My Cemetery Era
- 4 min reading time
When I was 23 years old, I accidentally got a job at a cemetery (and crematory).
I say accidentally because the temp agency was suspiciously vague about the whole thing. "It’s downtown. Dress conservatively. Just answering phones." I kept pushing, “What company? What kind of work?” and kept getting non-answers. The day before I was supposed to start, they finally admitted it was a well known Memorial Park, quickly adding, "but don't worry, it's their corporate office, you won't actually be working in the cemetery or anything."
I pulled up on my first day and parked directly in front of a headstone.
And so it began…
I Thought I Could Handle It
I wasn't too worried, honestly. I'd been exposed to death a few times and figured I was pretty good at dealing with it. I thought I was practically a professional.
Turns out, I was wrong.
It was still deeply emotional to watch grieving families come in to make arrangements for their loved ones, or visit the graves of those who had passed. I cried after work, and sometimes at work, every day for the first two weeks. Moms who had died from breast cancer leaving behind teenage daughters. Sons who had ended their lives on Christmas Eve. Police officers shot down in the line of duty.
I cried, but I was also moved by the love I witnessed every single day.
The people I worked with were extraordinary. They knew how to speak to families in ways that reassured them, steadied them, and sometimes- when the moment was exactly right- made them laugh. From the family counselors to the grounds crew to the crematory operators, these were some of the most kind and generous humans I have ever met. People who had truly mastered the art of showing up for someone who is grieving.
What the Job Actually Looked Like
I wore dark colored suits and answered the phones, typed cremation paperwork on an actual analog typewriter, gave people directions to their loved ones' grave sites, and performed other administrative tasks. I was a respectful, smiling face behind the front desk when families walked through the lobby or attended services.
I learned so much about different cultures and how they dealt with death and grief. Some celebrated life boisterously, some honored their loved ones with solemn ceremonies, others left fast food on their family’s head stones as offerings.(In case you were wondering, I would love to be honored this way!) No matter what the activity was, it was beautiful to watch people grieve in their own ways.
In the two years that I worked there, I saw families utterly grief stricken. Families angry and filled with pain. And some families that were totally fine on the surface- "Hello, I'm here to pick up my mom. (Receives cremated remains) Okay, see ya, thanks!"
I saw that grief truly comes in all different shapes and sizes. Weights and scales. Smiles and tears.
None of it is wrong. All of it is valid.
Post mortem
After I left the cemetery, I moved back to my hometown to work for my Godmother. I was still settling into the new life, and didn’t have much of a social life yet. One weekend I rented the movie P.S. I Love You on a quiet night in.
If you haven't seen it, I’m going to spoil it for you: the husband of the main character dies of a brain tumor, but not before leaving several letters of love and encouragement for his future widow to be delivered over time. The movie centers on the wife's struggle with grief and loss and moving on. It touched me so deeply, I cried for two days straight.
Every person and family I had ever sat across from at that front desk came flooding back. Every hard day. Every detailed arrangement. Every memorial service that stayed with me. All the pent-up grief I had been quietly carrying poured out of me- and then somehow, miraculously, I let it go.
A few memories still stick with me, as they probably always will. But that cathartic breakdown worked wonders. It let me move forward lighter, and more able to carry whatever life had next.
Changed for the better
Working at the cemetery, combined with the personal losses I had already experienced, gave me an exposure most people don't have. If you deal with something often enough, it can begin to sting less, you can begin to look at it differently. You might even begin to question the status quo.
I saw the gap between grief being so personal and sympathy cards being so single note. Not everyone has the same perspective on death, and every death is so unique, so why do most people act like it’s all the same?
I’d like to think I’m changing that with my card company. And I hope you do too.
