To Charm or Not to Charm
The thought of lining up a funeral home for your loved one is anything but charming.
This is one tough son of a gun to handle. But charm or not, it has to be done at some point.
So I steeled myself to make advance queries.
This is what I found.
Please don’t ask “what funeral home?”
Funeral Home No. One
I park on their lot, in the back, thinking this must be the front door.
It’s not. It’s the very large chapel.
Two guys talking. They look. I wait. Guy No. One walks over to me.
I say I want to inquire about services.
He says go to the office. He directs me and goes back to Guy No. Two.
No charm there.
I meander across the chapel floor, through the indicated door, turn the indicated direction…I find the office, facing the street. It’s kind of barren and kind of unwelcoming. I look around. I see a sign. It says an attendant will see you soon. I wait.
Eventual a young man dressed in funereal attire wanders in. I tell him I want to make future plans for the eventuality — hopefully far in the future — when the care home will have to call.
He says, you will have to make an appointment.
He hands me some literature to study and a form to fill out about, you know, my wife’s birth data, middle name, something about her…statistics, etc.
I leave.
Not charmed.
Funeral Home No. Two
I park on their lot, at the side of the building. I walk across and find the front door, just around the corner. I look for a bell. I find none. I try the door. It opens for me. I walk in. I look around. It is much more comfortable than Funeral Home No. One’s, but still, I think, they could use a bit more personality, and definitely a tree or two, some pictures and paintings on what wall space they have. I ring the bell. Still, quite charming.
Almost immediately a tall, youngish woman comes in, smiles, and offers her had. I shake it. I can’t help it, I smile back. My gloomy mood lifts, a bit.
Come in to my office, she says, have a seat, would you like a coffee, a tea?
I say a coffee would go down a treat. She trots off to fetch a coffee.
Well, whaddya know? Here’s a little charm.
But I’m still heavy with foreboding and still smarting from my treatment at Funeral Home No. One. I’m deeply saddened at my wife’s situation and already grieving, so far in advance, just thinking of the eventual end, and feeling guilty that if I do this, I will be signing her off, discarding her.
The tall youngish lady arrives with the coffee. We exchange small talk. She’s obviously trying to ease the obvious tension she can obviously see in me. I can actually feel a little of that tension slip away.
Such warm, welcoming words, in this setting, on this occasion, I almost cry.
She asks how she can help.
I take deep breath. I tell her the situation. We talk, real talk. We even talk deal. She understands the situation. She understands my worry, and my financial state. She gives me good advice. SHE fills in the requisite initial form, the same kind of form I was given at Funeral Home No. One, which I took home and is still home.
I liked her. I liked her manner, her service, and the warm feeling she left with me when we shook hands as I – reluctantly – parted company with her.
Charm. A great asset for any business.
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