Gallows humor salves the hurt
For 20 years I was the director of a nonprofit called Funeral Consumers Alliance. Think of FCA as Consumer Reports magazine, but focused only on the funeral purchase.
Our job was to offer education on funeral options, costs, and the legal rights of consumers. The goal was to “lower unjustifiable burial costs” by giving the buying public accurate information so they would be able to comparison shop, and not to be misled into overspending at a time of grief.
Over those two decades, I spoke to or corresponded with tens of thousands of Americans and their families. We were the place people could go to to ask those “questions you’re not supposed to ask.” The ones they thought made them “look cheap,” or like “we didn’t love our mother enough to buy her the very best casket.”
The organization had developed a reputation for being an objective, candid source of funeral-related knowledge. My tenure increased our reputation for candor, as you can imagine.
Those tens of thousands of conversations taught me as much about the grieving mind, the American consumer mind, and many other things, as I taught the callers seeking my help.
Unlike nearly all other professionals who are called on for death advice, I refused to speak to my callers in euphemisms. I do not say “pass away.” I do not refer to corpses as “loved ones.” I do not avoid the word “embalming” in favor of “prepared the body.”
Instead, I dealt with callers on adult terms. “Compassion,” in this context, in my view, was best offered through truthful conversation, not walking on eggshells. Does that mean I was harsh and unnecessarily mean to callers? Of course not. When the situation called for a soothing tone of voice, that’s the tone of voice I used.
But most often? The situation called for a competent and confident voice. These grieving people were getting all their information from the funeral “dealer” who was selling them services. They wanted an objective, dependable outside opinion.
They don’t need one more person to tell them only how “very sorry I am for your loss.” They needed someone to tell them how to figure out their family’s emotional needs in a funeral, and how to make the family budget best accommodate those.
And more than you’d expect, they needed a little levity. Humor breaks tension, and can shatter illusions and reset expectations.
You’d be surprised how well it works. In 20 years, I can only recall one person being offended by my approach. But I can recall countless people who said something like this:
”You are the first person I’ve spoken to about mom’s funeral who has talked to me like an adult. Like I can handle the reality of this death. Everyone else has been very nice, of course, but it seems like they won’t just tell me anything straight.
I was nervous when I called. After talking to you, I feel an enormous weight lifted off my shoulders. I don’t have to be more afraid of death than is necessary. Thank you.”
I call this approach compassionate candor, and I trained my staff in this method. They, too, said it made them more effective advocates for grieving people who needed something solid to lean on.
It might also surprise you to know how many people appreciated a bit of gallows humor.
I’ll leave you with one example, a phone call I still remember.
Caller: “My mother died two months ago, and I arranged her cremation at X Funeral Home. I keep calling, but she hasn’t been cremated yet. When I talk to the funeral home, they say that many people don’t know that cremation isn’t always as quick as they expect.”
Me: “Tell me again how long your mother’s body has been in the cooler?”
Caller: “Two months.”
Me: “What the hell are they cremating with, an EZ-Bake oven?”
Caller: [One beat of silence]
Caller: [Raucous laughter] “So, I’m not crazy?”
Me: “Nope, you’re not. Want me to give them a ringy-dingy for you?”
All sorts of ridiculous things happen at death, and many of them are really fucking funny.
My mother and her sisters spent the last two days of my grandmother's life (their mother) talking to her unconscious in the hospital. Grandmother died of congestive heart failure, which is a peaceful way to go.
She had been propped up in the bed for so long that when they lowered the bed, Grandma just popped back up like an unconscious jack-in-the-box. My mother and aunt were in hysterical laughter.
Then, my uncle saw the hearse with Grandma's coffin in it parked at the roadside cafe on the way to the cemetery before the burial. "Figures she got someone to buy her one last lunch!"
And *then*, my uncle drove by the cemetery and found them getting ready to put her in the wrong grave.
At this point, every single one of us was crying with laughter.
We are bombarded with crap that makes people think they and everyone they love can and should live forever.
We don't honor the process of aging; we fight it tooth and nail. Like somehow, we can beat the system and not age and therefore not die.
Death is often messy. Even if it's in a hospital succumbing to the effects of the shit operation they used to "fight" the pancreatic cancer that was discovered, it still comes. With attached lines and shrill beeping and the yellow flushing of the skin, it comes.
People don't want to talk about death and dying because they haven't been raised to understand and exposed to the reality that it really is just the final part of living in this existence. For some who believe there is more, it isn't the end. Others believe there is no more, and it is the end. Regardless, now, in this world, the body is just a useless husk.
We used to have our loved ones die at home. They were cared for and included, as much as possible, in the life that surrounded them. And the wake was there, in the home, too. A dead body was seen, but a life was remembered. We used to know how to deal with the part of life that is death. Now, like everything else, we've tried to sanitize it. Make it something it isn't. Let others deal with it. Improve it somehow, for heaven's sake. And definitely profit off of it.
I would be one who benefitted from your candor, Josh. It's something for someone who is grieving to latch on to and move forward. Candor can bring clarity. And humor definitely can ease the pain for a time until the mind can begin to process the loss.