. I did not know if I could survive without my phone. It was my little life line, my phone a friend, and safety net. I carried it every where day and night and the more I thought about it, I mostly used it as a flash light when I dropped my keys out side my door at night, or as an incredibly expensive address book. After a week and half with a tracphone, I still had a full set of minutes, that I hadn't even touched.
Sometimes we look for not so obvious devices or safety nets. Something that gives us comfort to have even if we don't ever use it. Old ladies do this at garage sales. They walk in and buy hundreds of yards of scrap material or three or four sets of dishes, all “just in case” because knowing we have them makes us feel prepared to take on any unexpected situation, whether it be company, the need to make a house warming or baby gift, or to call AAA when we get a flat. Some of these safety nets are more practical than others. I think in my case I would have been just as well off had I bought a pocket flashlight and little leather address book at the dollar store. But should we really feel lost without these little devices? Should it almost make us panic?
I was in a restaurant in Lawrence, Kansas one time, eating lunch with a friend and I saw a girl come back from the bathroom looking panicked. She slid in the booth behind me and from what I could gather she had lost her cell phone... down the toilet. She left it to be fished out by restaurant staff but was not going to take it back. I don't think her panic was so much over the fact that it would seem to be a sort of embarrassing way to loose a phone (I know, been there done that) but rather because her connection to the world was severed. It was not just a device, it had turned into her life line to the outside world. I am sure, by the conversation going on behind me, she was unable to enjoy her lunch with her friend/family member due to the incident.
I hope I never get to the point where I let little devices and safety nets get in my way of living life. It is smart to be prepared and be able to call for help when you need to, but to be able to check your email while at the zoo with your kids or while having lunch with a close friend... I don't want a device that I am that addicted too. I also don't want to be the crazy old neighbor woman who hordes random household goods and holiday decorations in the attic, garage, basement and back porch. I am sort of glad now they took my phone away. It gives me a sense of freedom. My new tracphone only gets turned on when I am walking alone at the park or have an emergency, and I don't carry it every single place I go. This whole situation has made me try to be a little less clumsy and more attentive when I come home after dark, and that can't be a bad thing.
Then came the day they asked for it back. Even though the damn thing hardly ever worked and I never really got to use it, I was sad to see it go. Rather than sign a contract to get a new cell phone, I just decided to buy a tracphone for emergencies. I did not know if I could survive without my phone. It was my little life line, my phone a friend, and safety net. I carried it every where day and night and the more I thought about it, I mostly used it as a flash light when I dropped my keys out side my door at night, or as an incredibly expensive address book. After a week and half with a tracphone, I still had a full set of minutes, that I hadn't even touched.
Sometimes we look for not so obvious devices or safety nets. Something that gives us comfort to have even if we don't ever use it. Old ladies do this at garage sales. They walk in and buy hundreds of yards of scrap material or three or four sets of dishes, all “just in case” because knowing we have them makes us feel prepared to take on any unexpected situation, whether it be company, the need to make a house warming or baby gift, or to call AAA when we get a flat. Some of these safety nets are more practical than others. I think in my case I would have been just as well off had I bought a pocket flashlight and little leather address book at the dollar store. But should we really feel lost without these little devices? Should it almost make us panic?
I was in a restaurant in Lawrence, Kansas one time, eating lunch with a friend and I saw a girl come back from the bathroom looking panicked. She slid in the booth behind me and from what I could gather she had lost her cell phone... down the toilet. She left it to be fished out by restaurant staff but was not going to take it back. I don't think her panic was so much over the fact that it would seem to be a sort of embarrassing way to loose a phone (I know, been there done that) but rather because her connection to the world was severed. It was not just a device, it had turned into her life line to the outside world. I am sure, by the conversation going on behind me, she was unable to enjoy her lunch with her friend/family member due to the incident.
I hope I never get to the point where I let little devices and safety nets get in my way of living life. It is smart to be prepared and be able to call for help when you need to, but to be able to check your email while at the zoo with your kids or while having lunch with a close friend... I don't want a device that I am that addicted too. I also don't want to be the crazy old neighbor woman who hordes random household goods and holiday decorations in the attic, garage, basement and back porch. I am sort of glad now they took my phone away. It gives me a sense of freedom. My new tracphone only gets turned on when I am walking alone at the park or have an emergency, and I don't carry it every single place I go. This whole situation has made me try to be a little less clumsy and more attentive when I come home after dark, and that can't be a bad thing.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
An introduction to me, at this very point in time...
