Cancer

Cancer has always sat comfortably in the front seat in America's sociobiological landscape; killing millions and scaring everyone as it strikes, and always arbitrarily as Fortuna's wheel. Many other diseases are genetic in nature, but the unpredictability and pervasiveness of cancer give it that nightmare quality. The diagnosis always unexpected, the prognosis so often dreary. It's a story of death, sure, but it has a nightmare prequel, almost as horrifying. Not only does a loved one perish forever, but the family is forced to watch the slow and excruciating decline in a sick sort of high definition horror film, the emotion knob turned to full blast. The family must prepare for life without the afflicted while at the same time hoping that treatment will defy the odds and eradicate the disease. And at the end of the battle, the sight of their hairless body in that casket is not any easier to behold than had they dropped dead.

The number one killer of middle-aged people at the funeral home is cancer. Recently we had two cases of women with debilitating cancer. A 34 year old with ovarian cancer, a 50 year old with spinal cancer. They both went into their doctor's office with assuredly minor medical concerns, only to find out that a tumor lived inside them, already on its fourth stage of its assault on their life. It would most likely win, and it most certainly did, leaving its typical path of physical and mental destruction in its wake. Death in old age is expected, death in childhood is tragic, but death in middle age lies in a gray area, one which often leaves families out in the cold  reality of shattered, lonely futures. A widow, left to raise a family without their partner, growing old with only the memories of their lost love. Maybe not alone forever, but alone through circumstances not of their choosing, and that lack of choice creates a scar that is everlasting. Children left without a mother or a father, siblings left without their children's aunt or uncle, parents forced to undergo the trauma of attending their own child's funeral. And the long road of cancer only makes it hurt worse. The family of the deceased at both funerals had baggy eyes, pale skin and were visibly weary from the battle, barely digesting the harsh reality in which a faceless enemy stole their loved one and rocked their futures.

The Emptiness of Widowhood

One of the first days that I got to put on a suit and shed my maintenance role at the funeral home, I encountered an image of why the funeral business can be demoralizing. I was helping an elderly, just-widowed man carry his wedding picture out to his car after his wife's funeral. We walked out together and didn't say anything. As we approached his van, he looked at me with the saddest eyes I have seen so far in my life. 

"We were married for 60 years and now she's gone." That's what he said. How am I supposed to be optimistic about life when it's seemingly just a storm of sadness and loneliness that gets worse and worse until we finally phase out? He lived the "American Dream", married his love and lived the middle-class life of American folklore. But in spite of it all, he stood there with those empty, frightened eyes as he slowly digested the fact that his life partner is gone forever. I guess we're all truly alone in the end.

Complete Chaos

I got called into work for the first time in ages, the first time after I had a no-call, no-show and almost got fired from the family business. I was ready to impress, but didn't expect that the funeral would completely overshadow my performance. We got there and it was a TINY parking lot, one of the smallest I have every worked in. There was this narrow road in front of the church that connected the two sides of the parking lot, and my uncle told me to keep it clear in case any emergency vehicles needed to get through. Initially just considering his legal interests in case a rare emergency happened, but it ended up being very important that he told me that. I parked all the cars, went inside and started chatting with the bagpiper, this police officer that recently got divorced and who I like to talk to. (He told me he would take care of any traffic violations I got, that was cool).

But anyway, it was right as the pallbearers were walking the casket out of the church that everything turned chaotic. There was a second funeral getting ready to go after ours, so two hearses, two processions, two groups of mourners, two everything. Well right as we were exiting this church, one of the mourners had a stroke and collapsed. I had never seen anything like that at a funeral. We called the paramedics and they were  able to squeeze nicely through to get the man to the hospital. Now the second funeral was delayed and we were trying to get the procession going with the emergency vehicles still packing up. People were running everywhere, it was raining, it was hard to tell which procession the vehicles were in and it was a complete, tangled mess. My uncle was running around shouting, my co-worker was getting in the way of cars and I was just watching and trying to help as much as i could. Then out of nowhere this guy in a minivan (from the other funeral) tries to squeeze through the aforementioned "narrow passage" in front of the church. He didn't fit. His car made a tremendous screech as he completely sideswiped one of the cars in our procession. The people in that car were screaming "WHO WAS THAT! HE HIT ME!" and pulled out of the procession, thinking that the guy was hitting and running. They were going absolutely bonkers and we told them that the guy had parked right in the parking lot and they just kept freaking out. Well they pulled out of the procession and a stroke and car accident later, we were on our way.

