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COVID-19 Precautions

Thu, 29 Aug 2024 15:18:12 GMT

To our members and community,

As the pandemic of the coronavirus continues to disrupt our lives, we want to let you know that People’s Memorial will support our members and community in any way that we are able.

We are monitoring information about the pandemic in our service area, as provided by the World Health Organization, the Centers for Disease Control, and local and state public health authorities. As the conditions change, we will act accordingly to protect our staff and the families that they serve.

At this time, our Seattle office remains open. However, People’s Memorial Association and The Co-op Funeral Home are making the following adjustments:

We ask that anyone needing to visit the office please make an appointment, so we know to expect you and to ensure we don’t have too many people congregated at any one time.
If you are visiting the office, please wear a mask covering your nose and mouth.
We will delay any non-essential in-person interactions.
We are encouraging staff and our client families to conduct as much of their conversations and arrangements as possible online and by phone.
We have decided to cancel all in-person events and presentations and will move all possible programming online.
Staff may choose to work from home.
Should staff develop symptoms, we have committed to notifying each other and conducting work online rather than in-person.

We know you have questions and the best way to contact the People's Memorial Association membership office is through email, as our phone availability is limited in light of these measures. To reach PMA by email, contact info@peoplesmemorial.org .

The Co-op Funeral Home's phones continue to be answered 24/7 by our staff and answering service.

Cooperatives are about community, solidarity, and mutual aid. At this historic moment for our region and the nation, we need to make sure that we keep our community strong. We will be providing more information about our efforts on our website and through our newsletter.

We hope everyone stays well and finds the support that they need.

~The Staff of People’s Memorial Association and The Co-op Funeral Home.

Tips for Returning to Work After a Loved One's Passing

Tue, 30 Jul 2024 14:33:31 GMT

Returning to work after the passing of a loved one can be a daunting prospect. First of all, you're probably still working through your grief. Second, you have to deal with the inquiries and condolences of coworkers. While they may mean well, their good intentions can be hurtful. It's important to prioritize your own well-being and set clear boundaries during this time. Read on for some actionable tips and practical resources that can help you ease back into working life after a loss.

Take it Day by Day

Grief has a profound effect on both the body and the mind. You might be dealing with issues like anxiety, anger, and sleeplessness. All of this can make work difficult. It's important to be kind to yourself and take it day by day. Focus on small steps like exercising, eating healthy, and leaning on friends and family for support. Also, be kind to yourself if you aren't 100% at work. Verywell Mind reveals that grief can make it hard to concentrate , for example. Talk to your supervisor if you're struggling to meet deadlines or having similar problems.

Declutter by Digitizing Paperwork

Having less "stuff" in your home will make it easier to keep everything tidy now and in the long run, including decluttering by digitizing your paper records and other documents. Chances are, you’ve accumulated scores of documents over the years, and now you have other items now that your loved one has passed.

Know What to Say In Case People Ask

Some people at work may not say anything about your loss. Others may offer condolences or even ask questions. It's important to know how to prepare for these moments. Cake recommends practicing what you'll say in advance . For example, you might simply say, "I suffered a major loss and expect to be grieving for a while" or "I appreciate your sympathy." You don't owe anybody details or explanations. If you feel that you're "off" at work, you can reach for a line like, "I've suffered a loss. Please forgive me if I'm distant for some time."

Make Time for Yourself

While it can be tempting to throw yourself into work in an attempt to "forget" your grief, this can backfire. It's important to take time for yourself when needed. For example, you should be trying to sleep enough, eat nutritiously, and exercise regularly. Take time away from work to focus on your own healing if needed. Side activities like crafting or another hobby can also help with grief. It can also be beneficial to spend more time in nature, as research suggests that spending time outdoors helps to reduce stress and has a soothing effect .

Adopt A Pet

For those who are grieving, adopting a pet can often be a great way to find solace and comfort. Pets provide unconditional love and companionship which can help people begin to heal emotionally and distract them from their worries. They can also provide days filled with comfort, joy, purpose, and distraction during even the darkest of days. Going for walks or playing fetch with pets can even be an effective tool for improving physical health too. Before bringing your new pet home, visit Pets Digest for expert pet care advice.

Update Your Resume to Change Careers

After a loss, it's natural to reflect on your own life. You may find yourself reconsidering your career trajectory, for example. A well-crafted resume can open up pathways for one's future. It should charge itself with supplying insight into who you are and what you can accomplish. List all necessary information carefully and professionally, taking extra time to review for punctuation errors, typos, and grammar mistakes. Don't forget to highlight unique skills or qualifications that will benefit the employer. You can try this resume maker to design an eye-catching resume. Choose a template and then modify it by adding text, font styles, and images.

Change Jobs

If you're struggling through grief while working a job you hate, a new job may be the key to helping you move forward. Preparing a new resume is the ideal first step. It's an opportunity to reflect on your skills and accomplishments, and to think about the future. And you can build your resume quickly with a template that offers fresh designs with professional flair and without the exorbitant cost.

Seek Support to Help with the Transition

Grieving can be a very lonely process. Resist the temptation to isolate yourself from the world. Seek help if needed. Understand the signs that you could benefit from professional mental health support. One sign you could use grief counseling is if your grief interferes with your work or you have symptoms of depression. NAMI provides tips for finding a mental health care professional that will fit your needs. These days, it's even possible to get the help you need online via teletherapy.

Returning to work after a loved one's passing isn't easy. Trust that the situation will get easier with time—and take care of yourself in the meantime. The above tips – including taking it day by day, practicing self-care, adopting a pet, and perhaps even finding a new job – can help.

If you need assistance with planning for death or making arrangement for a funeral, The Co-op Funeral Home of People's Memorial can help. You can get in touch with us by calling (206) 529-3800 or emailing info@funerals.coop .

Written by Lucille Rosetti at www.thebereaved.org .

Healthful Healing Tips During Times of Grief

Tue, 30 Jul 2024 14:29:12 GMT

When you’re grieving, it can be easy to focus on the negatives, and you may feel like you have no control and no ability to change anything.

However, it’s important to remember that this is a normal part of the grieving process, and it will pass. But it’s also important to know how to turn that negative energy into something positive. Healthy goals can help you move forward in the healing process, and they can help you feel like you have control over your life again.

Identify Triggers

When you know what triggers stress in your life, you can actively work to reduce or even eliminate stress and grief. What’s more, you will find it easier to set up new routines as you press forward to overcome grief.

Set Up a Routine

As you begin to heal and get used to the idea of a new normal, it’s important to set up a routine that helps you feel like you are still in control of your life.

It might sound silly, but it can help to set a schedule for important daily tasks, such as going to work or school, taking care of your responsibilities, and eating meals. You might also want to set a routine for checking email and answering phone calls.

Routines help you feel like you have a structure to your day, and they give you something to focus on when you are otherwise feeling overwhelmed. Setting up a routine can also help you feel less alone, as it can help you feel like you are still connected with others.

Move More

Adding physical activities to your daily routine is not only good for your overall health, but it can be highly beneficial when grieving. Even if you’re not a fitness junkie, extra movement every day can go a long way toward boosting your energy and your health. Take the stairs and not the elevator, walk or bike to work, take a walk on your lunch break and make multiple trips when bringing in the groceries.

Volunteer

Volunteering to help others can help you feel like you are contributing something to society. You can also volunteer at a place that is meaningful to you, such as a homeless shelter or a senior citizen center. Or you can volunteer by helping someone in your family, such as a sibling or parent who is experiencing a hard time.

Write A Letter or A Journal Entry

Writing a letter or journal entry can help you process your feelings and get in touch with your inner self. You don’t have to share your letter or journal entry with anyone else but yourself.

Take Time to Socialize

Spending time with someone you care about can help you feel less alone and less empty. It can also help you feel connected with others again. It’s important to remember that it’s OK to socialize, even if you feel like you want to be alone.

Change Jobs

Declutter for a Peaceful Home Environment

If your home is cluttered and messy, it can cause you to feel heavy and uncomfortable. This can lead to anxiety, depression, and other negative emotions. Make changes to your home so it becomes a place where you can relax and take time to recover. Declutter and reorganize, add plants, change the decor, and let in more light.

Consider rearranging closets and cabinets and getting rid of clutter in general. In addition, think about making a serene space where you can meditate comfortably.

There’s no right way to grieve, but there are ways to make the process feel less overwhelming. Small changes and baby steps can put you on the path to healing.

Written by Lucille Rosetti at www.thebereaved.org

People's Memorial and The Co-op Funeral Home Move to a New Office

Tue, 30 Jul 2024 14:20:50 GMT

After 12.5 years on Capitol Hill, PMA and The Co-op Funeral Home have found a new home!

A 10 year lease was signed for a whole floor - over 4,000 square feet - at the Queen Anne Baptist Church. The organizations have been working hard to expand and this move is a result of their efforts. PMA looks forward to hosting their free workshops on-site and more frequently. The Co-op Funeral Home will be able to offer families several on-site options to host memorial and funeral services.

Attend the Annual Meeting on May 2nd from 9 am - 12 pm and tour our new home. Our partners in death care will also be there hosting informational booths. You can expect to learn more about green burial, recomposition, aquamation, advance directives for health care, estate planning, death doulas, and more.

The new address effective March 1, 2020 is 2011 1st Ave N, Seattle, WA 98109.

This is an exciting time of growth... read on to see how you can be a part of the journey!

Grow with Us: Contribute to the Spring Fundraiser

More people than ever are accessing free resources and attending classes, but membership has been on a decline since 2017. In the coming year PMA is adding online classes and nurturing new community partnerships to appeal to the next generation of members... but membership fees only cover 43% of our budget. Support the expansion of our community services as we grow into another decade!

Make a gift now through June 20, 2020 in support of the growth of People's Memorial Association and The Co-op Funeral Home.

Your contribution will aid in the transition to the new office space which will become the hub for funeral education and advocacy in Washington State. It's easy to make a gift:

Online at peoplesmemorial.org/donate ;
Make a check out to People's Memorial Association and mail to 2011 1st Ave N, Seattle, WA 98109; or
Call the office at 206.325.0489 x4 to share your credit card information with one of our staff members.

The PMA Events Calendar for 2020 is full of free, informative classes

Our new office space features a large classroom that is set up for community discussion, presentations, and workshops. We value the partnerships we have been cultivating for years with organizations and professionals in death care and have been building new relationships this past year.

We're happy to present a very full calendar of classes - some presented by PMA staff and some by our partners. Check out our Events Calendar to find the topics that are of interest to you. New classes will be added throughout the year so please keep checking in. And, if you've attended one in the past, we encourage you to join us again because there may be new information available.

We can't wait to see you in our new space, ready to learn and engage in dialogue about end of life!

A Valuable Gift for Your Family

Tue, 30 Jul 2024 14:15:39 GMT

Robert Hayek (1912-2008)

Anyone who experiences the unexpected death of a loved one, someone closely enough related that it becomes their responsibility to deal with the disposition of the body, payment of bills, and distribution of the estate, knows what a stressful and bewildering experience that can be. Sooner or later each of us, by our own departure, will create that sort of crisis in the lives of our family or friends. Similar challenges occur when a loved one is disabled, especially if the disability prevents them from providing guidance about their finances, the type of care they want, and their desires for the care or distribution of their property.

