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So, I am working for a funeral home until I start medical school. There is a company named Dodge (they don't make cars) that sells embalming fluids and other funeral products. They send out a magazine a few times a year with interesting articles. As future doctors, potentially dealing with death on a regular basis, this may bring an interesting perspective to things. Or you might not care. And yes, it will take a few minutes to read. I just find that it really resonates the fact that as doctors, we are treating human beings, not just illnesses or "doing our job." Enjoy...
Job Well Done...
"My wife, Barbara Manning, died suddenly two months ago today. The theories and ideas I have written about for the last twenty years were suddenly no longer theories. It all became very real and, from the standpoint of the future of the funeral profession, very scary. If you read this as a criticism of the funeral home who served me and my family then you are missing the whole point I am trying to make. The funeral home did their job quite well. There were a couple of problems, but they were mistakes, not the norm, and certainly not caused by negligence on their part. The sad truth is they did about as good a job as we could have gotten anywhere and, if that statement is true, then the funeral profession is missing the chance to actually serve families. If what happened to us is typical, then funeral homes are doing a good job and yet are missing the needs by a long mile. In my lifetime I have watched the funeral industry gradually redefine its job, and each redefinition moved them further and further away from actually touching families. We have structured first calls to shelter us from families. We now call it a ―removal,‖ which is all we want to do and we want to do it with no one around. We also adopted a practice from the medical profession: we stopped making house calls. Families must come to us by appointment, if possible. We organized the arrangement conference into the gathering of details and the choosing (selling) of products and services. From that point on it is primarily unseen detail management and transportation of people and flowers. May I tell you what that feels like to a family? I may come across as angry but, believe me, I am not angry at all. I am deeply concerned about an industry that I love and one that I believe could be vital to the well being of millions of families as they face the crushing losses life brings. Walk with me through the loss of my wife and allow me to tell you what I needed compared to what I received. Not to criticize one funeral home, but to show the need for all of us to rethink and redefine our roles. Even if you read this thinking, ―That would never happen in my firm,‖ maybe it is still time to take a long hard look at every person on your staff and every step you take with each family you serve. My wife died shortly after midnight. The intensity and speed of the illness and death took our collective breath away. I have written about grief. I have walked with thousands of families as they struggled to live through a loss. I have stood with more families than I could name as a loved one slipped away and I have tried to be a companion and friend as they crashed before my eyes. But the minute she died, I was no longer an expert about grief. There seemed to be a thousand questions and I had not one answer. I felt like there was so much to do and I did not know where to start. There seemed to be so many things I should say, yet I stood mute in the face of my own need and the needs of my family. The nurse asked which funeral home she should call. We chose between two of them that we have worked with extensively and she made the call. We were told the usual message - that the funeral home would pick up her body sometime later, that we could (should) go on home, and that an appointment had been set up for us to come to the funeral home on Saturday afternoon. We declined and told her to inform the funeral home that we would wait at the hospital until they arrived. We were not being difficult or defiant about this. We needed some things we hoped the funeral director could provide. The whole family was there huddled in fear and with broken hearts needing someone to guide us through the unknown that lay ahead of us. I have almost worn out the use of the word significance, but when a death happens significance is the most important need. We need to establish the significance of our loss and the significance of the person we have lost. We need to tell the story of what we have just been through and what the person meant in our lives. It needs to happen and it needed to happen there that night. This is the one great opportunity for the funeral home to actually touch the family. The family desperately needs the presence of someone who knows what should be done and who will be with them through the process. All that takes is a warm person simply acknowledging the loss by saying, ―This must be very painful for you,‖ or ―What a shock for you,‖ and allowing the family to express the story of their experience. This will not take long, the family can't say much without breaking up and will not go into great detail, but the contact is made and the funeral director establishes his/her presence to the family. Yes, it means getting up in the middle of the night. Yes, it means being on call. Yes, it means actually being around someone who is crying. Yes, it means having to learn something about grief and getting comfortable being with families as they grieve. Yes, it means discovering and embracing the full responsibility of the calling that first brought you to this profession. Yes, it is more important than you can possibly imagine. Those were our needs as we waited for someone to come and give comfort and assurance. We would have waited all night if necessary. We wanted to personally hand her body to the ones who were going to care for her. We could not leave. I wish we had. When the funeral home representative arrived, Glenda, my daughter, and I met him in the hall outside the waiting room. When he saw the room full of twenty people - grieving daughters, spouses, grandchildren and dear friends - the panic on his face made us fear that he would faint. All he could stammer was, ―So what are you thinking?