My family has owned and operated a funeral home since the late 1960’s. My brother Michael followed in those footsteps and got his license a couple of years back. My father, my uncle, my cousins, my grandfather, my great-uncles and my great grandfather are and were all funeral directors. I had decided early on that I would not be working in the family business. My perspective of the funeral business was dispassionate men in uncomfortable black suits standing in one spot for long periods of time, once those men punched out, they would grab a tax-deductible drink, complain about the government and ignore their wives and children. Now that was my perspective, how close that was to the truth was and is up for debate.
On April 8, 2020, I found out that my brother Michael and his wife got the coronavirus. Also, many staff members had contracted it and five were hospitalized and four of them passed away. The funeral home shut down completely for a couple of weeks. It was devastating on many levels. Michael and his wife turned out to be fine and soon recovered fully. But there were many employees who either worked from home or stopped coming in all together. I called my brother out of concern and asked if there was anything I could do.
“Could you come in?” He asked.
“To work? Uh, sure, when?”
“Tomorrow? 9am?”
“Uh, sure, okay.”
And just like that, I was working at the funeral home. It took forty-five years and a pandemic for me to walk through those automatic doors wearing my uncomfortable suit ready to greet mourners asking, “How may I direct you? So sorry for your loss” However, now there was the added question of whether or not I’d contract the virus myself and perhaps die. Nevertheless, there was a feeling, a voice in my head that simply said, “You need to help your brother.”
As the pandemic died down, I was offered a permanent part time job as a receptionist and decided to accept it. The hours worked well with my the remote freelancing I was doing and the funeral home itself is a two minute walk from where I live so it all made sense. My only problem was the position title, a receptionist.
Now this is going to come off as arrogant and conceited on my part, and I’m fully aware of that. I can be a real prideful son-of-a-so-and-so, but this is part of who I am. I’m not saying it’s right, it’s not, it’s a flaw and I’m aware of it and I’m changing it. So here goes:
I felt that the title of receptionist was beneath me.
There I said it. Phew! It felt good to get that off my chest. I mean I had been a manager, a director, a designer, an editor and also a teacher. It just felt like a huge step backward and to add insult to injury, it’s a hard job and I didn’t feel particularly good at it!
There’s a recurring literary theme in cautionary tales and Judeo-Christian scripture where the older will serve the younger. You see it in the stories of Genesis and in fairy tales. It’s a useful device in illustrating the value of skills over birthright. It’s a great theme, unless you are playing the part of the older brother. Than it’s depressing because now you’re a minor character in someone else’s story.
My brother Michael is thirteen years younger than me and he is a humble, generous, thoughtful, intelligent and skilled funeral director. He would serve me in any number of ways I have no doubt. As a funeral home receptionist, one of my tasks is to set up the conference rooms for funeral arrangements that he is making. That means making sure he has the right promotional materials, price lists, pens, notepads, adjusting temperature, turning on lights and getting him and the families water and coffee. That’s right, I fetch coffee for the kid whose diapers I used to change!
We make plans and God laughs!
So the question is, how do I make this my story? By serving my brother the best dang cup of coffee this side of Starbucks! You want coffee? I’m the coffee master! How many cups? A hundred? Sure let’s do this! What else you need? Pens? Prayer cards? Some At-Need folders? I’m into it! Let’s roll!
Sorry, I got a little excited. You’re not supposed to yell in a funeral home.
But enthusiasm is important because I believe it breeds gratitude. Someday, I’ll be working some other job that I’m passionate about and I might be having a bad day but I’ll always be able to look back on the funeral home and think, “Well, it could be worse.”
The important thing I need to remember is that this story is not over. My time at the funeral home has been so valuable because I have learned and am still learning so much about myself. I believe God has something great planned for the next chapter and this station is simply an important preface that is preparing me for the main narrative!
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