In my family, I was grateful to have the guidance of the People’s Memorial Association in preparation for the deaths of my mom in 2006 and my dad and aunt in 2008. Several years before their deaths I had enrolled my parents as members of People’s Memorial Association (based in Seattle) and my aunt in the Oregon Memorial Association (since she lived in Oregon), and together we had completed the recommended planning forms.

My family members cooperated in completing the forms and sharing their preferences with me. There was only one conflict that arose with my parents. My mom wanted my dad to be buried next to her in the family cemetery plot in Portland, OR. My dad wanted to be cremated with his remains placed in a memorial wall at his church. My mom was furious when she heard that, so I closed the door and continued the conversation with my dad in private, realizing that the conflict might reoccur at a later time.

The issues were a little different with my aunt. Her husband had died in 1980. At the time of his death, the funeral home had persuaded her to pre-pay for her own funeral in the amount of $7000. I assume that was approximately what she had paid for my uncle’s arrangements. My aunt had the cancelled check, a signed written contract regarding the arrangements, and a partially completed worksheet regarding the services she wanted. She was very clear about which funeral home should be used and that it had already been paid for. I was grateful she shared this information with me and made a note of where I’d find the documents when the need arose.

Marion Hayek (1917-2006)

Several years after that conversation with my aunt and over 20 years after the death of my uncle, it occurred to me that checking with the funeral home about my aunt’s pre-paid services might be a good idea. I gathered up the relevant documents provided by my aunt, as well as the General and Durable Power of Attorney she had given to me, and went to see the funeral director at the facility she said our family always used. The reason we always used this particular funeral home, as explained to me, was that my aunt had gone to school with the son of the owner. Needless to say, the son of the owner was long gone, and the funeral home had been bought by a national firm that has been gradually acquiring family-owned funeral homes all across the country. At my appointment I said I was there on behalf of my aunt, who had pre-paid for services, and I wanted to verify what their records showed concerning the services to be provided. The funeral director spent a few minutes checking his records and told me they had no record of such an account or payment. I was stunned and temporarily speechless. I had not expected this at all. The gentleman then started giving me a sales pitch for setting up a new pre-paid plan, without even bothering to ask why I thought my aunt already had an account there.

I let the salesperson continue his pitch for a while, thinking about what my next action would be. Then I reached into my document folder and brought out the cancelled check and contract. Without an apology or even skipping a beat in his speech, he modified what he was saying to suggest that would not be enough money at current prices and I still needed a new contract. I managed to get out of there shortly afterwards, giving myself some space and time to overcome the shock of this conversation and to decide what to do next.

After re-reading the contract my aunt had entered into, I learned it had been set up through the services of an insurance company. When I contacted the insurance company, I was able to arrange to cash in the policy and even receive a small amount of interest for my aunt. What a relief when that check came in! What a valuable lesson I had learned from this encounter with my aunt’s “favorite” funeral home.

One of the most valuable gifts you can give your family is the gift of documents, knowledge of how to use the documents, and discussion regarding your preferences. A “fire drill” to practice finding and using the documents would also be a good idea.

Edith Inches (1906-2008)

I had an early experience with disability and death problems when I was in high school. My dad’s uncle and aunt, became disabled and my father was contacted to help out. My father had no preparation for this and no useful documents. The result was two expensive guardianships, followed by the death of both relatives, a fight over how expensive a casket to have and then a fight over who should be the estate administrator and the manner in which to distribute the estate. These disputes generated substantial costs and ill will that continues to this day.

I became familiar with People’s Memorial Association back when I was a young attorney in private practice. A friend’s husband died in a tragic drowning accident, in which he had managed to save his young daughter but not himself. When my friend asked me to handle her husband’s estate, she told me how helpful People’s Memorial Association had been regarding funeral arrangements. She was so pleased with their help that I joined the organization myself and have advocated use of their services ever since.

People’s Memorial Association was founded in 1939 as an alternative to the high prices and predatory sales practices of the funeral industry as it existed at that time. PMA offers affordable funeral services that honor the deceased’s social and spiritual values. It still exists today and it has expanded its many services, while retaining wide respect for its work, both from members and the public.

In regard to prices, cremation services through PMA cost about $800, as compared to the $6000 price tag the National Funeral Directors Association website reports as the median cost of those services in the United States. For those wishing burial, PMA prices are from $1200 to $2900, depending on the services requested, while the National Funeral Directors Association reports a median price of over $7000. None of these figures includes cemetery expenses which are handled separately. Note: you can review the wide range of prices charged for these services in the State of Washington by reviewing the price survey information on the PMA website.

People’s Memorial not only offers good prices for their services, they also offer free information and a promise that their funeral homes will never pressure a family to purchase items they don’t want or need. They host seminars called Ducks in a Row to help members with planning. Their website contains lots and lots of information and useful forms and staff is available to answer questions on the phone.

The valuable gift you can give your family includes:

Completed Documents – including those listed on the PMA website.

Knowledge – of how to use the documents and where to go for help.

Discussion – about your preferences that will help your family understand why you completed the forms the way you did and help quell later conflicts among family members, some of whom may not want to follow your instructions.

The discussion element of this family gift is important. For two years I was employed as Executive Director of People’s Memorial. In my job I heard many stories, such as these:

A PMA member carefully filled out all the recommended forms and posted a note on her refrigerator to alert her family to the paperwork laid out on the kitchen counter. However, her death occurred in the hospital and the hospital phoned the family for their funeral home preference. She was already at the funeral home and arrangements agreed to before the family visited her home and found her documents, which provided different instructions. A family discussion well before she became ill could have avoided this problem.

A family member called PMA one day to explain that they knew their father wanted cremation and that he was a longtime member of PMA, but they believed he changed his mind in his later years and they intended to have him buried instead, because that was the practice advocated by their religion. I took this call and knew the family. The conversation made me sad and reminded me of how important it is to talk with family members, preferably more than one, to assure them that what you put on your paperwork was what you really wanted them to do. One of the tools available to help avoid this problem is the Designated Agent form. It is now possible to designate a particular person, whom you are confident will fulfil your wishes, as the person authorized to make your cremation or burial arrangements.

Another phone call was from a person distressed that PMA had a higher price than others he had seen advertised for cremation services. I carefully explained the various services offered by People’s Memorial, which made it a desirable option, even if another company offered what appeared to be a better price. Those PMA benefits included honest answers to all questions, with no attempt to sell extra services, comprehensive prices, which included transportation, storage, needed containers, and educational materials and forms, which can be used to be better prepared for the next family death. The gentleman called back after attempting to do business with the lower cost facility. He confirmed that everything I had told him was correct. Many items were not included in the quoted price and he was pressured to pay for additional items that ran up the cost.

My experience as a PMA employee was a great help to me when my mother died in 2006 and my aunt and father in 2008. It was a tough couple of years, but the plans for disposing of their bodies went smoothly, and mostly according to their requests.

We were able to easily fulfill my mom’s wish to be buried in the family cemetery plot in Portland, even though she died in Redmond, WA. For a modest additional fee the funeral home drove her and her casket to Portland, where I met them at the cemetery, and we had a small graveside service. A local minister was present, as requested by my dad.

When my aunt died, we used a funeral home recommended by the Oregon Memorial Association instead of the funeral home my aunt had requested. The change of ownership and the attempt to extract excessive charges persuaded me we could not use the funeral home originally requested. Since the Oregon Memorial Association prices were so low, I looked for ways to increase the costs, since she had wanted to pay $7000. I upgraded the casket, bought flowers and refreshments, paid cemetery and marker expenses, and took the family out to eat after the service, and still had money left over.

When my dad died, I knew he wanted to be cremated and placed in the memorial wall at his church. Since my mom was already deceased, she was not in a position to object. However, my dad had purchased a mausoleum crypt, where his first wife was interred. There was also the unused plot in the cemetery where my mom was buried. Since the cremation arrangements through PMA had been relatively inexpensive, I decided that I would honor his two wives by putting markers in the mausoleum and next to my mom at the cemetery, in addition to the marker on the church memorial wall, so it now appears that he has three final resting spots.

Joining People’s Memorial costs $50 for a lifetime membership. If you are a Washington resident, please consider joining and taking advantage of their resources. Your family will be glad you did. If you live in another state, check the website of the Funeral Consumers Alliance to see if there is a similar organization in your area.

Please consider subscribing to my blog .

Carolyn Hayek

Links

People’s Memorial

Oregon Memorial Association

Ducks in a Row and Designated Agent forms

PMA Membership Application

Funeral Consumers Alliance

National Funeral Directors Association prices

Tips and Traps Regarding Senior Living and Finances

Making Your Retirement Work for You

Are You Ready to Retire

How Moving Can Relieve Grief for Seniors

Tue, 30 Jul 2024 14:08:15 GMT

There is never an easy path forward following the loss of a loved one. Although some parts of grief are universal, much of the process is unique, and the path toward relief for one person may look entirely different than for another. One way to look toward the future after a death is to consider moving. Living spaces hold memories; for some people, this can be a comforting reminder of the person they’ve lost. For others, however, every corner or doorway can bring back a painful feeling of grief and sadness. In these situations, finding a new space and a fresh start can be the kindest thing to do for yourself.

What Living Space Is Best?

Take some time to consider your options and find the best living space for you. For example, if the person who died was your primary caregiver, it may make sense to move into assisted living. Often when a spouse or family member passes away, their loss is felt in practical, as well as emotional ways. Many facilities provide meals, offer gyms and other amenities, and have medical staff on hand. If you’re interested in learning more or need help finding the right facility, there are advisors throughout Seattle who can help you make this important decision. The median annual cost of assisted living in the state of Washington is around $66,000.

It’s also worth considering whether a smaller space makes sense for your specific needs. Many seniors find they want to downsize after the loss of a spouse or family member. A bigger house can feel particularly empty, which can ultimately highlight your grief. By moving to a smaller space, you’ll find your living situation much more manageable.

Preserving Memories

It’s normal to feel an additional sense of loss at the thought of moving out of your shared home. However, there are plenty of ways to preserve memories that don’t require living within those walls. For example, you can make a photo album of all the lovely pictures taken within that house. Or, you can make a model version of the home, or commission a painting. Wall art, sculptures, and other décor can travel with you to your new space, allowing you to bring along the memories you want to hold on to.

Practical Matters

There are several practical matters you must consider during a move. For example, if you owned the space you currently live in, you’ll need to decide if you want to sell, rent, or hold on to the property. If you do decide to sell, you can use the profits from your sale to go toward your next living space. Rental income, as well, can make your new home more affordable. Research the market to figure out which path forward is best for you.

You’ll need to decide whether you want to hire movers. If you have a large family or friend group full of able-bodied individuals, you may not need to. However, hiring movers for the day can make things go much more quickly, and may put less stress on both you and your loved ones.

If you’re downsizing, consider which items you want to bring along with you. Go through the remaining items and figure out which you’d like to sell, donate, or give away. It may be painful to make these decisions about your lost loved one’s possessions. Ask a trusted family member to help you make these decisions, and plan something nice for yourself afterward. Be prepared to take breaks, or even split the process up over several days. This may be an intense process, and giving yourself permission to take time will make it easier.

