Death on the Other Side: When a Funeral Director Needs a Funeral Director

Ten years.

A decade of death care experience.

And still, I know nothing at all.

At least, not in the grand scheme of things.

I know how to speak with a grieving family. I know how to embalm. I know how to cremate. I know how to speak with clergy, cemeteries, casket, and vault companies. I know when to chime in with a suggestion. I know when to hold back, and just listen.

I have been involved in the death care space for ten years now. In some ways, every family is different, with the same end game in mind: To lay a loved one to rest, as best a family requests.

I don’t know if what I have done, or continue to do, will ever truly matter. I don’t know how to bring back the dead. I don’t know what will take away the pain of losing a loved one. I’m just a funeral director, after all.

What happens when a funeral director needs a funeral director?

For every thousand deaths I have encountered, there is one that confounds me. A death that hits you out of nowhere. One that leaves you, and everyone else, speechless. It might seem a little surprising to hear this, but funeral directors are people too. We also experience death.

We bleed. We cry. We hurt. We are also lost. Scared. Angry. Depressed.

For every 1,000 deaths a funeral director meets with strangers on, there is one that hits home. Literally.

Funeral directors also suffer from mortality. We are not immortal. Nor are we immune to walking through death’s door. We lose people, too.

Colleagues. Friends. Husbands. Wives. Lovers. Parents. Siblings. Children.

If you’re reading this right now, I know you thought of someone when reading this list of relationships. I did, too. And it’s no easier to write these words than it is to meet with strangers dealing with the same thing.

We’re all in this thing called life, together, after all.

What makes a great funeral director isn’t how many families he or she has served, or how many embalmings they have done, or cremations they can get through in a day. What matters is the family.

Again, a funeral director can never take away the pain or bring back the deceased; but we can tell their story. We can make damn sure a family feels heard. That their loved one is not forgotten. Being able to feel a family’s pain and suffering, and then turn it into something beautiful, even if for a day, is what separates the title from greatness. When sympathy meets empathy.

Just because someone is a funeral director in name, that does not mean they are great. Or good, let alone even passable.

When a funeral director can do all of those things consistently, every family, every time; only then can they be considered great.

I don’t claim to have all of the answers all of the time. This is why we do what we do. When someone loses that loved one, they go to the expert. Funeral directors in grief are no different.

The few times that I have lost someone in my life, I went to the experts. My family and I selected whom we believed in.

Another thing that makes a great funeral director, is wanting to tackle every aspect of planning a funeral. There’s a bit of control, and wanting that power when it comes to being the person a family is counting on. Their once-in-a-lifetime funeral is now in your hands. You only get one shot at a funeral.

So when a funeral director loses someone they love, it’s hard to let go. It’s hard to understand that death can happen to you. We know it can, and it will, but death will never be an easy thing to deal with. Funeral directors can become “desensitized” to everyday life.

Our livelihood is death, so when something out of the ordinary happens to us, we are lost. We know nothing. We don’t know what to say, how to act, where to turn, or when to do anything anymore. Even writing this article, I’m somewhat at a loss for words, because I know what this means to so many of my fellow funeral directors.

In my lifetime, I have lost a great-grandma (who in 2010 was 100 years old and just celebrated her birthday months earlier). In 2018 I lost a woman I dated in my early twenties (she died in my condo unexpectedly). In 2020, I lost my father (whom I didn’t see or speak to in his last ten years until he was cremated). In 2023 I lost my best friend of 30 years (this one hit me the hardest).

For each one, I had a different response. Every one of them hurt, certainly, but this is what I mean when I say that for every 1,000 deaths, each one is different. To a funeral director, each family served is a new death. A new experience. A new way to help someone else.

But who’s going to help the funeral director? The answer is the question: the funeral director.

I leaned on those I knew best. I leaned on my funeral director(s). I leaned on those who treated me like a stranger because that was the best way they could serve me. This is where being a great funeral director comes into play.

Do you think I wanted a mediocre funeral director to serve my family and me? Do you think that I was willing to open myself up to someone who would treat me differently because of who I was, or the title I had?

No. I wanted to be treated like everyone else. I wanted to receive that same greatness. I wanted to feel special. I wanted to feel like my family was the only one that mattered. I’m not saying that’s right, or wrong, but this is what it feels like to grieve the loss of someone.

You feel as if no one or nothing else in the world matters. Your funeral director makes damn sure you matter. Your thoughts. Your words. Your requests. Your feelings. You. You matter. Your loved one matters. Their life means more to you than anyone else.

A funeral director makes sure that everyone else understands that.

I wanted to feel that way, for once. When I was grieving, I knew nothing. Ten years in, I still know nothing. To every family I have served, I portray that I do, but I’m no different than anyone else.

When a funeral director loses their livelihood, the very reason they live, breathe, laugh, love, and feel; nothing hurts worse. When anyone loses that type of person, nothing hurts worse.

Experience in anything makes you better. You do your homework and study, of course you will know a subject more than someone who does not. When you have ten years of experience within the death care industry, of course you will know how to serve a family more than a newly-minted apprentice.

Lean on that. Lean on that great one. The funeral director you know, love, and trust more than any other. That one in a thousand.

The world is full of knowledge and experience. Utilize this. When you were in school, you didn’t pretend to have the answers; no, you asked questions. You went to the authority, your teacher. Or a classmate who received straight A’s. You didn’t skip class or guess on tests. Worse yet, you didn’t ask the kid who was failing.

Just as one might be a funeral director who has recently, or even decades ago, lost someone; you go to the source. Ask your colleague, your fellow funeral director to treat you like a stranger. What would they tell a family? How would they respond to their questions? How involved would they be?

How great of a funeral director are they? If they are truly great, then you know where to turn. You know who to run to. For every 1,000 funeral directors, there’s one great one.

If someone came to mind while reading this, reach out to them. I promise you, they will not let you down. They never will. For every burial, cremation, and celebration of life, funeral directors will stand the test of time.

This is what death on the other side looks like. It’s far more painful, I assure you. So when a funeral director needs a funeral director, there’s no one else they’d rather turn to.

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