Apparently this family had given our directors fits because of their worrying and constant changing of plans. My uncle and I laughed the entire way home, he kept saying it was exactly how that families funeral should have gone. My favorite day on the job.

Almost Dying at a Funeral

There have been two incidents in my funeral career in which a person has a health issue during the service, it's always a bit...ironic? Maybe that's not the right word, but it's definitely strange.

Last winter, an older man had a stroke at the funeral and the entire thing was held up for an hour while the emergency services were called and tried to get around the cars lined up for the funeral procession. The funny thing is, before the funeral, my boss told me to only line them up in row along this narrow passage so an ambulance could get by. I followed his instructions, but thought there was no chance in hell that there would be an ambulance showing up that day. Well they came in, got the guy on the stretcher and we got back on schedule.  Just what the mourners need, another person almost dying during a celebration of death.

Then the other day, this young Phillipino woman started feeling faint, got up, walked to the door and then literally did faint against it in the middle of the service. They helped her to the lounge and the priest came out in his huge white robe and said "Just get her some sugar!" as if his priesthood made him a medical resource. Anyway, she laid down for a while and felt better and everything went back to normal. I admire this girl because she couldn't have been older than 18, yet handled herself with maturity and kept the respect on the deceased. She didnt' make noise, act dramatic or make a scene, she straight up passed out yet held her composure through it all. Bravo, I respect you young lady.

Comic Relief: Marijuana Conversations at Work

While the mourners are walking around in their awkward funeral trance during visitations and funerals, my co-workers and I often find time to chat. I have chatted more with these middle-aged and older men and women than I probably have with many of my friends. I mean, 5 hours sitting together at the front desk during a visitation is both a blessing and a curse. It's agonizingly boring, sure. But at least it forces me to converse with people much different than myself, people from completely different generations and cultures. I have talked about pretty much everything people can talk about in general conversation, but perhaps the greatest conversations are the ones I have about marijuana.

I am a college student and I enjoy to smoke marijuana. I won't go into a rant here but I don't think it's a bad decision when compared to our culture's alcohol obsession and used in moderation. Anyway, I had talked about marijuana with most of them, even my grandfather during the election when Proposition 2 in Michigan was in the spotlight, but I had never admitted or given hints that I use it. This year I gave subtle hints that I smoked, only to open-minded co-workers and only after I guzzled at least 3 cups of coffee from the machine in the lounge.

I talked to one woman that I work with during visitations at night. She is a self-proclaimed "hippie" and we share anti-war and music interests. She once told me that her husband "used to buy pounds with his friends" and then claimed that he was not selling it, except to friends who would buy "nickel bags" ($5 worth). A pound of marijuana is 16 ounces, 448 grams and about 896 joints, they were either successful drug dealers or the only weed addicts in history. She also told stories about going to concerts and hitting loose joints passing around the crowd, and how if you did that today you would catch a venereal disease.

Today I was parking cars with the owner of the local funeral car service and he told me that he had terrible glaucoma. Now medical marijuana may be a hoax, but glaucoma is honestly one of the only diseases that are legitimate in that sense. I was going to suggest it to him, but he ended up telling me that he had gotten a referral yesterday. He seemed indifferent about it and said, "I like the idea except I don't want to be driving a hearse around with a buzz on". We then talked about exorbitant dispensary prices and how regs are the way to go.

We went inside and he started a conversation with one of the DIRECTORS about the glaucoma and the medical marijuana. I know she used to be a pothead, I've heard her talk about it comfortably before in front of my uncle (the boss). Anyway, he told her the same thing about driving a hearse around while high, and she said "Well you can always get cookies or lollipops". Anyone who is aware of weed lollipops is a certified stoner.

It's fun to talk to past generations about pot. It helps me realize that my group of friends are not the first stoners, and it gives a new perspective. At least 3 different older co-workers have said something about the high potency of weed in our generation, and while they say it with a negative connotation, it actually makes me proud that my generation is so great at growing weed and that we have to consume less burning plant matter than they did to get a buzz.

Baby

Stillborn deaths are sad, babies dying from abuse and neglect is on a whole different plane. The other day I worked a visitation for few-months old baby that died. The parents were both McDonald's employees from my hometown, and probably chose our funeral home because we offer extremely discounted rates for infant deaths Anyway, throughout all the proceedings the parents acted different than parents typically do when burying their child. Perhaps they were in shock, the father came up to the front desk and told me he couldn't contemplate a newborn baby dying, he told me he couldn't see someone so small and new dying and not even having a chance. But was this just a show, an act? 