There are many ways to handle grief, and moving can be a powerful option. By giving yourself a new environment, you can look toward the future. Remember: Being away from a space will not rob you of the time you spent there. It may, however, give you the ability to move on.

Photo Credit: Pexels

So what happens to the gold teeth?

Tue, 30 Jul 2024 14:01:12 GMT

This may be a weird question. Can we get the gold teeth back?

When a family is having a loved one cremated, many ask this question. We hear it on almost a daily basis. So we don’t find it weird at all to wonder what happens to the gold teeth.

However, it does not have a simple answer. Let’s get into it.

The material in a gold tooth is not solid gold but an amalgam, a mixture or blend of a few different metals. Pure 24k gold is pretty soft and wouldn’t make a good material to replace a tooth by itself.

You really don’t know what percentage of gold there is in a crown unless you ask the dentist who made it. There seem to be as many options of alloys in crowns as there are dentists.

I posed a few questions to one of them, Dr. Daniel Bickel of Redmond Art of Dentistry :

How much gold is typically used in a gold crown?

“Around $50 [worth], on average. It depends on how aggressive the crown preparation was by the dentist. There can be as much as $80 per crown or as little as $25. There is no way to tell via X-rays.”

Has that amount changed over the last few decades? (Do older crowns have more/less gold?)

“Older crowns do not have more or less gold than today’s crowns. There are 3 types of gold used in the dental field. There is High Noble gold which contains at least 60% of its composition is of the noble metals gold, platinum, palladium, and silver. Of that 60%, at least 40% of that percentage needs to be gold in order to earn this distinction from the American Dental Association. Then there is Noble gold which has a composition of 20% Gold, 20% Palladium, 40% Silver, 18% Indium, 2% Zinc, Less than 1% Iridium. Then there is non-precious metal which is mainly cobalt and chromium. There is no way to know which make-up of metal the crowns are without getting them analyzed.”

According to abcnews.com, “A gold crown typically uses about one-tenth of an ounce of 16-karat gold, which would fetch around $40 to $50 at today's prices.”

So basically, there is no real way to know how much gold is actually in Grandma’s mouth.

And, only a dentist can perform a tooth extraction. Funeral directors and cremationists are neither licensed nor allowed to perform dentistry.

Dr. Bickel asked his dentist colleagues what they have charged to perform an extraction. The general response was anywhere from $650-$800. He added that it is also difficult to find a dentist who will be comfortable with providing this work.

So if we look at it from a financial standpoint, it not worth paying to have gold teeth extracted prior to cremation. From a sentimental standpoint, it is possible but there are more than a few hurdles to get it done.

So can I get the gold back after the cremation is complete?

Cremations range in temperature from 1400 to 1800 degrees F, for 4-6 hours.

While 24 karat gold does have a melting point that’s slightly higher, (1,943 degrees F), as the purity level of gold drops, so does its melting point. According to Sciencing.com “18-karat gold has a melting point of 1,700 degrees Fahrenheit and 14-karat gold has a melting point of 1,615 degrees Fahrenheit.”

At cremation temperatures, any gold in the teeth will be definitely melted.

Also, during the cremation, the remains may have to be moved and repositioned to facilitate a complete process. That means that any metals that get liquefied at those temperatures also get mixed in with the bone fragments.

Those bone fragments are then processed, resulting in the final cremated remains or “ashes” that are then returned to the family.

So, if you wanted the gold back, you will technically have it, but it will be unrecognizable and indistinguishable from the rest of the cremated remains.

What about in Alkaline Hydrolysis?

Alkaline Hydrolysis (also known as Water Cremation, Aquamation, Biocremation, flameless cremation, or Resomation) is the reduction of the body using water rather than the flame of regular cremation. The result of the processes are similar, families get back powdered bone fragments or “ashes”.

But with Alkaline Hydrolysis, anything that is not organic material comes out clean from the bath. Pacemakers don’t have to be removed prior to the process. Any implanted metals, joint replacements, surgical hardware, dental work, can be recovered to return to the family or be recycled.

This is a great article from the BBC if you want more information about Alkaline Hydrolysis

People’s Memorial is working on having this method legalized in Washington State. Keep an eye on our newsletter for updates!

How to Teach Goodbye: A Mother's Take on Childhood Pet Loss

Tue, 30 Jul 2024 13:56:16 GMT

-Ashley D. Topacio

June 2007

“Jeremy, I’m so sorry honey… but he’s gone. They couldn’t save him.”

My eight-year-old son and I sat on our pilly, honey-colored sofa in the morning light of our tiny living room.

Inhaling deeply through my eyes in an attempt not to cry, I handed Jer the red velvet heart sachet he’d sent with Surrey, our cat of nearly seven years, to the animal hospital the night before. Holding the lavender-filled pillow in his lap, he hung his head and sobbed. I kept him home from school that day, tried to talk about the fact that Surrey had been in kidney failure when I brought him into the hospital; that the most compassionate thing we could have done for him was to let him go.

But this was all very abstract to my son who, at eight, was resentful that I’d returned home with an empty cat carrier after promising, “Everything will be okay” only 12 hours before. Where was Surrey now? he wanted to know. What would the animal hospital do with his body? Would there be a gravesite where we could visit him? Why hadn’t I brought the cat home first to say goodbye?

Children often have more questions about death than we have the answers to. Even when we know the answers, finding age-appropriate ways of articulating the truth can be challenging.

As parents and caregivers, we strive to protect our children from unpleasantries and harsh realities best saved for when they’re older, more ready to deal with complex emotions that require processing to overcome. It’s not unusual for those with children in their care to feel ill-equipped to answer honestly; we may find ourselves giving our children the same answers our parents gave us at their age, even when they don’t align with our beliefs.

Jeremy’s questions about Surrey post-mortem made my heart ache for one reason that hangs over my head to this day: though the cat was actively dying, we could have handled Surrey’s death in a way and setting that was more in line with our values as a family. It wasn’t just the cat’s sudden death that troubled my son, it was all the unknown about the process.

I knew that the next time our family had to say goodbye to one of our pets, we’d handle the situation very differently, though I wasn’t sure how just yet.

***

September, 2015

Sherman was dying. A week into his sudden, unexplained paralysis, it was very clear: he was ready to go.

This just wasn’t fair. Jeremy, now fourteen years old, sat on the soft black leather of a different sofa, in twilight of a different living room, with his three-year-old cat on his lap. Diapered and twitching, Sherman had suffered some kind of unknown trauma and his health was declining rapidly.

Jer stroked his cat with a knowing look on his face. Over the past week, we’d discussed that while our family would do everything we could to keep Sherman living a happy, healthy cat life, the possibility remained that he might take a turn for the worse. The day before, Jeremy and I made the decision together that the most loving act we could give Sherman would be to let him pass on. We decided on in-home euthanasia and to care for Sherman’s remains by burying him in our backyard, the only home Sherm had ever known, under our apple tree.

Jeremy and his two little sisters, Stella (six years old) and Lucy (age four), stayed home from school the day before and the day of Sherman’s euthanasia. Our focus was on spending time together and enjoying some normalcy as we said goodbye to our pet after a long week of caring for him as a paraplegic. Our neighbor Stef, who’d been the one to find Sherman after his injury, stopped by to spend some time with us.

The vet arrived at our home early morning, as scheduled, to perform the procedure. We sat in our living room as he explained the process to us, let us know of some completely normal, yet potentially unsightly occurrences: Sherman may pass away with his eyes still open; he may express some agonal (labored) breathing as he takes his last breaths. Once we were all ready, we headed to the bedroom, where Jeremy gave the vet the nod to go ahead.

I held Lucy on my lap and let the tears roll down my cheeks. Jeremy and Stella wept over Sherman as we saw his beautiful, fluffy body relax for the first time in days. The two older children pet him, kissed him, loved him deeply in his final moments. Time seemed to stop for a few moments as we paused over the finality of what we had just witnessed; Sherman’s tiny ribcage stilled.

When we were ready, the vet made a couple of clay paw prints for us as a keepsake: one for the family, and one especially for Jeremy.

Immediate burial seemed abrupt when our aim was a gentle goodbye, so we laid a couple of blankets on our dining table and rested Sherman there for one last nap in the sunshine. Fresh tears still on her face, Stella announced that she was going outside to pick some flowers and stones for Sherman. Lucy followed, and soon we had an unexpected cat wake. Jeremy and I sat near Sherm most of the day, sipping drinks, sometimes crying, sometimes just lovingly stroking our pet on the last day we’d ever get to. Still so young, Sherman was ridiculously soft, his fur more rabbit-like than cat. We pet our dead cat as I answered the kids’ questions about where Sherman was now; we talked about our family’s beliefs regarding the afterlife.

Then something unexpected happened: My grandmother, whom I’d called earlier to let know of the sad news, stopped by with flowers and a card for Jeremy, donuts, cupcakes, and a satin pillowcase fixed with a zipper that Grandma thought might be a nice green burial shroud for Sherman. Shortly after, Stef, came by with flowers from her garden to share. No one acted as if it were the slightest bit strange for us to have our recently deceased cat laid out and adorned in the middle of our home. The kids were able to experience the empathy and support of our extended family and friends during our time of loss.

We had a few faux pas through this experience, particularly from those experiencing their first cat wake: Lucy tried to use her doctor kit on Sherman throughout the day, but we gently explained that just isn’t something we do when someone has passed away. We just let them rest.

All the children wanted to participate in the burial. Ever eager to dig holes in the yard, the two little girls assisted their dad and I in creating a plot. Jeremy hesitated in his wish to carry Sherman down to his final spot, but determined, he helped me place Sherman on a bed of flowers into Grandma’s satin pillowcase, and carried him down to the apple tree. We lowered him into the earth, and I asked if there was anything he wanted to say. There wasn’t. My husband looked at me as if I should know what to say; exhausted, I looked up to the sky, dead cat at my feet and exhaled with gratitude, “Thank you, Sherman.”

Once we’d covered the gravesite with dirt, we collected stones and magnolia branches to mark the now sacred place in our yard. Stella and Lucy played nearby for the rest of the afternoon. They gleefully asked their aunt and cousin later that night if they wanted to see, “Sherman’s spot”. Stella wondered aloud if we could dig him up and look at him again one day. We explained to her that this just isn’t something you do when someone dies. Again, we just let them rest.

***

Loss of a pet can be a teachable moment for parents and children: uncomfortable, yet very real topics such as loss, grief, death, and the family’s cultural and personal beliefs around the afterlife can be touched on. Allowing children to remain present and participatory in the dying and after care process can be healing for all involved; by allowing our kids to experience the death of a family pet, we allow them to continue to care for their pet. We can hold safe space for the very natural process of grieving, which children do experience. We can express our own grief, connecting with our children on the universal truth that all that lives must pass away, without getting too deep or macabre.