This opening blog is me introducing myself to you in real time... In other words, this is only one side of me, the side that is currently in operation. I do not think it accurately portrays me or my life as a whole. I hope you will journey with me through the present and my past and will give me more than one blog to show you a day in the life of me and of death. I say this because this blog has a somewhat negative tone. The events unfolding today and the past month, seem to have put me in a rather sour situation.
What I hope to accomplish by blogging is not to entertain the masses with weird stories about death and the dead, (though I may use some stories of that nature to help illustrate something I am going through) but rather to find myself and my passions again. I plan to do this by writing about the life I live, on a daily basis, and retracing my past to see why I am, where I am, and where I may be headed. It is, in essence, my attempt to write my future by writing my present and past. But then again, isn't that what we all do?
I work in a rural community... or rather I did, (I will get into that later). I would put in these horrific hours with very few days off a month. Plus, I was being scheduled to do duties that should not even have been part of my job description. Seriously, if you are on call all night and end up embalming from 11 p.m. until 7 a.m., have to turn around and visit with a family at 8 a.m., then have to get the service arrangements set up, dress the body, do cosmetics, casket the body, and when 5 p.m. hits you get asked to spend an hour and a half push mowing the yard and trimming hedges before you can go home for the night and be on call yet again....
I thought maybe I was getting a raw deal, but that is how this industry works. I actually got so use to being at work that it was a shock when I looked at the calender and realized that I had not had a day off in over three weeks. I think that is when a person needs to realize that physically and emotionally they might think they are doing fine, but in reality our bodies and minds are not meant for that sort of stress on a routine basis.
I started feel like I was dead. I felt as though my life was all about death and I had a hard time when I did get days off doing activities with friends and not some how dragging funerals/death into conversations or worrying about what might be happening back at work, or even worse, I was already planning my to do list for work the next day, in my head, while my friends were waiting for me to order onion rings.
I use to be the most lively person in my group of friends. I was bubbly and optimistic not to mention fun... and I worked at a funeral home. The difference between then and now... When I use to be that way, I felt like I was on top of everything and that the future was bright for me, not because I thought I had no other choices/options. The longer I worked at funeral homes the more I felt like I had been pigeon holed into the career, even though I have multiple college degrees, and still felt fulfilled by the work I was doing. It made me sad to think that I had invested 5 years of my life and $120,000 in my education, not to mention thousands of hours working as an “intern” for little or no pay, and could only get a job in that one field. Don't get me wrong, I liked my "one field", but it was the feeling, of the lack of freedom of choice, that was getting to me.
Reality is I can get jobs in dozens of fields based just on my experiences in funeral service. In a sense, I had been brain washed by death. This reality didn't set in until I was injured and couldn't work. It was then I realized how much I enjoy the work I do even without the fancy perks and the set schedules. I had lost touch with the reason I picked my career path. I was so scared to loose my job I started to believe I was not equipped with the special skills need to get a job in another field. This drove me into a sort of short term depression. Depression does nothing positive for your physical health. It took a few weeks and a group of caring friends to make me realize I was suffering from a loss. You should think I, of all people, would know the signs of someone grieving the loss of something or someone. I clearly felt as though my career, my purpose in life, had died. I now know that is not true and as I start to get better from my accident the more optimistic and the more bubbly I become. I'm sort of getting my old self back.
I don't know what my limitations in regard to work are yet, but I will soon find out. I try to remain as optimistic as humanly possibly, and I push myself daily, not only to become more healthy physically but mentally too. As much as I love my career and will work as hard as necessary to be able to go back to it, I will not try to trick myself into thinking everything is going to be o.k. I understand that my health, my back, is much more important than a job. If the funeral profession is no longer an option, something will come up. It always does.
So, this is me right now. This is me injured, looking out my home office window at the business I am still employed by but unable to work at. It reminds me of a time I went to do a home death call. The gentleman that passed away was in hospice and he was lying in bed propped up facing the door and looking out into the hallway and the kitchen of his house. When I initially went into the room the hospice lady closed the gentleman's eyes. I surveyed the room and went back to where the family was to tell them we were ready to do the removal. When I got back to the gentleman's bedside his eyelids had refused to cooperate with the hospice nurse and his eyes were open and focused straight ahead, down the hall and into the kitchen where his family sat around a table drinking Pepsi and coffee and calling other relatives to tell them his time had come.
