The Funeral Planner (41 page)

“Yes…like informing people that it’s against the law for a funeral home to charge a ‘casket handling fee’ if you decide to buy a casket from someone other than the funeral home itself.”

“And that funeral homes are obligated to show CPLs and GPLs especially when pre-need contracts are modified…before or after a death,” I say.

“And we have to make sure people know that caskets are not a requirement when you choose direct cremation,” Richard adds.

I write that down. “Anything else off the top of your head?”

“Tribute in a Box cannot go around quoting different costs on the phone and then increasing them at the door. I don’t care what they say. That’s a monster no-no. We need to inform folks that Derek Rogers’s company is an exception. Usually, funeral directors are honest, caring people who work hard to serve their communities.”

“Got it,” I say, writing that down, too. “I’ll do these updates tomorrow morning. In the meantime, let’s write this chapter on cleaning out the closet.”

For the next three weeks, I spend my mornings jogging with Siddhartha, my days updating the blog and pulling in a few more advertisers to keep it running, my evenings bartending and late nights with Richard working on the pamphlet. Together, we lay the groundwork, fine-tune each chapter and compile the many stories we’ve received from local residents at the bar and from people all over the country who now use the blog to express their opinions and share their stories about funerals.

Finally, one night at 3:00 a.m. in the bar, I print out the final version. I proudly hold it up for Richard. “Here it is…seventy-five pages.”

PAMPHLET ON GRIEF WELLNESS &

CREATING PERSONALIZED TRIBUTES

By Richard Wright and Madison Banks

Table of Contents

Part I: How to Grieve

Confronting the Closet

Connecting with Your Grief

Connecting with Survivors

Lessons on Paraphrasing

The Loss Outline

Planning Your Own Funeral

Part II: How to Create a Personalized Tribute Experience

The Role of Experience Design

Criteria for Designing Authentic Customized

Tributes: Making It Interactive

Elements of Experience Design

Making It Affordable for Everyone

Resources for Authentic Experience Design: Jackson-Ann Arbor—Candelabra Prod. for Life Bio Videos

Part III: What to Know about Pre-Need Arrangements

Your Rights

Pre-Need Investing as part of Estate Planning & Syndicated Pre-Needs

Part IV: Tribute Stories for the Soul

Human Tribute Stories

Pet Tribute Stories

Suggestions for the Soul

We take turns holding the pamphlet in our hands, feeling the physical and spiritual weight of our work and our words. Richard pours two shots of whiskey. We clink glasses. “To blogging,” I say. We smile and toss the drinks back.

A few nights later, I take time off from work. Sierra comes over. The two of us along with Siddhartha hang out on the deck. Dusk settles in and the night air’s temperature descends with the crisp smell of changing seasons.

Sierra occupies one lounge chair. I’m in the other. She reads through the pamphlet, her other hand free to pick up a mug of hot tea nearby. Siddhartha snuggles between my legs as I watch a cool breeze tickle a branch of muted green leaves. The leaves dance in the wind and it feels as if they are creating a collective modern-dance performance for my benefit, entertaining me, amusing me, teasing me. I watch, mesmerized by their performance. Who needs Broadway, I think, when I’ve got the Dance of the Leaves? Then the music of the wind gusts up and one leaf breaks from the group, ambitious for a solo performance. I watch the fading green leaf dismount and flutter in a routine of somersaults, flips and twisted backbends for a graceful and gentle landing on earth. Fall will soon be upon us.

Sierra signals that she’s finished by placing the closed pamphlet on her stomach. She whispers, “This is really great, Maddy. I’m amazed at how much you’ve learned.”

Uncomfortable with compliments, I skip her acknowledgment. “But how’s the quality of the writing?”

“It’s great. Will you try to get a publisher or self-publish it?”

I shake my head. “Publishing is too expensive, and I don’t want to spend the time looking.”

“Then how are you going to distribute it?”

“I made an e-version and put it online with PPV.”

Sierra nods, impressed. “Clever. How much are you charging for the pay-per-view?”

“Two dollars and ninety-nine cents.”

“That’s smart. You’re making it affordable for everyone. What’s your protection strategy?”

“I sent a copy to the Library of Congress to copyright it, and I hired a DRM company.”

“Digital rights management is safe now?”

“If it’s safe enough for the government, it’s safe enough for me. But just to make sure, I used my code based on Roman ciphers.”

We watch the stars twinkle. A shooting star goes by. “Quick, Maddy, make a wish.”

We both shut our eyes and then pop them open again and smile at each other.

“Still no word from Victor?” asks Sierra.

“Not since I last saw him…six weeks and two days ago.”

“Okay, so you’ve got three to six weeks to go.”

“For what?” I ask, looking directly at her.

She stares at me. “They always call in threes, Maddy, and always within twelve weeks. It has to do with oxytocin, the hormone that gets released when you’re intimate with someone. You’ll be hearing from him in three to six weeks. I promise.”

“Where did you come up with this theory?”

“I didn’t. It’s factual, and as reliable as the setting sun. The question is, what are you going to do when he contacts you?”

“First of all, he can’t contact me because…because he died…in my mind, a pseudo-death.”

Sierra raises a brow. “That deserves an explanation.”

“Nothing to explain. My brain conveniently reported that he lost it in a bowling alley, an attack of the giant bowling pins. Victor no longer exists.”

“Oh, boy, sweetie. You must have really fallen for him.”

“I let the fire shine and…and now it’s out, Sierra. That’s all there is to it. I’ve finally gotten my risk management down to a science. Come on, let’s go inside and watch this movie I rented. Hey, Sid, wake up.”