Our family recognizes that with Sherman’s death, we were very fortunate in many ways: we were able to elect in-home euthanasia, which may not have been an option had Sherman been violently injured; we had an appropriate place to lay Sherman’s body to rest in our backyard. Even taking time off of work and school is a luxury many families may not be able to afford when it comes to pet death care. We are grateful that, in this case, we were able to not only give our cat a humane send off, but we were able to plant seeds of death-positive culture to our children.

And by modeling healthy behavior around death and dying to our children, we cultivate the potential for them to pass this ancient human practice on to others.

Ashley Topacio is a mother of three who enjoys writing and drawing. Presently, she is working toward her funeral director's license by serving the kind folks and families of The Co-op Funeral Home of People's Memorial.

Looking for Light

Tue, 30 Jul 2024 13:51:20 GMT

Flaurie Imberman was my Spanish teacher in high school. Last year, her husband suddenly died at the end of December. I asked her if I could post this moving piece that she composed for Yizkor (Remembrance) Service on Yom Kippur this year. I am grateful for her words and her sharing her mourning process. Gracias y Todah, Doña Flaurie -Nora Menkin

On December 21, two days after my beloved husband Peter died suddenly and unexpectedly, my cousin Nechama told me, "Remember: after today, the days will grow longer and there will be more light."

Of course, had Peter been there, he would have immediately told us, with absolute precision, how much longer each day would be. For me, though, it would be a very long time until the light showed up in ways that were palpable.

The hours and days passed, and I was increasingly pulled into darkness. As my numbness gradually wore off, my utter shock was replaced by fears: How would I pay my bills? Would I be able to remain in my home? What if I were too tired to wash the dishes? What if I fell and no one knew? What if, what if, what if....anxiety birthed more anxiety...and with it....continued darkness....

I felt like I had slipped into that proverbial black hole.

Often sleepless at 3am, I sat facing the window, waiting and waiting. Writing in the Jewish journals that loved ones had brought kept me busy for weeks. Every day, at 4pm, I waited for Peter to call and tell me when he would be home for dinner. Everyone else knew that call would not come, but I held out, as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks, into months.

During the minyan at the end of the sheloshim period, Rabbi Graff talked about the appearance that evening of the new moon. That sliver of light, she suggested, could represent a hopefulness that she believed I would one day feel again. I might feel Peter's spirit in this moonlight, she said, accompanying me as I struggled to find my way without him.

But the darkness continued, as the hours turned into days and the days into weeks, and more worries emerged.

Would I have a chance to love again? Who would hold my hand when I stirred in the middle of the night? Whom would I cook for? Whose joys would be married to mine? I reflected upon the words of my bereavement counselor, who said that when your partner dies, you not only lose the person you loved, but also the dreams you shared for the future as well.

And so the hours turned into days, and the days into weeks, and, yet, slowly, at a certain point I grew aware that the days were, in fact, longer. I was eager to greet the light, and began to enjoy it throughout the day. For the first time in my life, I started reciting a daily blessing:

Baruch ata Adonai eloheynu melech ha-olam, yotzeyr or.

Thank you G-d, creator of the universe, for making the light.

And I realized that light been with me all along: daily texts, phone calls and visits from family and friends; gratifying lessons with students; sweet letters and generous gift cards from many of you; warm, welcoming hugs at shul; frequent pep talks and guidance from Rabbi Booth; invitations for Shabbos dinner.

Rabbi Lewis often shares a midrash about the fear that Adam and Eve felt upon seeing the sun set on the day of their creation. Thinking it was punishment for something they had done, they wept, only to rejoice and thank the Heavens when the light returned. Studying together another midrash, Rabbi Lewis also taught me about the fears Adam and Eve experienced as the autumnal days grew shorter and shifted towards darkness. During their first year they were still learning about the inevitable and predictable cycle of the seasons.

Now, as the days grow shorter, I feel many of my old anxieties returning. Soon the sun will set before I sit down for dinner and by now I know for sure that Peter will not return home to join me, at least not in the way I wish he could.

But now I do know, like our ancestors knew, that the light will always return. I also know that there is always light around me...I just need to open my eyes and my heart to let it in....

Baruch ata Adonai eloheynu melech ha-olam, yotzeyr or.

Thank you G-d, creator of the universe, for making the light.

May we all be sealed in the Book of Life. G'mar Chatima Tova

Flaurie S. Imberman September 23, 2015 Yom Kippur 5776

Organ Donation and Home Funerals

Tue, 30 Jul 2024 13:49:07 GMT

I really want a home funeral and natural burial, but I also want to donate my organs. Is this even possible? If so, how would that work?

This is a frequently asked question we receive here at The Co-op Funeral Home of People's Memorial. Managing Funeral Director, Nora Menkin , wrote a column for The Order of the Good Death addressing this issue.

The short answer is “yes!” The realistic answer is “it depends.” Read More

Co-op Music Video

Tue, 30 Jul 2024 13:40:51 GMT

Many thanks to our members for joining us April 18, 2015 for the People's Memorial annual meeting.

By popular demand, here is the video that premiered and was enjoyed by those in attendance:

Ritual and Ceremony

aaron@tukios.com (Aaron Avner) — Tue, 30 Jul 2024 13:36:11 GMT

A while ago, Nora received an email from her aunt.

“Tonight [your uncle] and I watched a TV show where supposedly an FBI agent was killed. The graveside ceremony included a eulogy and concluded with each person taking a turn to shovel dirt into the grave on top of the coffin. That seemed weird to me. The deceased character was not Jewish. Have you seen such a funeral, or was that just sloppy writing? Just wondering - B."

I was raised Catholic, so I'm NOT the definitive authority on Judaism or Jewish Traditions. Having attended seminary, though, I'm a big fan of ceremony and its benefits, especially around life transitions. So when Nora read me this email and asked if I'd like to write about it, I was tempted... apprehensive about whether I'd be able to do justice by a faith tradition that's not my own, but definitely eager to learn more and discuss the nuances I would be able to grasp.

Aunt B. is right--shoveling dirt into a grave after the casket has been lowered IS a time-honored Jewish tradition. Physical contact with the earth is important, so ideally, the casket is buried directly in the ground without a vault or grave-liner around the casket. If cemetery policy requires a liner or vault, earth is put into the bottom of this container so that the casket will make contact with the soil.

At the cemetery, the soil from the grave is in a pile next to the open grave. Shovels stand stuck in the dirt for those present to use to shovel the soil into the grave after the casket has been lowered. I've also learned that at first, the back of the shovel is used to demonstrate an initial reluctance to say goodbye in such a final way. Only after is the correct side of the shovel used to complete this somber task.

A mourner approaches the mound, helps themselves to a shovel, shovels some soil into the grave, and then places the shovel back in the mound. This is an important, non-verbal demonstration that no one obligates anyone else to engage in this task--when you approach the shovel, you're taking your own initiative to make the choice to do this.

The specific question was whether this practice takes place outside of the Jewish tradition.

Yes.

Turning to my friends on Facebook, I asked if anyone had experienced hands-on participation at the graveside and what this may have felt like.

A friend in Ireland told me about her cousin's burial--each cousin was given a rose, and they took turns dropping their roses on the lowered casket. It felt comforting to her that she had touched a little bit of beauty and that it would accompany him. Some friends found it too emotionally upsetting to witness the lowering of the casket or the closing of the grave. This makes sense too--not every ritual will be helpful to every person.

One of the most moving stories I've heard comes from Brian Flowers, Cemeterian at The Meadow and Past President of the Green Burial Council. This story takes place at The Meadow, a green cemetery in Ferndale, Washington. As a green cemetery, one of the ways the staff limits their carbon footprint is by forgoing the use of heavy machinery like tractors and backhoes. Graves are dug by hand, and the soil is in a mound next to the grave, so those gathered can take turns closing the grave. Immediate family members typically start, and after 4 or 5 shovelfuls, the next people tap them on the shoulder to take over, like cutting in at a dance. Brian tells me this process tends to unfold pretty organically--people naturally and instinctively know what to do and when without needing much direction.

This was how it started with the burial Brian was telling me about. A young man had been murdered, and his father, as part of the grieving process, had a deep, primal need to maintain visual contact with his son's remains until the burial was complete. After the body had been lowered into the grave, the shared communal task of closing the grave began. After about 10 or 15 minutes, Brian tells me, the young man's father was the only one shoveling. Those gathered could see and feel the intensity of what he was doing for his son; a circle formed around him to bear witness to his work, and to offer an emotionally supportive presence.

"Shoveling," as Brian points out to me, "is not a terribly cerebral task. It allows the brain to turn off for a while, making room for the heart to do the work of processing the grief." That's certainly what happened for this young man's father--work with the shovel provided a very physical way for this gentleman to non-verbally express the emotions he was trying to process. Feelings, I've found, often confound us with their inability to be effectively conveyed with mere words.

For many people, there's a very real emotional value to going through this physical experience. I wondered out loud to Brian if this value influences the placement of this ritual within a spiritual community context, like the Jewish tradition. Brian pointed out that this ritual is an important part of the Lummi Nation's practice, too. (I had to make a mental note of this for Aunt B.) I’ve also seen people toss rose petals or origami paper cranes into a grave after the casket has been lowered.

We encourage families make choices that are meaningful to them—you shouldn’t have a certain kind of funeral just because someone told you that is what is expected, or what is “traditionally” done. People should be free create and engage in ceremonies that have meaning for them. If ceremonies from other religions or cultures have meaning for you, please incorporate those traditions into your plans. Talk about it with your family, your friends, and your community.

Chris Ronk is a licensed funeral director. He has worked in the funeral industry since 2006.

Touching Death

Tue, 30 Jul 2024 13:32:29 GMT

She is lying, partially wrapped in a plastic sheet, on a cold metal table in our prep room. Her head is tilted slightly away from me so I can’t see her face yet. I can see she is still in her hospital gown and there is a port still attached to her neck. I take a deep breath and walk toward her. As I come around her head, the row of staples on her scalp goes from her hairline back behind her head where I can’t even see them end. There is another row above her ear and her skull is obviously missing from under her skin between the two tracks. Her curly hair is matted on one side, shaved on the other. I have a full view of her face now.

It is definitely her, but not her. Kathryn, my friend, is lying dead in front of me. We worked together before I became a funeral director. We worked in an intimate environment where co-workers become family. I hadn’t seen her in few years. She traveled for work a lot, I started a different career. But she was my friend. Here she was in front of me, and I had a job to do.

Her wife was meeting me here to prepare her for burial. Lisa had called me when Kathryn died on the East coast, asking me to help bring her home. Kathryn had been through so much in the last few weeks of her life. A sudden medical crisis that was never fully diagnosed culminated in a stroke after many other unexpected complications. Interventions and multiple surgeries had been fruitless. Because she was so young the doctors just kept trying everything to fix her. A week before, Lisa made the incredibly difficult decision to move her to hospice care so that her poor body could finally rest.

Lisa and I had had a long conversation on the phone about embalming. It is not a required procedure in our state or the state that Kathryn died in, but many people just believe it is necessary or even mandatory. Lisa had done her research, and I helped her with the facts and weighing the pros and cons of the procedure, but she made the decision. Kathryn had been through enough, she did not need another invasive procedure on top of all that. She could be shipped home on ice, in a Ziegler Case.