My eyes are open, looking out my window, across the street, at the work I want to be doing but can't. I can see it and I can feel helpless. His eyes were open, seeing his family, and the situation at hand but he could not feel helpless, because his soul was gone. I'm thankful for the ability to feel helpless, I'm thankful for my chance to live my life.
What I hope to accomplish by blogging is not to entertain the masses with weird stories about death and the dead, (though I may use some stories of that nature to help illustrate something I am going through) but rather to find myself and my passions again. I plan to do this by writing about the life I live, on a daily basis, and retracing my past to see why I am, where I am, and where I may be headed. It is, in essence, my attempt to write my future by writing my present and past. But then again, isn't that what we all do?
I work in a rural community... or rather I did, (I will get into that later). I would put in these horrific hours with very few days off a month. Plus, I was being scheduled to do duties that should not even have been part of my job description. Seriously, if you are on call all night and end up embalming from 11 p.m. until 7 a.m., have to turn around and visit with a family at 8 a.m., then have to get the service arrangements set up, dress the body, do cosmetics, casket the body, and when 5 p.m. hits you get asked to spend an hour and a half push mowing the yard and trimming hedges before you can go home for the night and be on call yet again....
I thought maybe I was getting a raw deal, but that is how this industry works. I actually got so use to being at work that it was a shock when I looked at the calender and realized that I had not had a day off in over three weeks. I think that is when a person needs to realize that physically and emotionally they might think they are doing fine, but in reality our bodies and minds are not meant for that sort of stress on a routine basis.
I started feel like I was dead. I felt as though my life was all about death and I had a hard time when I did get days off doing activities with friends and not some how dragging funerals/death into conversations or worrying about what might be happening back at work, or even worse, I was already planning my to do list for work the next day, in my head, while my friends were waiting for me to order onion rings.
I use to be the most lively person in my group of friends. I was bubbly and optimistic not to mention fun... and I worked at a funeral home. The difference between then and now... When I use to be that way, I felt like I was on top of everything and that the future was bright for me, not because I thought I had no other choices/options. The longer I worked at funeral homes the more I felt like I had been pigeon holed into the career, even though I have multiple college degrees, and still felt fulfilled by the work I was doing. It made me sad to think that I had invested 5 years of my life and $120,000 in my education, not to mention thousands of hours working as an “intern” for little or no pay, and could only get a job in that one field. Don't get me wrong, I liked my "one field", but it was the feeling, of the lack of freedom of choice, that was getting to me.
Reality is I can get jobs in dozens of fields based just on my experiences in funeral service. In a sense, I had been brain washed by death. This reality didn't set in until I was injured and couldn't work. It was then I realized how much I enjoy the work I do even without the fancy perks and the set schedules. I had lost touch with the reason I picked my career path. I was so scared to loose my job I started to believe I was not equipped with the special skills need to get a job in another field. This drove me into a sort of short term depression. Depression does nothing positive for your physical health. It took a few weeks and a group of caring friends to make me realize I was suffering from a loss. You should think I, of all people, would know the signs of someone grieving the loss of something or someone. I clearly felt as though my career, my purpose in life, had died. I now know that is not true and as I start to get better from my accident the more optimistic and the more bubbly I become. I'm sort of getting my old self back.
I don't know what my limitations in regard to work are yet, but I will soon find out. I try to remain as optimistic as humanly possibly, and I push myself daily, not only to become more healthy physically but mentally too. As much as I love my career and will work as hard as necessary to be able to go back to it, I will not try to trick myself into thinking everything is going to be o.k. I understand that my health, my back, is much more important than a job. If the funeral profession is no longer an option, something will come up. It always does.
So, this is me right now. This is me injured, looking out my home office window at the business I am still employed by but unable to work at. It reminds me of a time I went to do a home death call. The gentleman that passed away was in hospice and he was lying in bed propped up facing the door and looking out into the hallway and the kitchen of his house. When I initially went into the room the hospice lady closed the gentleman's eyes. I surveyed the room and went back to where the family was to tell them we were ready to do the removal. When I got back to the gentleman's bedside his eyelids had refused to cooperate with the hospice nurse and his eyes were open and focused straight ahead, down the hall and into the kitchen where his family sat around a table drinking Pepsi and coffee and calling other relatives to tell them his time had come.
My eyes are open, looking out my window, across the street, at the work I want to be doing but can't. I can see it and I can feel helpless. His eyes were open, seeing his family, and the situation at hand but he could not feel helpless, because his soul was gone. I'm thankful for the ability to feel helpless, I'm thankful for my chance to live my life.
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