Funeral Home Follow Up

Hey y'all, I finally did it! I finally wrote a letter to the funeral home detailing my experience and asking them for change. And it was polite and I didn't cuss. Not even once! What do you think? Read it here and let me know.

Dear Laird Employees,

This email is several months in the making. I have been wanting to email you and detail out my experience working with your team. I had to wait 5 months to calm down and write this out peacefully. Yes, it took me 5 months. You see, I want this email to come across as educational and not have you blow it off as the emotion ranting of a grieving mother. And that took 5 months.

I have never imagined that I would ever have to make funeral arrangements for my daughter. But in November of 2014 that is exactly where my husband and I found ourselves. We were blindsided by the loss of our little girl and still in shock when we arrived for our meeting with Corey. And even more shocked to be greeted with a cheery "Nice to meet you!" Yes, seriously, that is how we were greeted when we arrived to make plans for our daughter's funeral. That should have been the only shocking event, but sadly it was not. It got worse. So much worse.

In the course of our meeting we were given a callous "A coffin for a baby will run ya about 350 bucks." Yes, we understand completely that there are business aspects to be discussed. We understand that there will be a bill and you want us to be prepared for it. But seriously?

It was then explained that the use of the chapel is free for infant services. This is a policy that I completely endorse! Please understand that while this email is full of complaints and calls for improvement, this policy is the exception. It's thoughtful and gracious.

What is not thoughtful and gracious is using that policy to attempt to bully us into having the service at the date and time of your choosing.

After much haggling we finally got you to approve a Saturday service. But we wanted to push the date out a week since I was still recovering from surgery. We explained this several times, to which the response was "Ah, we have chairs you can sit in." Yes, that actually happened. That was actually directed at me when I explained that I wanted to be well enough to attend my daughter's visitation for the entire  hours. Your employee actually looked at me, the mother of a dead child, and laughed while bushing off my concerns.

To add insult to injury we were only given three options for an urn, none of which were suitable for a baby girl. I asked if we could see other options. We were told there were no other options. I kept pushing and magically a catalogue full of options appeared. Why wasn't that offered up front? Why make grieving parents push for full disclosure. We weren't talking about some insignificant detail here, we were talking about my daughter's final resting place.

The caviler attitude continued for the rest of the meeting. Including arguing with us about listing her birth and death dates on the service program. I stated several times that they were the same date and we just wanted it listed once. Corey repeatedly stated that people always list birth and death dates. We had just finished filling out the death certificate request, he knew she was a stillborn. Why argue? What did he possibly have to gain? Why make us explain what we wanted over and over. Why did I have to push and push to get the date printed the way we wanted. It was not his call to decide what is best for our daughter.

I'm writing this to you so you can do something about this. No parent or grieving family of any sort deserves to be treated like this. I understand that you may become desensitized to death being in the industry, but your clients are not. They are grieving and struggling and they should not be treated as if this major life event, this tragedy is no big deal. Because it is a big deal. And if you can't see that then please, please find another industry to work in.

I originally thought we were the only ones being treated this way because our daughter was an infant. I was originally upset because I thought you all just didn't take the death of a baby seriously. But I have since learned that you treat many other clients this way. People burying parents and grandparents and siblings. I've read your Yelp reviews and I know that we were not alone in our inhumane treatment. You treat many clients this way and I am telling you now, this is not ok. If you get nothing else from this email, know that what you are doing is not ok. People come to you needing guidance and support and options. Not to be treated like their grief just another day at the office.

I am begging you to please educate your employees and change your patterns of behavior. Do not let one more family go through what my family has been through. Hire people who understand compassion and empathy. People who are supportive and considerate. People who can reach out and relate to other people. People who care.

And now I will close this email with the same closing that we got the day we arrived to plan our daughter's farewell. A cheery "Have a great afternoon!"

Funeral Arrangments and Other Nightmares

It's just after midnight and the whole house is sleeping. But I am sitting in my family room, wide awake with my mind whirling. I have lots of things to worry about these days. Like why is Indiana still allowed to be a state after this week? And what if people actually vote for Scott Walker in a Presidental election? (I mean really, political associations aside, if he can't handle a simple 4 years of college how the hell does he think he can handle 4 years of a presidency?) But the biggest issue weighing on my mind is that of the Worst Funeral Home in the history of funeral homes.