Kathryn was going to be buried in her family’s plot outside town. Since many members of her family had not had a chance to see her before she died, we were going to have the time before the funeral service to let those who wanted to view her have their time to do so. Lisa decided she wanted to prepare Kathryn herself and asked me for my help.

So there I was, standing next to Kathryn’s body, waiting for Lisa. I had arrived early knowing that I would need this time alone with her body. I needed this time for me, so that I could be there for Lisa.

You set up barriers when you work with the dead, both physical and emotional. I have seen literally hundreds of dead bodies in the last few years. When I started in this business, I did removals; picking up bodies from their place of death, and transporting them to our care facility. Physically you are wearing gloves, even gowns when the occasion calls for it. You are not actually coming into contact with the dead person. You don’t know this person. It’s just another body, special to someone else so you treat it with respect, but you have no attachment to it. I would help families dress the body in the home before taking it away if they wanted. Once I helped wash and brush out a woman’s hair while she was still in her bed so that her daughter could make a braid to cut to keep. It’s like manipulating a life size Barbie.

After a few years, I was spending all of my time just in our offices making arrangements with families, rarely seeing the bodies unless there was a service. At that point someone else had prepared the body for viewing, I might help rearrange the hands, or touch up the hair or makeup, but I had very little actual interaction with the deceased.

Barriers have a way of crashing down when it is someone you know, especially an unexpected death of your peer. I knew this wouldn’t just be another body. This was Kathryn. But it wasn’t her. I needed time to sit with her to digest that. I was there to support Lisa. I was the professional. I was the one experienced in death. I took a few minutes just to touch her face and hands, rationalizing the cold I felt with the woman I had known. I finished removing the plastic sheet she had been wrapped in, leaving her hospital gown on. I covered her in a cloth sheet up to her neck. I had offered to have her bathed before Lisa got there, but Lisa was emphatic that she wanted to be involved with everything.

Lisa arrived with three suitcases. She had been having trouble deciding what to dress her in, so she brought everything. I had told her to bring Kathryn’s toiletries. We could use her own shampoo, conditioner (key for us curly haired girls), and soaps. It would help her smell like her again, rather than smelling like hospital.

Outside the door to the prep room, Lisa started to cry. “I’m scared!” she said. I held her for a moment and then started to describe what she’d see when I opened the door. “She’s lying on a metal table, covered in a white sheet but you can see her face. There is a lot of weird looking equipment around because they use this room for embalming but we aren’t using any of that. Her head is really sunken in on the side where she had the craniectomy. Her skin is a bit mottled with patches of red. There are some grey sticky spots on her arms and legs, probably left over adhesive from the medical tape. We can see red veins in her arms and legs where blood has settled. It’s called ‘marbling.’ Her eyes and mouth are closed and are concave looking. It still looks like her, but it’s not her.” Lisa collected herself and I opened the door.

I gave Lisa the same kind of time I needed when I’d first come into the room. She cried, hugged her, touched her, talked to her for a bit.

She looked at me, “What do we do now?”

“Do you want to bathe her?”

“How do we do that?”

With a task at hand, we put on aprons. We removed the remaining tubes and IVs that were on her. I made the conscious choice to forgo the latex gloves for this washing. I wanted to be me, her friend doing this for her, not her funeral director. I turned the water on warm. Lisa laid out the things she had brought. I handed her a washcloth. We started at the shoulders, each of us on each side of her. We passed the soap back and forth as we worked our way down her body. We inched her gown and sheet down as we went, before giving up and removing it all together. Flecks of blood and the medical adhesive washed away. Lisa decided to clip her nails and shave her legs. I washed Kathryn’s hair with her own shampoo and conditioner. I used a comb to get the knots out of the hair that she still had. Once those curls were clean and flowing, she looked much more like herself.

Lisa and I talked some as we worked, told some stories but we were both very much in our own heads working through this. Only after the fact did I think we should have had music playing in the background.

Once Kathryn was clean and dried, Lisa went to choose the clothes. She had been debating whether to put her in a dress, or in street clothes. While Kathryn looked great in a dress, she really was a T-shirt and jeans kinda girl. In the end, Lisa picked out a well-worn pair of Levis, a fitted long-sleeve shirt, and a wool cap with Kathryn’s team’s logo on the front. Lisa and I worked together to get her dressed. We laughed a bit at how difficult it is to dress someone who is not cooperating. I compared it to dressing my tantrum-ing two-year-old, no wait, this was easier. When we were done, tears caught in my throat.

The change was so remarkable. I had come into the room with a body that had been through so much. She looked beat up, cold, lonely, and pained. Once she was dressed, in her own clothes, she looked so cozy, warm, relaxed, and comfortable. She looked like herself. But it wasn’t her.

Lisa laid her head on her wife’s chest and cried. She spoke to her, telling her how much she loved her and missed her. She kissed her. She touched her. She held her.

It was almost as hard to leave the room as it had been to come into it. I helped Lisa pack everything up and walked her out to her car. We hugged for a long time. We’d see each other the next day at the service. I noticed we both took a long time starting our cars and leaving.

It has taken me a few weeks to put this experience into words. The images and emotions are continuing to ricochet around in my head and writing about it helps make some order of the chaos of grief.

I wanted to share this experience so that people can take a look behind the curtain to see that being so closely and intimately involved with someone’s body after they’ve died is an amazing experience. Amazingly painful, amazingly sad, but amazingly rewarding.

Nora Menkin is the Managing Funeral Director at The Co-op Funeral Home of People's Memorial. She has been a funeral director since 2007.

Death and the Salesman

Tue, 30 Jul 2024 13:29:42 GMT

Liberace in The Loved One, 1965

There are many facets to working in the funeral industry. On the front side, the majority of what we do is service based. We meet with families to discuss arrangements, gather the appropriate authorizations, file death certificates, and order certified copies of those death certificates.

Behind the scenes, however, there is a large portion of our jobs that is just business oriented. Much of this business revolves around vendors who sell everything from urns to caskets and everything in between. On a daily basis we get advertisements in the mail that sell products with names like the Kanga-Woo (cot covers) and BereaveMints (breath mints made for funeral homes). These are literally two advertisements placed on my desk as I’m writing this post. We weed through these ads trying to decide what our families might actually care about and what we can toss in the recycle bin, thankful that at least the name gave us a chuckle.

The bigger vendors have sales representatives who will come in to the office periodically to provide updated pricing and introduce new products. It was during a meeting with one of these sales reps that I had adverse reaction to his sales pitch.

He was showing me a line of cremation caskets in a catalog and said, “I know how you do business here, but I just want to let you know that other funeral homes don’t even give families the option of a casket-less viewing.” Pointing to a particular cardboard casket (officially called a basic identification box), he continued, “They require families to use this for basic viewings and they don’t get any push back. It’s not an economic issue, it’s a dignity issue.”

It was this last sentence that made my blood boil so fast I couldn’t even think of a good response. Like a rash, the heat and irritation grew until I was fuming with anger and frustration. In fact, it took a full day of stewing before I could even articulate why I was so angry.

This sentence is exactly what is wrong with the current state of funeral service. It is said with the veil of speaking to the best interest of the families, when in reality they are just looking to increase their profit.

It is not our place to tell a family what is dignified. Dignity to one person might mean gently placing a rose on their loved one while they lay on a cot, and to someone else it might be nothing less than the most expensive hardwood casket. Dignity is giving people the choices to make their own decisions.

I’m going to say it again. Dignity is giving people the choices to make their own decisions. The Co-op Funeral Home may be most recognized for our direct cremation and simple funeral services, but we can and we do provide so much more than that when a family requests it.

So in response to that sales rep: No. I don’t think you do know how we do business here. I will provide a basic identification box as an option for my families to choose, but I am not going to make that decision for them.

Kimberly Forsythe is a funeral director with The Co-op Funeral Home of People's Memorial. She has been working as a funeral director since 2007.

Scattering Service

Mon, 29 Jul 2024 23:10:09 GMT

Once a year, The Co-op Funeral Home performs a scattering service on the Puget Sound. In Washington State, cremated remains may be scattered on all public navigable waterways. These include sounds, rivers, streams, lakes, and the ocean within a three-mile limit. Families and clients ask us to scatter for them and we are honored to be able to perform this service.

It was a beautiful summer day this year. We launched our little boat and its cremated passengers from a dock at Alki Beach.

We headed out to the Puget Sound where we would be scattering.

Just past the tip of West Seattle, we decided that a quiet area with a view of the Olympic Mountains would be an excellent final resting place.

We took a picture of each urn, with the Olympics in the background before we scattered.

We had one water burial urn a family had chosen. This container is made of paper and is designed to breakdown in the water. This one we placed in its entirety in the Sound.

The rest of the remains were in plastic bags. We opened up each bag, placed the opening under the surface of the water, and let the contents flow out. This kept any Big Lebowski-like blow back at a minimum.

The cremated remains would hang in the water for a while before gradually disappearing into the blue. It looked like they were hanging out enjoying the sunshine before going below.

We documented the GPS coordinates and are sending this certificate, along with a photo, to each family to let them know where the scattering took place.

For families who wish to have their loved one scattered in the water, but are unable to do so themselves, we are happy and honored to perform this service for them. For more information on scattering protocols and options, email us at info@funerals.coop .

Death Runs in the Family

Mon, 29 Jul 2024 23:04:57 GMT

As far back as we can trace our family tree, all of my grandparents, great-grandparents, great-great- grandparents, have died. Thus I am resigned that I too, I’m sure, will one day die.

In this facing of my mortality, I became a funeral director.

How’s that for an explanation? Why did I become a funeral director? The real answer is so circuitous, I almost don’t know how I ended up here. But I did. A series of unfortunate and fortunate events landed me working at the only non-profit, funeral home Co-op that I know about in the United States. I'm so grateful to be here.

I try to trace back where my interest began. Six Feet Under? Jessica Mitford’s The American Way of Death? Home funerals? Chevra Kadisha? Natural Burial? Like the mighty Mississippi, there are many small tributaries that fed my river of curiosity that swept me into my current position.

I was a freelance stage manager in the Seattle theater community. I had pretty steady work but it still left me with weeks-at-a-time unemployment. I would use the time to look into other avenues in which I could use my skills. People said, “Become a wedding planner!” That was so unappealing, I thought, “What is the opposite of wedding planning? Funeral Planning!”

I had no funeral education other than attending a few more services than someone my age should have by that point in their life. I’d had two friends die when I was in college, one from cancer, one in an accident.

I just knew I wanted to explore an alternative to the “traditional” funeral practices. I wanted to find ways that family and friends could be more involved with honoring a person and the life, rather than being passive bystanders and letting someone else tell them what needed to be done.

I went through the Final Passages Home Funeral Workshop. The director, Jerrigrace Lyons, introduced me to Char Barrett, who lived in the Seattle area and had done the workshop previously. Char was then tapped to open the Funeral Co-op for People’s Memorial. She called me in to help out then hired me as an intern when the funeral home opened its doors in 2007. In 2009, I became a licensed funeral director. In 2013, I was named the Managing Funeral Director.

My funeral education has been learning from the families that walk through our doors on a daily basis. Listening, letting them guide me with what they want. If they are at a loss as to what to do, starting the conversation to work out what is important to them in honoring their loved one and themselves in the process.

