From the storied streets of Salem, Massachusetts, Amber Sanchez is a published historical fiction writer and preservation advocate. Her past work includes tourism and tombstone restoration at the famed Charter Street Cemetery, wherein she preserved stones of names like Judge John Hathorne and Elizabeth Proctor. She’s a currently a junior enrolled at Tulane University, studying English and Historic Preservation. And, this summer, she begins her internship at O’Donnell, where she hopes to learn the ins and outs of funeral service.
The first funeral I worked at was for a young person who had passed too soon. I didn’t know what to expect, because my idea of funerals had aligned with the common image. We picture grandmothers and grandfathers who’ve lived a long life. A life cut short is never our first thought.
The chapel was packed to the brim with people coming to grieve. I stood by the door, greeting and directing those who entered. In doing so, I noticed that my tone of voice and posture adapted naturally, taking on something softer. As humans who recognize another human’s grief, we instinctually modify ourselves to support someone; it’s as natural as breathing.
For the rest of the funeral, I stood aside and gave the guests room to grieve; in turn, I found that everyone had their own unique way of processing their grief. Some allowed tears to fall right by the front of the room; others kept to the back, only contemplating.
Working closely with people during their grief journey, I’ve discovered that there is so much beauty in missing someone. Likewise, there is beauty in becoming a village for someone you’ve never met before that day. During the funerals I’ve worked thus far, I have engaged in conversations wherein guests share fond memories. They go on for minutes on end, laughing in remembrance, only before beginning to cry. And through all of it, I need to be sturdy, for my job ultimately is to serve as a support.
I believe that there’s something that can be taken from dealing with other people’s grief: there is strength in being gentle with someone and their emotions. Tenderness provides a strong step up the staircase of healing, one that anyone around you can use to pull themselves up. Also, confronting grief and death eliminates the mystery around the matter, the very same mystery that creates fear. We fear what we don’t know, and what we don’t know is never all that frightening. I urge you to take what I’ve learned from working funerals into your own life. Become friends with the unknown and become family with strangers.