The three of us head inside the cottage and cozy up on the couch. I turn the television on and pop the VHS tape into the machine. The film score begins and I join Sid and Sierra on the couch.

“We’re watching
Remains of the Day?
” asks Sierra. “This is one of the saddest movies ever made, about a love that never gets consummated. It’s heart-wrenching.”

“Exactly. I’ve been watching it because it makes me realize how important it is not to allow the past or the future to hijack the present. It’s my risk-management reinforcement program.”

“Sounds like emotional torture. Are you sure it helps when you see the characters say goodbye without ever telling one another how they really feel?”

I start to get weepy. “Please don’t say that G-word. And I think they handle their loss quite well. They’re very dignified about it.” Siddhartha licks my tears.

“That’s because their characters are trained not to express their feelings.”

“It’s not their fault. It’s because of the era they live in.”

“But, Maddy, sweetie, we don’t live in that era. So, tell me, what are you going to do when he calls…or e-mails you?”

“I trust my delete button will be working just fine.”

A few nights later, Richard and I are working in the bar, listening to everyone’s feedback about the blog and how helpful it’s been. Rocky walks in and waves.

I nod at him. “The usual?”

“You got it. Oh, here’s some mail for you, Maddy.” He hands me a few envelopes from his mail sack.

I quickly leaf through it. One letter is from Norm Pearl.

I open it. There’s the check for five thousand dollars. I shout, “Look, Richard! Our first advertising revenue!”

“I’ll be damned,” says Richard, staring at the check. “What do we do with it?”

“We cash it. And then I reimburse you and Sally and me for Guy’s funeral costs. Pay for the Web site’s operational costs. The rest goes into a funeral fund for the town of Jackson.”

“You would really do that? Start a funeral fund here?”

“Why not? Corporate philanthropy and stakeholder interests are just as important as profit and loss statements.”

Suddenly everyone sitting at the bar listening—Carl, Rocky, Wally, Donny and Mrs. Jones—lift a glass and they shout in unison, “To Madison Banks and the Funeral Fund of Jackson!”

I look at Richard. “Jeez, is that all you have to do to get a toast around here?”

I open another envelope from my digital rights management company. My eyes pop open to discover another check. This one is for twelve grand. I do a major double take. “Whoa! Is this right? We just got another check for twelve thousand dollars for the pamphlet!”

“That means four thousand people bought the pamphlet online in one week,” Richard says, thinking out loud.

“That is so friggin’ awesome! You guys should write that thing in different languages,” hollers Rocky.

“Can you translate it into Russian? I know my grandma would appreciate that,” yells Carl.

“My relatives in Mykonos would like to see it in Greek,” chimes in Mrs. Jones.

“Maybe you should check the blog,” says Richard.

“Right.” I turn to where Richard has finally made room for the computer beside the register so I don’t have to run back and forth to the office all the time. I log on to the blog. It’s clogged with messages from all over the country. But of course, my eye zeroes in on one particular message, a message from Victor Winston. Pain, fear and love all shoot through my heart together like a recipe gone south from the wrong mix of ingredients. I take a deep breath and with all my emotional might hit the delete button, banishing him. I swallow the lump in my throat and focus on the present moment at the Eagle’s Nest on Clark Lake in Jackson, Michigan, in the United States of America in the Northern Hemisphere on planet Earth.

“Are there a lot of messages?” asks Richard.

“There’re over a thousand,” I say, scanning them. “Wow. A lot of people want to know if there are workshops available for personalized tribute training.”

“That’s a wonderful idea,” says Mrs. Jones. “Why not have them right here?”

Richard and I turn to each other. The lights go on behind our eyes.

One week later in the restaurant area of the bar, Richard and I face a group of ten participants sitting on bar stools in a circle. Richard sits calmly and addresses everyone. “Welcome. Welcome to the first three-day workshop here at the Eagle’s Nest on how to create nontraditional personalized tribute experiences. Experiences that can be affordable for everyone.”

The group claps. That’s my cue.

“We thought we’d start by asking all of you to take turns telling us your name, why you’re here and what you hope to achieve—personally that is. How about you, would you like to start?” I ask the dark-haired fortysomething woman to my right.

The woman clears her throat. “Hi, everyone. My name is Cheryl. I’m a former mortgage broker turned housewife from Toledo, Ohio, and I’m here because Tribute in a Box feels more like funerals-in-a-box. All they’ve really managed to do is turn personalization into a mass market, which completely defeats the purpose to begin with. So I’m here to learn about preparing personalized pre-need services for my husband, my dog and myself.”

“Hi. I’m Bob. I’m a fireman from Grand Rapids,” says a man in his thirties. “I’d like to learn how to put together my own tribute since I’m in a risky profession, but I also want to know how to work it into my estate planning as an investment.”

To Bob’s right is a twenty-one-year-old. “Hi. I’m Dana. I’m from Detroit and I want to learn how to deal with the loss of my parents and plan a belated tribute for them.”

“I’m Leo Darnell. I’m a funeral director at a small funeral home outside of Chicago,” says a man in his fifties. “I want to learn how to be a better funeral director, especially because the community I serve is requesting more and more nontraditional services.”

And so on and so forth…the workshops multiply. They grow from ten to twenty people at a time, which is the limit that Richard and I can handle. Suddenly the town of Jackson discovers tourism, where there was none before. Now all the local motels, restaurants and shops are experiencing a small boom. And new businesses sprout up, in Clark Lake style of course, like Stargazing Midnight Cruises on pontoon boats. People sign up to learn about the celestial bodies and the mythology of constellations.