I’m grateful to each person who trusts me to help them through one of the most difficult, emotional times in their life. If they can leave feeling just a little bit more at peace than when they came in, I’ve done my job.

Whatever happened that brought me here, at this point in my life, I’m thankful. I can’t imagine being anywhere else.

Nora Menkin is the Managing Funeral Director at The Co-op Funeral Home. Thanks to her dad, who is not dead, for the old family photos.

"What's a guy like you doing in a place like this?"

Nathanael@tukios.com (Nate Renda) — Mon, 29 Jul 2024 22:59:24 GMT

How I chose a career in funeral directing.

People frequently ask me what life events led to my decision to be a funeral director. Since this question is usually asked as an aside, I tend to try to be as concise as possible. What I typically say is “Family.”

My Grandmother's family, pictured just before her birth. Left to right, back to front: Bill, Rose, Johnnie, Manuel, Great Grandma Rosa, Leo, Great Grandpa John, Mary, Henry, Ed, Isabel, Ben. California, 1922.

Mine is large and Azorean Portuguese American. Roman Catholic to the core, our family’s funerals are elaborate, days-long observances. My grandmother Paulina was the eleventh of eleven children, so as I was growing up, these experiences were as frequent as once a year. A viewing with visitation, a Rosary, a pre-funeral family gathering around the casket to watch the closing of the lid before processing as a group to the church for Mass, then again to the cemetery for a committal service, then gathering for a reception and shared meal… it was really rather involved. But it was tradition, and it meant something, and I didn’t really know there was any other way of going about it. So that’s what we did.

The first funeral I remember attending was when I was four years old. My great-aunt Leonor had died in her nineties, and after a funeral Mass at our family’s home parish, she was being buried next to Uncle Johnnie at Garden of Memories Cemetery.

Before the graveside committal service began, the priest approached me and asked me if I would help him—he needed someone to hold his bottle of Holy Water during his opening remarks, and then hand him the bottle when he reached for it for the Sprinkling Rite. Would I like to help him? Who was I to deny a priest? Executing this task with deliberate precision, I was proud of helping Aunt Lee get to heaven. My life’s trajectory was set.

Another important part of growing up for me was tagging along with my grandmother and her sister, my great aunt Mimi. They had both lost husbands in the 1970’s and the pride they took in their identities as widows brought them close. They would periodically visit the cemetery to clean family headstones and place flowers. I was frequently brought along to help.

Grandma Paulina and Grandpa Bob Schauman on their wedding day. Salinas, California. 1946.

One visit to the cemetery sticks out in my mind in particular. Mimi was leaving flowers at the grave of her husband. She had a companion headstone placed there—a wider stone that the both of them would eventually share. “CHEADLE” was engraved across the top, Uncle Leland’s name and dates were on the left, and the right was blank. “You see,” Mimi explained calmly, “Uncle Leland was buried here after he died.” Then she shifted her focus to the empty grave next to him. “And, one day, after Mimi dies, she’ll be buried there.”

I think that’s when it started to occur to me: Everyone who’s alive now, one day won’t be. And death is not something we avoid, but it IS something we can prepare for. She didn’t make it sound scary and traumatic, or like some dreadful thing that must never be discussed—she modeled to me an even-headed, gentle attitude toward the truth that death is the culmination of each life.

Leland and Mimi, Santa Maria, California. 1954.

The “one day” she prepared me for was not many years away. Within a couple of weeks of her cancer diagnosis, Mimi died surrounded by extended family. I was twelve years old, and it was the first death I would be present to experience. As Mimi didn’t have any children, it was my mother and grandmother who would make arrangements and settle Mimi’s final business affairs. They made a decision that would have phenomenal long-term implications: They brought me to the funeral home for the arrangement conference.

Before going to meet the funeral director, my mother, grandmother and I went to Mimi’s home to get some important papers, as well as some clothing and jewelry for her viewing. It was immediately clear to us that she knew she wasn’t well—an envelope addressed to “My Survivors” was left for us on her table. This envelope included the deed to her cemetery plot, and a letter with some details for the obituary about her life & career. She also wrote to us about the flowers and music she wanted at her services, and what she wanted to wear.

Mimi. August 1979.

We took these items (and a recent photograph) with us to the funeral home to arrange the details. Even before entering the building, I could tell that we had arrived at a space set apart—the front door was locked, and we had to ring a bell to be permitted entry, escorted by staff at all times. It wasn’t unwelcoming so much as it was very formal, almost Victorian.

We met our funeral director, and provided him with biographical information for Mimi’s death certificate, and explained to him our Portuguese Catholic custom—viewing, Rosary, Funeral, and Committal.

A casket was ordered. Family cars were reserved and chauffeurs were hired. Although she picked out the music for the Mass, we still needed to decide on scriptural readings. A eulogy was composed, motor escorts and reception catering were arranged, aunts and uncles were flown in and accommodated. Mimi’s life was celebrated, over the next few days, in a way we felt was proper and necessary. Needless to say, the elaborate planning of this event stuck with me.

Jessica Mitford's American Way of Death Revisited.

My curiosity in this subject area continued over the course of the next few years. I remember I was 15 years old when I first read Jessica Mitford’s American Way of Death Revisited. It opened up to me the idea that a simpler way was possible, and just as dignified. It also brought to my attention that not all funeral establishments were as professional and reputable as our local directors had been. I learned that there were families being taken advantage of financially by way of emotional manipulation and subliminal marketing techniques, or even a simple lack of understanding of the rights and responsibilities that come along with a family death. This seemed to me to be a terrible injustice, and I found it extraordinarily troubling. As I went through high school and college, exposé pieces in the media brought our collective attention to problems in the industry like laws being broken and prepayment funds being stolen.

I realized I wanted a career that would make a difference, that would keep families safe from anything untoward, but I wasn’t sure how to do that. I had considered family law, to assist with end-of-life documents, but that was too far removed from the arrangement room. Was there such a thing as a deathcare doula? Not really. It wasn’t until I finished my bachelor’s degree that I decided to join the funeral industry myself, so I could be in a position to advocate for the respect, compassion, and ethical treatment that client families deserve. And that is why I became a funeral director.

Uncle Leland and Aunt Mimi's headstone, Salinas, California.

It is with much gratitude that I work for The Co-op Funeral Home owned by the members of People’s Memorial Association . The organization’s vision is that all might have access to funeral options in line with individual tastes and preferences; it’s this type of vision I’ve always found myself personally and professionally aligned with. Mitford herself admired and endorsed both PMA and her local Funeral Consumer’s Alliance . As it was her writing that moved me in this direction to begin with, my work here feels like a contribution to her vision of ethical and professional funeral and memorial options at affordable prices. And working to fulfil that need is the most satisfying job I could possibly ask for.

Chris Ronk is a licensed funeral director. He has worked in the funeral industry since 2006.

Grieving, When You Work In Death Care

Mon, 29 Jul 2024 22:48:53 GMT

My grandmother, though being completely tech-savvy, was not on Facebook. So whenever I posted a picture of my son being cute, I’d try to remember to just email her the same picture since she loved getting updates on her favorite and only great-grandson.

April 14th I sent her a shot of the kiddo doing watercolors at the kitchen table, completely in the buff.

She wrote back, “So where is the painting? The painter is cute. I am currently out of commission. Have some kind of intestinal problem and will have a catscan tomorrow. Hope to get some relief for pain. Love to you all. Ema”

She thought that she’d eaten a bad hotdog from Costco. When the pain didn’t subside for a week, she gave in to go to the doctor. After her scan, the doctor called and asked her to come in to discuss the results, and to bring a family member with her.

April 22nd the news went out to all friends and family that Eva had been diagnosed with renal carcinoma. A biopsy was scheduled.

I called her right away. Her voice was strained, she didn’t sound like herself. I offered to come down, she waved me off saying there were too many people around, “We’ll talk on the phone and email. Don’t trouble yourself. You’ve got a little boy to look after. I love you.”

I told her I’d be visiting my sister in LA anyway and could easily make a day trip to Santa Barbara to see her, “Oh, well, if you’re going to be in the area, maybe you could find the time to come see me, if you’re able to.” A typical Jewish grandmother.

Once she had the right drugs to keep her pain under control, she decided not to have the biopsy and just let nature take its course. She enrolled herself in hospice.

When I called, she said, “I’m 90 years old. I had to die of something at some point.” Her voice was lighter, she sounded like herself again. I told her I’d see her in two weeks. She said she looked forward to it.

The day after we talked she went to bed, and never really got up again. I changed my flight to be for that weekend. Knowing how fast she was fading, a part of me thought that if she died while I was there I could handle her funeral arrangements myself. It was something I could do for her when everything else was beyond my control. I could bathe her. I could dress her. I could hold her, prepare her for burial.

She died Friday morning, May 2nd. Her son and daughter were with her. She had her beautiful view of the Santa Barbara mountains outside her bedroom window.

View from her backyard

I wasn’t there in time. I had to let the local funeral home handle the arrangements. I put in the first call from Seattle, letting them know it would be a Jewish burial in a simple pine box. The hospice nurse bathed her and dressed her in what the family wanted her to be buried in before the funeral home came to pick her up.

2 weeks. 2 weeks from diagnosis to death. 2 weeks. 2 weeks to adjust to the reality that my vibrant, social, powerhouse of a grandmother was going to die. Then she was gone. After 2 weeks.

I arrived the next day to preparations for the memorial service in full swing. Figuring out what kind of service my secular Jewish grandmother would appreciate, meeting with the Rabbi, writing eulogies, printing programs, gathering pictures, stories, hugs, crying, laughing, holding each other up.

She was buried with my grandfather at the Santa Barbara Cemetery, a beautiful day that gave this Seattleite a lovely sunburn as a souvenir. A memorial service at the temple followed. Everyone came back to her home after for a reception.

People ate, shared stories, and faded away. At the end of the day, grandchildren, and children remained. Lingering a bit longer since the house that has been the center of our family for 40 years now has an uncertain future. Eva was the matriarch of our huge family. Her home was our center. Thanksgivings were always there, no question. I got married in her backyard. Her house was her. And now she’s not there. My uncle said we should take anything that we wanted if there were no disagreements. But everything there belongs there. It is hard to imagine a painting or a knick-knack fitting in anywhere else than where it had been in her home.

I found a necklace that she had always worn on her bedside table. A simple silver pendant with a bead, I don’t think I ever saw her without it. I thought having this piece of her might bring me comfort so I asked if I could have it. I had to put it away when I got home, couldn’t even look at it without welling up. It wasn’t yet a reminder of her; it was just a reminder that she was gone.

I sit with families on a daily basis who have lost a loved one. I feel I’m pretty good at reading what they need from me, someone to listen, someone to make them laugh, someone who will let them cry as long as they need to. I encourage them to write, to talk, to take care of themselves, to seek more grief counseling if needed.

I know the tricks, I know the rules. Grief isn’t a linear process.

So why do I still have to go through this? Isn’t there an exam I can take and test out of this grief process? Collect a few mourning coins and level up? Throw a few more old Jewish sayings at me and call it good.

