I scream for (and with) ice cream

I had ice cream with a funeral director last night.

I'm not kidding you.

I've been working on a big In Memorium project for a large charity. The project has many facets, but one of the key targets is funeral directors. 

My pal KM hooked me up with a friend of hers who, after ten years working in television, made the drastic (maybe not so much) career shift to the funeral biz.

All the research I'd read up until now confirmed what I observed when I finally met C. She loves her job. She's passionate about it, in fact. And she loves to talk about it.

As I made my way through my single scoop of low-fat Pralines and Cream, C talked about some of challenges of her job -- reconstructing accident victims, dealing with difficult family members, and the competition that ensues when two funeral homes "compete" for the same funeral.

It was fascinating.

I've thought more about death and the business of dying over these past few weeks that I've been working on this project, but I can't really imagine doing it for my job. 

But C claims she's never once been frightened or spooked by the experience. Part of this she attributes to her agnosticism. She does concede that other more "spiritual" members of her team have a heightened sensitivity to the souls with which they work.

One of C's duties at work is dealing with pre-planning. Folks can go in and pre-pay their funeral so that their family members won't be left with the task of arranging and paying for the inevitable.

It's actually a really good idea. My parents have done this, and when my Dad died I was extremely grateful that all of the arrangements had already been made. 

I'm not sure I would have had the fortitude to work through the details at that time.

Now, once again, I find myself a victim of my own marketing. I've been thinking about pre-planning my own demise. Not that I'm planning to go anytime soon, mind you. 

It's just that if I want my remains scattered over Baskin Robbins, I'd better let someone know about it.