When the hospital asked to choose a funeral home we were still in shock. Staring at each other over the silent body of our beautiful daughter, we had to start making decisions that no parent should ever have to make. Brent gave them the name of the first funeral home that came to mind, and I won't mention any names, but it was a terrible experience from beginning to end.

**cough* Laird Funeral Home in Elgin IL **cough**

At least I am assuming it will be horrible until we are done dealing with them. 5 months later we are still dealing with them and I still want to punch them all in their slimy, mouth breathing throats.

My mom was the one who actually made the first call to them for us. She set up our appointment with them the day after I was released from the hospital. She explained to them that we were still very much in shock and needed someone sensitive to handle Hannah's arrangements. They promptly assigned us to Douche. No, no that's not right. Let's call him Super Douche. Because he was Super Douchey.

We walked in and he greeting us with a giant smile and an enthusiastic "Nice to meet ya!" I started to wonder if he knew who we were. Should I explain to him that we were there to plan our daughter's funeral and not shovel snow? Was he confused?

Oh no, he wasn't. Asking us to follow him to his office, he started throwing out prices like "A coffin for a baby will run ya about $350 bucks." Say what? Did that really just come out of Super Douche's mouth?  Sure did, and it was about to get worse.

We filled out the death certificate information while he mouth breathed and snorted (what the hell?) and kept running into his boss' office to ask questions. By this point everything this guy did was annoying the ever-loving shit out of me and his douchiness was only getting started.

We started to discuss service dates. He announced to us that Hannah's service would be that Friday from 9-11am. We said no thanks. We explained that we have family coming in from out of town and we need a weekend and we would actually prefer the next weekend since I was recovering from surgery. He said he'd see if that would work. I just kept thinking "WTF? Make it work!" Finally, after yet another trip to the boss' office (also a douche) he said the Saturday of that week would work from 2-4. So we repeated AGAIN that we needed to wait another week since I was still recovering.

He waved his douchy little hand in air and laughed. "Ah, we have chairs you can sit in!"

Let's just pause for a moment to be thankful that I was unable to move at this point. Otherwise I would be in jail right now. Let's just leave it at that.

After I got done bursting into tears he agreed on the date we wanted and the drama continued to unfold. He argued with us about the dates in the program. He wanted to list Hannah's birth and death dates while I explained to him more than once that they were the same date. What the fuckety fuck? We just filled out the death certificate paperwork. How does he not understand this? Then we had to haggle over urns. He gave us 3 options by pointing over our shoulders to a shelf in the back of the room with 3 of the ugliest urns I've ever seen. So I had to ask for more options. He said they didn't have any. I didn't believe him. Another trip to his boss' office and what do you know? An entire catalogue full of urn options magically appeared. Funny how that worked out. At this point I was in tears because THIS ASSHOLE IS HANDLING MY DAUGHTER'S FINAL ARRANGEMENTS OH MY GOD WHAT HAVE WE DONE!

Before I could scream, I asked him to show us the chapel where her service would be (he showed us the wrong one) and then we had to wait while he got his business card (did not even have his name on it) from his boss' office (what the hell?) and then had a conversation with his boss about some convention while we stood there awkwardly waiting for his stupid card and being ignored by both of them. Finally Super Douche gives us his card and closes the meeting with a hearty "Have a great afternoon!"

I thought about kicking him but I was afraid of busting a stitch.

The service itself went smoothly, but Super Douche had the night off and the nice man taking his place left me alone. Thank God. But we still aren't done dealing with them. We still haven't received Hannah's death certificate. So Tues morning, I sucked it up and called them. The gentleman (and I use the term loosely) that answered told me he couldn't look for it because they didn't open for another 15 minutes. I sat there in silence. He finally agree to give a look around their office and call me back. Guess what never happened.