‖ I did not understand what he was asking, but Glenda is a licensed funeral director and knew that that was his code for wanting to know if the body was to be embalmed or cremated. She told him the body would be embalmed and viewed and then the two of them went into the ICU to retrieve her body. Glenda would not allow him to cover her face and brought her out for each family member to have a time to say goodbye. The funeral staff person stood petrified in fear that someone would say something to him. Then he took her and left without saying a word. The funeral home lost a great opportunity to serve a family, and they lost almost all chance of having the goodwill of the family for the duration. Can anyone explain why we send the least qualified and least trained people on our staff to make the first impression on a family? Wouldn't just good business sense dictate that you want your very best people making the first introduction to a customer? We Don't Make House Calls. Then there was silence. Not so much as a phone call from the funeral home from the time of the removal until Saturday when we had an appointment. We were left with spinning and frustrated minds for the rest of the evening and all morning. I've written about ―The Gaps‖ in previous articles for this magazine. We experienced the gaps up close and personal and it was agony. In our case, we had Glenda to answer most of our questions and help us know what we needed to think about and do, but how many families happen to have their own personal funeral director? The silence was deafening, even for us. Why not come to the house, even for a brief visit? Why not bring the food and flower register or drop off some paper goods and coffee? Why not pick up the phone and simply say, ―How are you doing this morning? Can I answer any questions before we get together?‖ Why not? Saturday afternoon arrived and we walked into the funeral home trembling with fear, wondering what lay ahead. We met the funeral director himself for the first time. I actually thought this would be the time when we felt some kind of compassionate response to our pain. He was cordial, well dressed, and very concerned that the coffee service was in place. He sat down and said, ―I am sorry that we must meet under these circumstances. At our funeral home we like to think that we put together celebrations of life. Now, let's get the death certificate information out of the way. How many death certificates do you think you will need?‖ We sat in stunned silence at the ―just-the-facts,‖ businesslike attitude and lack of sensitivity or concern for people who had lost a loved one less than twelve hours ago. We made our choices and from that moment until the viewing and when we arrived at the church for the funeral, the only contact we had with the funeral home was about details and minutia. The funeral service itself was also outside of the job description, with no consulting or guidance offered. They left it up to us and whoever we chose to officiate. Of course, being who we are, we knew how to take on that task. But, what about those families who do not know how to plan a service or understand what options are available? We found a wonderful Celebrant who sat with us in a family story telling time and used the stories to build a great tribute to her life. The funeral home provided a video which we played during the service and that was their one contribution to the most important part of what they have to offer. They got her casket to the church, provided transportation to the cemetery and back, hauled the amazing number of flowers, guided the pall bearers, and their work was done. They did their job well, but the job did not include ministering to a family in pain. If you asked that staff they would have told you that they handled a large and involved funeral smoothly and without a hitch. If you ask my family, we would tell you that, while we were appreciative of all the details being taken care of, everyone was bewildered by the seeming inability to understand or care for our needs. I once thought funeral directors defined roles in this way because it made for better selling of product, or took much less time and effort. Now I really don't think that is so. I think we have designed our roles to carefully shelter us from having to deal with families in grief. We are afraid of tears. We like it to be all business and details. We don't know what to say to families in pain. We think if we let them cry we might have some kind of emotional reaction ourselves and the constant bombardment of sorrow would somehow kill us. In fact, the constant hiding and avoiding emotional involvement leads to burnout, faster and more completely. If we changed our job description to focus on touching families it would mean some reeducation, of course, but there are materials available to fit those needs. I am tired of hearing funeral directors who have been in the business for twenty or thirty years admit that they really don't know what to say to families when they come in to make arrangements. If you don't know, go learn. There is no excuse for not knowing. What if we don't change our job description and keep hitting the wrong bull's -eye? My family will call a funeral home when I die. They will do so for only one reason. I believe it is important for the family to view the body and have a time to say goodbye. If I did not believe in that one fundamental thing, you can bet that I would be telling them to avoid the funeral home experience when the time comes. Now, you still have a sure thing in one case, but how many families believe that viewing is important enough for the family to go through its needs being missed? The number is shrinking daily, I fear. The only way to bring them back is to not be satisfied with a job well done and to focus all of our energies on needs being met and met well.