Matzo Ball Soup, Jewish Neosporin for the soul

What soap is for the body, tears are for the soul.

The scars you can’t see are the hardest to heal.

Time is a physician that heals every grief.

What doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger.

We must embrace pain and burn it as fuel for our journey.

We’ve really got to find a way to work around this. Death is very inconvenient and this grieving is really getting in the way of my life here. I’m ready to feel better now, thank you very much.

I’m ready for memories of her to bring me comfort rather than make me cry.

One month later.

OK, I’m starting to feel better now. I haven’t unexpectedly dissolved into tears at an inappropriate moment in, like, two weeks. I’ve stopped snapping at people so much. I’m not thinking about her all the time. When I do think about her that pain in my chest remembering that she’s dead is just a little duller ache.

Looking back can I see what has helped me? Let’s see.

Tequila. Tequila is the only intoxicant that never made me weepy. Wine was a bad idea. Bourbon, my old buddy, was harsh. Tequila was my fun friend who cheered me up for the evening.

Her 90th birthday last summer

Watching my family rally around each other. With a large family there’s plenty of room for dysfunction and sniping that could make the loss of our pillar all the more horrible. But they’ve been wonderful. The children are communicating and collaborating on how to handle affairs. The grandkids’ ages range from 19 to 34, but this has brought us all together in a new way.

Weeding in the yard. I have a flower bed out front that long shoots of grass like to poke out of. Usually I just grab and tug which breaks them off just below the flower line so they shoot up again a week or so later. The OCD process of following each blade down to the soil and pulling it out by the root was incredibly cathartic and therapeutic.

Exercise. Annoyingly, going to the gym and working up a sweat has worked. Plugging into Netflix and elliptical-ling (is that a word?) like a hamster on a wheel did something that altered my brain chemistry.

When I’m sitting in front of someone, fresh in their grief, will I tell them what helped me get through that first bad month? No. It was my process. I figured out what worked for me. I cannot tell someone else that it will work for them. It was my own independent study course in grief. And unfortunately, everyone will have to work through it on their own some day.

But I still haven’t put on her necklace.

Nora Menkin is the Managing Funeral Director at The Co-op Funeral Home. She has been a funeral director since 2007.

Put It In Writing

Mon, 29 Jul 2024 22:41:22 GMT

Modern Funeral Practices have come to provide families with a wide range of choices when it comes to death care. But after the ritual and ceremony choices, there are still only three options for final disposition of a body:

Cremation
Burial
Body Donation

Legally, you are able to decide what is ultimately done with your remains. The only way to make sure that your wishes are carried out is to put them in writing and have them witnessed. In Washington State, the written wishes of the deceased carry more weight than the wishes of next-of-kin. This becomes especially important if there is any disagreement between family members, or you don’t think your wishes would honored by your next-of-kin. Put them in writing.

When you die and leave no written instructions, the funeral home will go down the following list to find the person who can authorize your cremation or burial:

Designated Agent
If there is no Designated Agent, Spouse gets to authorize.
If deceased was not married, Majority of Adult Children
If no children, Surviving Parents
If both parents are deceased, Majority of Siblings
If there are no siblings, a Court-appointed Guardian
If there is no guardian, Most Responsible Party

Nowhere on this list do you see Power of Attorney. Power of Attorney generally ends at death in Washington State. We meet with people constantly who think they can still act as the POA after someone has died and unfortunately that is not the case. Having a POA is quite useful during your life, after your death, the person has no power. Power of Attorney cannot authorize cremation or burial.

A few years ago, Washington State amended the law to include a Designated Agent in the above list. A Designated Agent is like your Power of Attorney but is specifically for death arrangements. You can pick someone who would carry out your wishes and your family would not enter into the decision making.

But the whole list is superseded if you put your wishes in writing yourself.

Nora Menkin is the Managing Funeral Director at The Co-op Funeral Home. She has been a funeral director since 2007.

Questions

Mon, 29 Jul 2024 21:01:57 GMT

My four-year-old is in the incessant question phase. Every other sentence coming out of his cherubic mouth starts with, “Why…” The other sentences start with, “I want…”

My weekend days are filled with:

“Why do we walk on two legs?”

“I want something to eat!”

“I don’t want to eat that!”

“Why is this broken?”

“I want to visit Papa George.”

“Why do you need dollars?”

“I want the iPad.”

“Why can’t I have the iPad?”

Lather, rinse, repeat for the twelve hours a day he is awake. Not that I’m counting the hours, minutes, seconds until bedtime when I won’t be playing Mommy Encyclopedia anymore.

The other day he saw a photo in the garage of our old Labrador, Jackson. Jackson was my husband’s best friend when we met. Jackson was an awesome dog, the kind of dog that inspired our friends to get dogs. The pick-up line that got us together was, “You wanna come over? I have to feed my dog.” I may have fallen for Jackson before I fell in love with my husband depending on whose version of the story you remember.

When Jackson was about eleven, he stopped eating, he starting peeing in the house. We took him to the vet and an x-ray showed a huge tumor sitting on top of his bladder. Surgery gave us six more good months with him. He declined quickly and we put him to sleep with the help of a vet who met us in a field near our house so he could die lying in the grass in the sun.

When Kiddo saw Jackson’s picture, “What is that dog? That’s not Alice!” Alice is our current six-year-old Lab/ Aussie Shepherd mix.

“That’s the dog we had before Alice. He died before you were born.”

“Why did he die?”

“He got very sick and his body couldn’t live anymore.”

“I don’t want Alice to die.”

“Me neither, buddy. But someday Alice will die, not for a few more years hopefully, but doggies don’t live as long as people.”

“Why do doggies die?”

“Well, everyone dies. Bodies can only live for so long before they use up all their energy and are done living. When they are done living they die.”

“I want a doggie that doesn’t die.”

“That would be nice, but that isn’t how the world works. We get to spend our time here and then we die and make room for more life to come in. It’s like your balloon. When you get it, it’s big and round and fun. Then it loses its air, gets a bit wrinkly, and can’t stay up anymore. One day you know that it’s done.”

“When Alice dies, she goes in the recycling?”

This is not the first time nor will it be the last time we will have a conversation about death. As he starts to actually understand and grasp things, the repetitive questions might become less frequent. But there will always be questions. I will do my best to answer them.

Kiddo and his buddy, Alice

Nora Menkin is the Managing Funeral Director at The Co-op Funeral Home. She has been a funeral director since 2007.

Modern Funeral Practices

Mon, 29 Jul 2024 20:59:49 GMT

There is a revolution happening in this country’s funeral industry. Previous to the Civil War, when people mostly died in the home, the body was prepared where the death occurred, usually with just a simple bathing and dressing. Then the body lay in state in the home’s parlor until the hole was dug for the grave. The family and community would transport the deceased to the graveside and fill in the hole themselves.

Different religions and traditions may have altered this timeline slightly with different rituals, but the essence remained the same. Families and communities handled and dictated death care. After the civil war when embalming came to be en vogue, death care was taken out of the hands of the community and was given to the “professionals.”

Healthcare also moved from being cared for in the home to putting the elderly and dying people in hospitals or nursing homes, where the professionals could take care of them. Death and dying both moved out of our daily lives and into the sanitized, professional environment.

The movement that is afoot is taking back death care from the professionals. Deciding for each person what is important to them in how they want to be treated when they depart this world. There is a wealth of knowledge and choices out there and, thanks to the internetz, people have access to more information than ever before.

People can no longer be told, “This is how we do things.” They can say, “This is what we want done.”

If you want to be embalmed, viewed, have a church service, be placed in the ground surrounded by a bronze liner in a sealed metal casket, you can be.

If you want to be in your home while your family goes and digs the grave at the local natural burial ground, then transports you by wheelbarrow and places you naked in the ground curled up in the fetal position, you can be.

While there are still legal barriers to doing some things with your remains (no bonfires in your front yard please) there is a wealth of options available beyond what has been traditional for the last century.

So we hereby denounce “Traditional Funeral Practices” and embrace “Modern Funeral Practices.” The main difference being CHOICE.

Modern funeral practice will rely on the family to decide what they want to do, rather than being told what is done.

What do you want to do?

Nora Menkin is the Managing Funeral Director at The Co-op Funeral Home. She has been a funeral director since 2007.

Facing Death as a Teenager Part 2

Mon, 29 Jul 2024 20:57:31 GMT

Our Funeral Director Intern, Jared, is telling his story about how he ended up in the funeral industry. Here is part two of Jared’s story. Read part one .

Chemotherapy was hard. It was difficult on me physically and mentally. I would go into chemo once every two weeks for about 4 hour sittings. The drugs they were using were being referred to as a chemo cocktail. It was four types of chemotherapy all wrapped up into one very powerful, toxic medicine. It was almost corrosive. It was deteriorating my veins, so bad to the point I had to have a porta-cath surgically inserted into my chest. It was basically an internal I.V. that went behind my sternum into a main artery. I had a total of 12 treatments. But after number 4 I started to give up.

A porta-cath

Having a body that ultimately is failing you is a bad experience all on its own. But then the process to get you better is even more increasingly painful. I was sick all the time, I was tired, I tried to keep up with my friends, but it was hard. I had a really supportive family through it all, which was probably the deciding factor to continue. But internally I had given up. I didn’t want to keep going with a coin toss chance of success, to go through that much agony, to come out on the other side just to die. This is what started the process into acceptance of my death. And what I would want to do, if and when that time came.

I feel like death is looked at through a lot of misunderstanding. It is sad, yes, it is scary, yes, but until science finds a way it isn’t preventable. Everyone has their time. Therein lays the beauty of life because we don’t know exactly how long we have. I felt like I did. I felt like I knew roughly when I would go, or at least how long I was able to tie up my loose ends. I made a mental bucket list. The things I wanted to do with the time I had left, and also what I wanted to have done with my body when my time was up.

I knew I wanted to be cremated. I wanted to have my ashes spread at my favorite camping site known only to a few people close to me. I wanted my favorite things to be given to my best friend and my sister. I wanted to have a service at the church I was raised in and to have an awesome rock and roll ballad of some sort to be played acoustically.

I now know this is possible, well the spreading of the ashes part was more on the illegal side. But still it was possible.

So obviously I survived. But I got to experience a cathartic event that I believe has changed my life for the better. But it didn’t come easy, and I still have the scars to show for it. But I was in turn blessed with an idea that I can make someone else’s journey that ended differently than mine better, for them and the loved ones they left behind.

The funeral business is changing. It is ever growing and the interpretations of how someone’s funeral could, and now can take place are much different than they were. That’s the beauty to this profession, to make someone’s parting wishes become a reality. That’s the biggest reason I wanted to be a funeral director, because there is so much purpose into fulfilling someone’s final wishes.

My father and I now.

Facing Death as a Teenager Part 1

Mon, 29 Jul 2024 20:52:32 GMT

Meet Jared, our funeral director intern. People are always asking us how we ended up in the funeral profession. Jared’s road was rockier than most. This begins our series on answering one of the most frequently asked questions of us:

What made you want to become a funeral director?

