Behind the scenes with a Funeral Director

We have an interesting relationship with the funeral industry in the UK. By and large we seem to have a social contract with our funeral directors and undertakers that operates on a ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ basis. We might have a curiosity, considered a little odd or shameful, and when it comes to the up close and personal deaths of those closest to us, we might take comfort in not really knowing what happens at the funeral home of our choice.

Yet, as with so many areas of public life, things are changing. We are fortunate in Bristol and the surrounding area to have Divine Ceremony, a funeral director letting the light in to what has been a closed industry.

To be clear, this post is my own words. Out of politeness I have shared it with Dee Ryding, founder and owner of Divine Ceremony, in advance of publishing it, but there is no money or work involved.

Part of my role is to provide information to clients about what can happen during the dying process and beyond, to support people to make informed choices about what works best for them. I wanted to know what happened on the other side of the mortuary door, and Divine Ceremony were generous enough to have me join them for an afternoon.

The interesting thing about Divine Ceremony is that ‘behind the scenes’ isn’t quite the right expression. Being “straight forward and open” is a core value, about transparency in their fees, but also in how they care for people before their funeral or disposition. One of the unusual aspects is that their mortuary is in the same place as their high street presence, and is actually in the old vault space of the former bank that they work from.

Isabel and Lisa made me a cup of tea, and we sat down for a chat about what happens when they take someone into their care after death. We talked through how they manage the daily jobs in the mortuary. Depending on busy times or quiet times this can involve washing and dressing people for their funerals, to enabling visitors to spend time with their person, to cleaning and ordering supplies.

I was then offered a fleece to put on, to hold off the chill of the refrigerator, and joined them in stepping through the mortuary door.

The mortuary was how bright, light, clean and normal. I might have been in a pharmacy, or at the dentist. Or not quite, as they showed me a cupboard of shrouds.

That afternoon the two jobs were distributing Mrs Sanderson’s* ashes between the three scatter tubes her family had requested, and dressing Graham* for his funeral. Although human bodies are mostly quite safe to be around, cremation ashes can be toxic if inhaled, so we put on masks, goggles and gloves. Then Lisa talked gently to Mrs Sanderson as she dealt with her ashes, Isabel double checking the name labels on the box and making sure the tubes had matching labels.

Then it was time to fetch Graham from the mortuary. There were named bays for each person and again, there was much checking of the records to make sure the right person was in the right place. Graham was wheeled back into the workspace, and a carrier bag of his clothes taken from a hook. What struck me was how much Graham was in the room with us: Isabel and Lisa talked kindly to him, helping him into a shirt and trousers, and a pair of soft, warm socks.

There was no rush, none of the hurry of daily life or even a typical workplace: Isabel and Lisa were giving the gift of time and presence.

Finally, Graham was shrouded again in clean white fabric, and his head rested back on a firm pillow.

And so the afternoon’s main jobs were complete. Graham would later be lifted into his coffin, and Mrs Sanderson’s family would be told that her ashes were ready. We took our gloves off, put fleeces back on the pegs, and returned to the tiny office to update the records.

A mortuary visit isn’t a typical Tuesday afternoon for me, and is something most people come across only in the more disturbing TV shows. Yet Isabel and Lisa created a bridge between the temporary world of the dead and the everyday matters of lunchtime, train rides and school pick-ups.

When what happens to our bodies after death is hidden away, behind formal black suits, curtains, or carefully avoided answers to questions we are unsure we want a response to, we temporarily avoid the reality of our mortality. Comfortable, maybe much of the time, but creating a space for frightening, sterile and lonely images to fill.

Knowing a little bit about what happens behind the scenes can help us make choices either right now or many years in advance. We can fill in the empty spaces with funeral directors and morticians who are real people, who cook dinner, meet friends and water the plants much like everybody else.

When we let the light in to care for our dead, we make life lighter too. Because in reality, death is everyone’s business.

*Names have been changed for what I hope are obvious reasons.

If the details and options around what happens after death is something you are interested in, do head to my resources page for some excellent reading options.