Doug Manning
Taken from the Winter 2011 Dodge Magazine"
Job Well Done...
"My wife, Barbara Manning, died suddenly two months ago today. The theories and ideas I have written about for the last twenty years were suddenly no longer theories. It all became very real and, from the standpoint of the future of the funeral profession, very scary. If you read this as a criticism of the funeral home who served me and my family then you are missing the whole point I am trying to make. The funeral home did their job quite well. There were a couple of problems, but they were mistakes, not the norm, and certainly not caused by negligence on their part. The sad truth is they did about as good a job as we could have gotten anywhere and, if that statement is true, then the funeral profession is missing the chance to actually serve families. If what happened to us is typical, then funeral homes are doing a good job and yet are missing the needs by a long mile. In my lifetime I have watched the funeral industry gradually redefine its job, and each redefinition moved them further and further away from actually touching families. We have structured first calls to shelter us from families. We now call it a ―removal,‖ which is all we want to do and we want to do it with no one around. We also adopted a practice from the medical profession: we stopped making house calls. Families must come to us by appointment, if possible. We organized the arrangement conference into the gathering of details and the choosing (selling) of products and services. From that point on it is primarily unseen detail management and transportation of people and flowers. May I tell you what that feels like to a family? I may come across as angry but, believe me, I am not angry at all. I am deeply concerned about an industry that I love and one that I believe could be vital to the well being of millions of families as they face the crushing losses life brings. Walk with me through the loss of my wife and allow me to tell you what I needed compared to what I received. Not to criticize one funeral home, but to show the need for all of us to rethink and redefine our roles. Even if you read this thinking, ―That would never happen in my firm,‖ maybe it is still time to take a long hard look at every person on your staff and every step you take with each family you serve. My wife died shortly after midnight. The intensity and speed of the illness and death took our collective breath away. I have written about grief. I have walked with thousands of families as they struggled to live through a loss. I have stood with more families than I could name as a loved one slipped away and I have tried to be a companion and friend as they crashed before my eyes. But the minute she died, I was no longer an expert about grief. There seemed to be a thousand questions and I had not one answer. I felt like there was so much to do and I did not know where to start. There seemed to be so many things I should say, yet I stood mute in the face of my own need and the needs of my family. The nurse asked which funeral home she should call. We chose between two of them that we have worked with extensively and she made the call. We were told the usual message - that the funeral home would pick up her body sometime later, that we could (should) go on home, and that an appointment had been set up for us to come to the funeral home on Saturday afternoon. We declined and told her to inform the funeral home that we would wait at the hospital until they arrived. We were not being difficult or defiant about this. We needed some things we hoped the funeral director could provide. The whole family was there huddled in fear and with broken hearts needing someone to guide us through the unknown that lay ahead of us. I have almost worn out the use of the word significance, but when a death happens significance is the most important need. We need to establish the significance of our loss and the significance of the person we have lost. We need to tell the story of what we have just been through and what the person meant in our lives. It needs to happen and it needed to happen there that night. This is the one great opportunity for the funeral home to actually touch the family. The family desperately needs the presence of someone who knows what should be done and who will be with them through the process. All that takes is a warm person simply acknowledging the loss by saying, ―This must be very painful for you,‖ or ―What a shock for you,‖ and allowing the family to express the story of their experience. This will not take long, the family can't say much without breaking up and will not go into great detail, but the contact is made and the funeral director establishes his/her presence to the family. Yes, it means getting up in the middle of the night. Yes, it means being on call. Yes, it means actually being around someone who is crying. Yes, it means having to learn something about grief and getting comfortable being with families as they grieve. Yes, it means discovering and embracing the full responsibility of the calling that first brought you to this profession. Yes, it is more important than you can possibly imagine. Those were our needs as we waited for someone to come and give comfort and assurance. We would have waited all night if necessary. We wanted to personally hand her body to the ones who were going to care for her. We could not leave. I wish we had. When the funeral home representative arrived, Glenda, my daughter, and I met him in the hall outside the waiting room. When he saw the room full of twenty people - grieving daughters, spouses, grandchildren and dear friends - the panic on his face made us fear that he would faint. All he could stammer was, ―So what are you thinking?