As the days went by, the babies information and burial plans lay on the counter in the back office. The only reason a burial would be so long delayed is because the medical examiner is performing an extensive autopsy. Rumors were whispered around for a while, it seemed most likely that the baby was being examined for signs of abuse or neglect. Not much else to say about this, anything I say would just be speculation and I don't feel right speculating about such a fragile subject as this. I will always remember the story of that baby though, and always remember the intense emotions and questions that come with a baby's death.

Forgotten Son/Attention Whore

This is the story of another funeral for a young man in his twenties. He was a person that is best defined as "sickly" and he had many, many medical conditions such as diabetes and immune deficiency. This was a tragic death because in our modern age, it's possible for a person with such conditions to live a relatively long life. Unfortunately, as I watched his divorced parents step out for a smoke every 5 minutes, I realized that they had inundated his life with fighting, intense second-hand smoke and neglect. The parents had a bitter divorce, they smoked inside the house and he ended up dying from a diabetic attack after he couldn't get to his insulin while his mother was out drinking at a Red Wings game. While nobody's perfect, it seems that they could have at least smoked outdoors to preserve their son's life, but alas. Cigarettes are the scourge of our nation, our country's founding was based off the tobacco economy and now lung cancer is the number one cancer, killing hundreds of thousands every year. Not only that, but incidents like this show the damaging effect of second-hand smoke and how an addiction can be more important to someone than their own son. It's sad really.

A side note her is an incident that happened after the funeral. This woman (not family) weeped loudly and obnoxiously in the lobby of the funeral home. I understand that grief is difficult, but incidents such as this are purely for attention. There is no need to put on this sort of show, it's disrespectful to the family and especially this deceased. When the mother and father of the deceased can control themselves, you should be able to as well.

This funeral was full of really awful overtones, I felt shitty the entire time I worked that day. Watching the broken up family filling our ash-trays to the brim and mourning the death of this unfortunate individual was difficult. Something bad was in the air that day, I can't really explain it but it left a bad taste in my mouth about humanity and about family.

The Buzz of the Crematory

I worked at a funeral for an Asian man in his twenties the other day. He died of unknown causes, which is the worst cause of all; the family had no answers, nothing and no one to blame, simply left with questions and memories.

This was perhaps the most interesting funeral that I have participated in. During the Buddhist funeral, the family burned images of money, cars and other worldly items to send to the afterlife with him. I'm accustomed to Catholic services, and this was on a completely different cultural plane. I enjoyed the differences, it was interesting to see how cultures across the globe express their grief. My co-workers were much less impressed. The funeral home smelled like smoke for the next few days, and whispered criticisms were heard that entire time.  My job is to park cars for the procession to the cemetery or crematorium, and I typically work with elderly people that work part-time after retirement. The man I worked with is a great guy, but I lost respect for him as he released a torrent of abuse on their entire culture. The language barrier, the foreign cars, the burning of paper, and anything else you can think of, he made insulting comments the entire time.

Anyway, after the funeral service we processed to the crematorium. With American funerals, the procession is typically to the cemetery. But with Indian and Asian funerals, it is always to the crematory where they have a small service and witness the cremation. The service wound down and the body was led to the gigantic industrial machine that burns bodies with extreme heat. The casket was placed on the rollers, pushed deep into the bowels of the machine and his mother pushed the big red button. The machine clicked on, and next thing you know there is this fantastically eerie, mechanical whirring sound as the body is incinerated. It's loud, screeching and actually very frightening. It was during this sound that I saw a particularly heart-wrenching example of grief. The guys' mother heard the sound and burst into tears, ran over to the garage door that leads into the building and started banging on it, trying to escape the horrible finality of that whirring. She slumped against it, in a state of complete grief but couldn't escape the sound of her son's death being finalized. Finally my grandfather was able to hit the switch and she got outside away from the sound. We packed up, returned to the funeral home and prepared for that night's visitation.

Working at a funeral home allows you small glimpses of the overwhelming emotion of grief. I'm sure that woman is still dealing with the intense grief that losing a son unexpectedly brings, and will be for a long time. But for us that work in the funeral industry we just move on, on to the next small glimpse into the world of broken hearts and human life extinguished forever.