The mind is its own place
The Guardian ran a short piece on Saturday about those who work in the death industry. One of the themes was humour as a coping mechanism.
One of the interviewees was Andrew Leverton of Leverton’s, by appointment undertaker to HRH the Queen. Asked if he found aspects of his work darkly funny he replied, “I don’t find it particularly humorous.” He went on to say, “I keep away from the emotional aspect of it ... I try to keep things at arm’s length.” Professional detachment for him means that mishaps are things like flowers being put on the wrong coffin or corteges running late. Nothing about people.
Now, that’s quite a trick, to steer clear of emotion in the funeral business. Amidst the wailing and the trauma, Andrew’s problems are all logistical. “If you can keep you head while all about you / Are losing theirs...” You’ve cracked it, Andrew.
Part of me admires that. Grief is the responsibility of those who grieve. We hire an undertaker to take care of the practicalities, not to take away the pain. Andrew quietly sets about his business.
But most of us in Andrew’s place would find it hard not to make a human connection of some sort and, once you’ve established some sort of rapport with your clients, you’re bound to have a feeling for what’s happened to them. There’s the matter of client expectations, too. There’s got to be more to the contract than corpses and coffins and cars. Consumers expect more than courteous indifference. They need their undertaker to enter into the spirit of the arrangements to some degree.
People who get that close to death need to be able to cope. I doubt whether emotional disengagement is the way. People who reckon catastrophe to be inexplicable will never be able to process human misery and let it pass through them; they melt down. People who feed on grief (there are quite a few grief vultures out there) glut on it and go mad. Those who are more emotionally mature can take it on, then let it go. This, they would say, is the way the world is, and I accept that.
So, Andrew, I’m sure you’re doing a fine job. But, old chap, I think there’s more to it than getting to the crem on time. This is a job for emotional grown-ups. As John Milton had it:
One of the interviewees was Andrew Leverton of Leverton’s, by appointment undertaker to HRH the Queen. Asked if he found aspects of his work darkly funny he replied, “I don’t find it particularly humorous.” He went on to say, “I keep away from the emotional aspect of it ... I try to keep things at arm’s length.” Professional detachment for him means that mishaps are things like flowers being put on the wrong coffin or corteges running late. Nothing about people.
Now, that’s quite a trick, to steer clear of emotion in the funeral business. Amidst the wailing and the trauma, Andrew’s problems are all logistical. “If you can keep you head while all about you / Are losing theirs...” You’ve cracked it, Andrew.
Part of me admires that. Grief is the responsibility of those who grieve. We hire an undertaker to take care of the practicalities, not to take away the pain. Andrew quietly sets about his business.
But most of us in Andrew’s place would find it hard not to make a human connection of some sort and, once you’ve established some sort of rapport with your clients, you’re bound to have a feeling for what’s happened to them. There’s the matter of client expectations, too. There’s got to be more to the contract than corpses and coffins and cars. Consumers expect more than courteous indifference. They need their undertaker to enter into the spirit of the arrangements to some degree.
People who get that close to death need to be able to cope. I doubt whether emotional disengagement is the way. People who reckon catastrophe to be inexplicable will never be able to process human misery and let it pass through them; they melt down. People who feed on grief (there are quite a few grief vultures out there) glut on it and go mad. Those who are more emotionally mature can take it on, then let it go. This, they would say, is the way the world is, and I accept that.
So, Andrew, I’m sure you’re doing a fine job. But, old chap, I think there’s more to it than getting to the crem on time. This is a job for emotional grown-ups. As John Milton had it:
The mind is its own place, and in itself
Can make a Heav'n of Hell, a Hell of Heav'n
Labels: funeral directors
posted by Charles Cowling at
17:09
6 Comments:
I'd say that there are some front-line jobs in our society that ought not to be full-time, long-term occupations because of the potential damage that arises from excessive exposure to intense psychic challenges. Part of the problem is that there is insufficient 'supervision', i.e. functional debrief, as an alternative to numbness or self-medication with alcohol, etc. The undertaker role is one danger-zone. A&E work is another. Your correspondents may well nominate more.
Until we learn more about poetry, biology and ritual, we will continue to fail in these tasks as individuals and condone psychic damage as a society.
KE
Of course - this subject is a passion of mine......
thanks for the post Charlie - I might have missed it.
I am afraid the good though Levertons are, Andrew has exposed a fundamental flaw in old school undertaking. Trying to block it out or ignore the grief is the quickest way to a breakdown. Engage with it, let it in, feel it and then let it out again.
Doctors are of course the most at risk, with their unwarranted feelings of professional failure at a patient's death. There was a method taught at med school called 'The English position' which was the preferred way to break bad news to a patient. Three foot away and one foot above. Literally. Now they are taught simply to get down to the patients level to talk to them, which works wonders, both for the patient and the doctors.
We don't have formal supervision, but we talk, and often cry. And sometimes we dance all night.
Not gone mad yet..
Not surprisingly I tend to think the best way is to engage with it, see it for what it is and why it's important, and then move on.
Serendipitously, details of what looks to be an interesting workshop arrived today via the CDAS newsletter - and I would have thought it'd be just as applicable to Funeral Directors as it is to anyone else working with the dead, dying or bereaved... I hope you don't mind me bloating your comments box, Charles!
"When Professionals Weep: transference and counter-transference in end of life care".
25 September 2009, 09.15 – 16.00
The Rowans Hospice, Hampshire
£80
End of life care is intimate and personal. Carers of all sorts report that hospice care requires
attention to the intersections of the personal and the professional. When one’s own losses, life
experiences and culture dovetails with patients and their families, self-awareness is key to
quality caring. Awareness of counter-transference vulnerabilities holds potential when staff
squarely face feelings and responsibility for the ways their experiences, values and relationships
affect their caring. There will be a practical session where participants will examine the
intersection of ones professionalism and their humanity. Tools and techniques useful in
recognising, addressing and un-hooking from inadvertent responses will be presented and
applied.
This workshop will be facilitated by Ted Bowman, an independent trainer and educator based in
the United States, specialising in transition and change.
This workshop will be suitable for counsellors and any health and social care staff including
volunteers working in end of life care.
For further information or to book your place, contact;
Cathy Pittick, Education Administrator, The Rowans Hospice
Tel: 023 9223 8535
Email: cathy.pittick@rowanshospice.co.uk
Web: http://www.rowanshospice.co.uk/
I wonder why some funeral directors feel they can not become emotionally involved with their families. I have ended up crying with a family who have lost a child, or laughed when a family tells a joke about their loved one. They feel they are the only one you are dealing with, making a connection and for this thank you afterwards.
Blocking out their grief makes you appear uncaring, and unapproachable.
After all we all have a heart.
Gee - Life Remembered Fundation
What I love about being a celebrant, and part-time funeral director, is the precious chance it gives me to accompany people through their most intimate emotions. You don't get that with other strangers you meet; it takes years of friendship, and then only with a few close friends.
The question I often ask myself is this: "What do I truly believe about myself that enables me to cross the normal personal frontiers of others, without passport, without fear, to hold their hand and let them know there is still love in this world where someone is missing?" It is a question that occupies a lot of my time, and sometimes the answer is, "nothing." But I've often noticed, the moment the phone rings and someone says, "he's died, please help," doubt evaporates and I know myself to be the pure, flawed, loving human being who is just what they're looking for. It's never failed to happen yet. And I've certainly never cracked under the weight of the fantastically generous gift of their trust, their humour and, yes, their love; no matter how momentous their loss.
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