Cancer. That word was only relative to me and to the weird girl in school that always talked about astrology. I mean don’t get me wrong, I knew what the illness was. I knew how serious it was. But to be told at 16 that I, myself, have it, it didn’t really compute. People who get diagnosed are old. They are already on their way out. But me? At 16 years old, I just had gotten my license. I had just had my first serious “break up.” I had just gotten my first job, and being a teenager, begun the illusion of invincibility.

On my 16th birthday with my father, Robert.

It all started at my job. About six months prior to my diagnosis, I started working at a feed store. The average weight of a bag of feed is fifty-ish pounds and customers would order hundreds of pounds of the stuff. My job was to get what they wanted out of the back, and bring it to their trucks. I would have to move very quickly or I would get behind. It was very physically demanding.

After about a month of working there, I started fainting on the job. I was carrying something very heavy and all of a sudden I woke up with it on top of me. Being the dumb kid I was, I kept it to myself thinking it was nothing, until it happened in front of my manager and she immediately made me see a doctor before I could come back to work.

Nothing got accomplished after seeing the doctor. He just said I wasn’t retaining enough water and I was dehydrated. Skip forward about 4 months. I was losing weight like crazy. Again being a dumb kid, I just thought it was me growing into my new body, I have always been on the bigger side, so I just thought it was puberty.

I continued doing the normal stuff all the guys in my age group were doing, just being a normal kid, until about a couple weeks after Christmas I got really ill. I mean sinus infection, green mucus, really, really sick. I had a huge inflamed gland in my neck. I wasn’t looking good. I come from a family where its last resort to go to the doctor. I finally hit a point where even my family was realizing I should go in. After visiting with the M.D. he prescribed me some antibiotics to combat the infection. Our session was about to finish when I mentioned the gland in my neck. I could see on the doc’s face while he feeling the right side of my throat that I was in trouble. He set up a biopsy.

I went in, had the minor surgery, and went home. About 2 days later the results came back that it was cancer. Metastatic. I got a Pet CT scan and found out the extent of the damage. So remember how I kept passing out at my job? The mystery to why this was happening was finally revealed. There was a tumor growing alongside my heart. It was literally the size of a softball. It was restricting the pumping of my heart. I also had tumors throughout my spleen, my groin area, my armpits, my neck, basically everywhere I had a lymph node, a tumor had found its new apartment.

My diagnosis was Hodgkin’s Lymphoma Stage 3 D. It could have been stage 4, but the doctors didn’t feel it was necessary to check my bone marrow. I immediately started treatment at Swedish Medical First Hill Campus. There was a chance I was going to survive this, but it was 50/50. I was always a pessimist so that was a limbo type statistic. I guess it was all up to me. But the idea of being set on survival was difficult, because if I were to be disappointed with the outcome, it would kill me, literally. This was all messed up to think about when you’re a kid.

So that’s the back story, but why am I writing about it here? I wanted to discuss the feelings and the actions that have affected my life after being faced with the reality of death at such a young age.

In coming posts, I will talk about my family and our experience during those years living with the specter of death around the corner.

In the midst of treatment , and where my next post will begin.

Liisa Keranen's Casket

Mon, 29 Jul 2024 20:44:28 GMT

The Co-op Funeral Home was honored to work with Jussi Keranen and his family in helping take care of his mother, Liisa Keranen, after she died last month. We are so proud to assist in this remarkable family’s story, and grateful to Jussi for writing and sharing this beautiful experience.

My mother, Liisa Keranen, passed away on the 15th of February of this year. She had wished for and received a reprieve from prolonged suffering and pain and lived to her last day at home. In her own words she had lived a rich and wonderful life for which she was grateful.

I arrived at her apartment with the firemen who had responded to the call. They treated her death with the utmost respect simply asking if she had a POLST form, which she did, as a formality. When the police officer arrived, as required by law, he asked the perfunctory questions, establishing she was a Hospice patient and simply contacted the Medical Examiner’s office by phone. The ME was able to provide the case number over the phone and that piece was complete. I asked if it was OK to leave her body in the apartment long enough that my family and any of Liisa’s friends had an opportunity to be with her if they chose to. Very politely the officer informed me that either he or an RN had to be on site, as required by law. Upon informing him that there were two nurses present in the family group he gave me a polite smile and quietly stepped out.

While not a common experience in this country we were able to be together, and at times alone, sitting by my mother’s body in her own bedroom, sharing and remembering, processing the grief collectively and individually. Liisa was born and raised in Finland, immigrating to this country in her early twenties. I had participated in and was aware of the Finns’ relationships with death and dying; finding importance and meaning in staying connected and tending to the deceased through to the end.

Later I sat in her living room, staring at the couch she sat on the evening before, remembering and reflecting upon our conversations, trying to comprehend what had become of the living, animated soul who no longer sat on the couch before me nor resided in the body laying in the room on the other side of the wall.

Four hours after she died, after all who wished to had a last visit and said their good byes, we called People’s Memorial and, once again, continuing the tremendous care and respect that others had provided thus far, they removed her body.

Five years ago a woodworker friend died at an all too early age. Amoungst his group of friends it was decided, since he had been a furniture builder and cabinet maker, that it would be fitting to make him a casket. It was incredible to partake and witness the love and caring brought to the memory of our friend through the creativity, care and attention directed to the project. After being involved in the tending of our friend this way I promised myself that I’d never hand over this piece of being a conscious and connected human to another person again.

Six months later my sister died. My son, two friends and myself met at a wood shop and repeated the process again. To design and make a casket for a loved family member at once connected me to the reality of her death but also gave me an opportunity to put my feelings into something tangible, to cut, sand and oil the wood carefully and with love, remembering her as I worked.

When my mother asked what arrangements had been made for her funeral I let her know I would do for her what I had done for her daughter. She was pleased. I contacted my friends after she died and they put the project into motion. Each of three friends sourced cedar from various places. Some had been stored in an outside shed for years and some had been salvaged from old bridge timbers. All was donated. After cutting and milling, the beauty of the wood was revealed. Together five of us, including my cousin who had flown in from Finland to visit her aunt, spent the next twelve hours designing and building my mother’s casket, a process I’ll never forget and intend to continue extending to loved ones. To participate and witness the care each one put into every step of the work was, in itself, healing. Before and during the work we thanked and blessed the materials and each other. It was a ritual experience; a prayer in and of itself.

The next day four family members met at the crematorium. We were given a room to ourselves. We dimmed the lights, lit a candle and played music quietly. Cedar boughs were laid on the casket’s bottom and covered in a Finnish linen cloth. My mother’s body was brought into the room and together we placed her into the casket. We covered her in a blanket she and her mother had embroidered together many years before. Small personal mementos were included and after singing to her together we put the lid in place. The top was decorated with flowers and accompanied her to the retort. They offered, and we decided, to carry out the final step and placed the casket into the retort, closed the door and pushed the button turning it on. My mother’s journey into, through and out of this life had been completed as it was when she arrived and was again when she died: with and by the hands and hearts of those who loved her.

Going Home.

I write this story with complete respect for the many ways we deal with death and our loved ones. I have no intention to judge the decisions of others but rather to offer my experience with the thought that there may be some who hadn’t realized that other options are available and make different choices as a result.

Carved on the inside of the lid ->

Thank you.

Jussi Keranen

In Praise of Express Mail

Mon, 29 Jul 2024 20:33:26 GMT

At the end of 2013, the Post Office suddenly changed its policy regarding the shipping of cremated remains.

The United States Post Office is the only service that will carry cremated remains. UPS and FedEx refuse. Prior to the change, one could ship cremated remains via Registered Mail or Express Mail. Registered Mail was cheaper, slower, but had special handling and was insured. Express Mail was faster but much more expensive.

At the end of last year, the Postal Service stopped taking cremated remains via Registered Mail. The only way to ship an urn was using Express Mail.

Initially we were indignant at the change. Thoughts went to that carriers where icked out handling a package with cremated human remains. Express Mail, being the most expensive option, would take a further financial toll on our clients who needed an urn shipped. Another way to balance the Post Office’s budget on the backs of grieving families that now officially have no other choice unless they want to employ cargo shipping on an airline.

Then again, a major downside of Registered Mail was that all seams on the package needed to be sealed with paper packaging tape. Since this isn’t a usual office product people have, it was a great hassle for most families so they would pay the funeral home to package and ship the urn for them. Sending Registered Mail at the post office was an exercise in patience. Think of how long you normally wait for service at the post office, multiply by 17, that’s sending Registered Mail.

Enter the Flat Rate Shipping Box.

This could now be an advertisement for the United States Postal Service, but I guarantee it is not. Just the very rare, thrilled USPS customer. Can you Yelp review the Post Office? I’m just talking about the entity, not the corner office which I now get to avoid entirely. The Post Office on Broadway? 1 star. Except for Aileen, Aileen is the only good thing about that place. I’m going to miss Aileen. She could process and stamp the bejeezus out of a Registered Mail package like a cartoon cheetah.

Anyway, back to the Flat Rate Shipping Box.

The boxes are free. We can buy and print the labels and postage at USPS.com. Our wonderful mail carrier, Benito, picks up the boxes from our office.

We love Benito

This change makes shipping urns easier for us, and more importantly, much easier and cheaper for families to ship urns themselves.

In the end, making things easier on the family is our prime objective.

Good riddance to Registered Mail.

UPDATE April 3, 2014:

USPS now has a brochure outlining how to ship cremated remains.

UPDATE January 17, 2016

USPS no longer has a flat-rate Express Mail service. You can still only send cremated remains via USPS Express Mail service, but the cost depends on the size and weight of the package and the zone it is being sent to.

RIP USPS Flat Rate Express Mail Shipping box...

Nora Menkin is the Managing Funeral Director at The Co-op Funeral Home. She has been a funeral director since 2007.

Death in the Sitcom

Mon, 29 Jul 2024 20:25:36 GMT

Last night I crawled into bed early and just turned on the TV for some noise as I was falling asleep. There was a sitcom on that I had never heard of before but it seemed to follow the generic family comedy formula.

The set-up was Mom had bought five burial plots for her family some 30 years before. With circumstances changing, divorces, marriages, children etc she called a family meeting to discuss what should be done with the plots. Her adult children and their spouses had varying reactions from being skeeved out to completely apathetic or bored. The most uncomfortable adult child started ranting that talking about death makes it happen. Unfortunately child, there are indeed two certainties in life, death and bad sitcom writing.

In a nutshell, Mom called a family meeting to talk about death, hilarity ensued. Or at least I wish it would have, this show probably won’t last past mid-season. They even missed the golden opportunity to use, “There is a history of death in our family.” Hey NBC, you need some quality family and death related material? You can contact me here.

It’s a vicious circle. We are uncomfortable talking about death, so we don’t talk about death, therefore it becomes something uncomfortable because no one knows how to talk about it, because you don’t talk about it. Then television writers don’t know how to make talking about death funny and accessible.

I’ve sat in on thousands of family discussions about death. Most of them ended up with more laughter than the canned audience titters. There can be nervous laughter, but are wonderful moments of full belly laughs, even tears running down the face laughter. Laughing and crying can be mixed into a wonderful emotion.

Nora Menkin is the Managing Funeral Director at The Co-op Funeral Home. She has been a funeral director since 2007.