A busy day at the funeral home can frustrate just about anyone. You always have to be prepared for  a call to come in or something to happen. We’ve gotten used to it for the most part. We almost always move with a sense of urgency.

Even before I became a funeral director, I feel like I’ve always been this way. I liked to move fast. I liked to solve problems. In a high stress environment, you have to be able to pivot at a moment's notice. 

I could do that. It made me feel unstoppable. I got things done.

That being said, there are two things that will turn my mood completely sour. 

I hate being cold and I HATE being hungry.

I’d like to believe I’m pretty tough and can deal with just about anything. There’s just something about the combination of those two things that can absolutely ruin my day. 

It was raining, and we’d gotten four death calls that morning. I’d been in the conference room making arrangements back to back, and hadn’t eaten yet. 

Both of our drivers were already out on calls and our mortuary assistant had to go home early to pick his son up from school. 

The phone rang again. It was another call. There was a death in the home and the family wanted us to come. 

When there is a death call in a home, the mortuary sends two representatives to do the removal. In hospitals, or medical examiners offices, we usually go alone, but in the home, we always go in pairs. 

This meant Mr. Jones needed me to join him. 

I looked longingly at the burrito I knew was going to have to wait. 

Mr. Jones wasn’t having it. 

“Naw baby, eat your food first. We’ll get there.” 

“No, we should go. The family is going to be waiting and-” 

He interrupted me. 

“...and she’s still gonna be dead in 10 minutes. I, on the other hand, am going to have to deal with your crappy attitude because you haven’t eaten all day. Eat. Your. Burrito.”

I looked up at him and could see that he wasn’t joking. He put the van keys in his pocket and crossed his arms. 

It’s so easy to get caught up in that sense of urgency, that we tend to neglect ourselves. We can’t effectively handle our business if we aren’t firing on all cylinders. It’s a disservice to the families we serve. Like an airplane emergency, you have to put your oxygen mask on first, before you can help others. I’d been forgetting to put my mask on, and Mr. Jones wasn’t going to let me forget again. 

He said it again. 

“Eat.” 

So I did. I sat and I ate, and once I was done, he tossed me the keys to the van.

“Feel better?”

I did feel better. I nodded at him as I put on my blazer. He pulled his sunglasses out of their case and put them on.

“Then, let’s roll.”