‖ I did not understand what he was asking, but Glenda is a licensed funeral director and knew that that was his code for wanting to know if the body was to be embalmed or cremated. She told him the body would be embalmed and viewed and then the two of them went into the ICU to retrieve her body. Glenda would not allow him to cover her face and brought her out for each family member to have a time to say goodbye. The funeral staff person stood petrified in fear that someone would say something to him. Then he took her and left without saying a word. The funeral home lost a great opportunity to serve a family, and they lost almost all chance of having the goodwill of the family for the duration. Can anyone explain why we send the least qualified and least trained people on our staff to make the first impression on a family? Wouldn't just good business sense dictate that you want your very best people making the first introduction to a customer? We Don't Make House Calls. Then there was silence. Not so much as a phone call from the funeral home from the time of the removal until Saturday when we had an appointment. We were left with spinning and frustrated minds for the rest of the evening and all morning. I've written about ―The Gaps‖ in previous articles for this magazine. We experienced the gaps up close and personal and it was agony. In our case, we had Glenda to answer most of our questions and help us know what we needed to think about and do, but how many families happen to have their own personal funeral director? The silence was deafening, even for us. Why not come to the house, even for a brief visit? Why not bring the food and flower register or drop off some paper goods and coffee? Why not pick up the phone and simply say, ―How are you doing this morning? Can I answer any questions before we get together?‖ Why not? Saturday afternoon arrived and we walked into the funeral home trembling with fear, wondering what lay ahead. We met the funeral director himself for the first time. I actually thought this would be the time when we felt some kind of compassionate response to our pain. He was cordial, well dressed, and very concerned that the coffee service was in place. He sat down and said, ―I am sorry that we must meet under these circumstances. At our funeral home we like to think that we put together celebrations of life. Now, let's get the death certificate information out of the way. How many death certificates do you think you will need?‖ We sat in stunned silence at the ―just-the-facts,‖ businesslike attitude and lack of sensitivity or concern for people who had lost a loved one less than twelve hours ago. We made our choices and from that moment until the viewing and when we arrived at the church for the funeral, the only contact we had with the funeral home was about details and minutia. The funeral service itself was also outside of the job description, with no consulting or guidance offered. They left it up to us and whoever we chose to officiate. Of course, being who we are, we knew how to take on that task. But, what about those families who do not know how to plan a service or understand what options are available? We found a wonderful Celebrant who sat with us in a family story telling time and used the stories to build a great tribute to her life. The funeral home provided a video which we played during the service and that was their one contribution to the most important part of what they have to offer. They got her casket to the church, provided transportation to the cemetery and back, hauled the amazing number of flowers, guided the pall bearers, and their work was done. They did their job well, but the job did not include ministering to a family in pain. If you asked that staff they would have told you that they handled a large and involved funeral smoothly and without a hitch. If you ask my family, we would tell you that, while we were appreciative of all the details being taken care of, everyone was bewildered by the seeming inability to understand or care for our needs. I once thought funeral directors defined roles in this way because it made for better selling of product, or took much less time and effort. Now I really don't think that is so. I think we have designed our roles to carefully shelter us from having to deal with families in grief. We are afraid of tears. We like it to be all business and details. We don't know what to say to families in pain. We think if we let them cry we might have some kind of emotional reaction ourselves and the constant bombardment of sorrow would somehow kill us. In fact, the constant hiding and avoiding emotional involvement leads to burnout, faster and more completely. If we changed our job description to focus on touching families it would mean some reeducation, of course, but there are materials available to fit those needs. I am tired of hearing funeral directors who have been in the business for twenty or thirty years admit that they really don't know what to say to families when they come in to make arrangements. If you don't know, go learn. There is no excuse for not knowing. What if we don't change our job description and keep hitting the wrong bull's -eye? My family will call a funeral home when I die. They will do so for only one reason. I believe it is important for the family to view the body and have a time to say goodbye. If I did not believe in that one fundamental thing, you can bet that I would be telling them to avoid the funeral home experience when the time comes. Now, you still have a sure thing in one case, but how many families believe that viewing is important enough for the family to go through its needs being missed? The number is shrinking daily, I fear. The only way to bring them back is to not be satisfied with a job well done and to focus all of our energies on needs being met and met well.
Doug Manning
Taken from the Winter 2011 Dodge Magazine"