That's right. So I called back again yesterday, was transferred a few times before Super Douche came on the line. He said the county never sent it (I'm guessing they never requested it) and he could get it by the next day. That day has passed and nothing. So Monday morning I will be making yet another phone call to Super Douche to try and straighten this all out.

And now that I worked out my anger here, I might be able to finally write a letter to them detailing why they are the worst. But I doubt they'll read it. They'll probably just throw it down on the desk next to countless other "missing" death certificates that they promise to search for just as soon as they open for the day.

Her Things

Today I gave Hannah's car seat away. It went to the family of someone that we love and someone that needs it. So it's in good hands. But I had no idea how hard it was going to be to let it go. I cried for the entire 30 drive there and the entire 30 minute drive home.

Confession, I haven't done anything in Hannah's nursery yet. It's still sitting there, all put together like it's still waiting for her to come home. So going in there this morning, taking the car seat out and giving it away really brought home the fact that she's not coming home. She's not going to wake up in her beautiful crib, or wear any of her cute little clothes. Her shoes, her blankets, her rocking chair will all go unused.

It's the movement of taking something that should have been hers and making it not hers that knocked me down today. Getting rid of her car seat was the first move I have made towards clearing out her things. It's the unavoidable beginning of not only saying good bye to her but saying good bye to what was hers. I love being surrounded by her things because it reminds me that while her life was brief, it was still a life, she was still loved. She was mine and she will always be mine. I may hate the fact that the only place I can carry her now is in my heart, but I will cling tightly to that at the same time. My sweet girl.

Balancing Act

Just when I think we are getting better, just when I think we are learning to deal with our new reality, there is another milestone missed, another memory not made, and we are right back where we started.

If all had gone according to plan, today would have been a very hard day. Today I would have been returning to work after maternity leave if the worst hadn't happed. But the worst did happen and instead of tearfully dropping Hannah off at daycare, I am spending the day lost in what could have been. I wonder what cute little outfit she would have worn, how she would have adjusted to our wonderful daycare teacher, Miss Beth. I wonder if I would have cut out of work 5 minutes early because those last 5 minutes seemed like an eternity before I could see them again. I wonder how Charlie would have done with Hannah in his space at Beth's. I wonder how I would have balanced two baths and two bedtime routines while making dinner and staying sane.

The worst part is that I'll never know. All of those memories were stolen from us back in November and there is nothing we can do about it. No matter how deep our sorrow runs or how furious our anger gets. No matter how many friends surround us with love and want to make it better, it won't be get any better. These memories and countless others will always be missing from our lives.

So now, instead of learning to balance career with two kids, I find myself learning to balance grief with all my other life roles. Grief can be extremely overwhelming and it can take over everything. So my initial reaction is to try to ignore it. But it can't be ignored, it has to be dealt with. My new challenge is how to take my grief and balance it with being a wife, mother, friend, sister, daughter, employee etc etc. How do I take this and move forward without dropping all the roles I have to play? It's a really delicate balancing act and I know I don't have it down yet. Instead, I am dropping the ball right and left and letting everyone around me down. I can't wait until I can pull it together and succeed at this! It's so frustrating to feel like I'm failing at everything at once.

The March Towards Someday

It seems like every time I turn around we are faced with another milestone or event. Another reminder of what is lost, of what we'll never have. Today Hannah should have turned 4 months old. Had she been born on her due date, today would start my last week of maternity leave. It feels like there is always something to remind us of what is missing in our lives.

I know that someday it won't feel so raw. Someday the tears won't be right on the verge.

Someday I will walk into the office without the fear that someone won't ask me how she is.

Someday I won't have to avoid the baby aisle at Target. Or cry on my way to yoga because the studio and the prenatal classes were so important to me when I was pregnant with Hannah.

Someday I won't be worried about making her the perfect memorial garden, or finding the perfect way to celebrate what should have been her 1st birthday.

Maybe someday I'll even be able to remember what it was like to not carry this grief around with me wherever I go. Someday I will be able to be truly 100% happy for friends that are pregnant, instead half happy, half heartbroken.

Someday I will be less bitter, less angry.

I'm not there yet, but someday I will be.