Undertakers seem to have a thing for me. If you want discounted services, take me along. In some spooky way, I do it for them and they end up offering things like headstones and other funeral-related products to me at cost or free.
On the day of my grandmother’s funeral, after the internment, I had to run back to the funeral home to pick up thank-you cards and sign some papers. As I walked in the door, I noticed my dress was missing a button on the bottom, revealing more leg than I’d have liked, so I asked a receptionist for a safety pin and she gave me one. While I was pinning my dress, I saw a pair of feet facing me and immediately looked up to see a man I didn’t know extending his hand my way.
“Hi, Miss Caldwell, I’m ______, I’m the embalmer who worked on your grandmother. She was beautiful. She looked really good for a woman her age.”
I thanked him and started walking away when he continued to speak.
“Here’s my card, please call me if you ever need anything. I can get you a great deal on a headstone,” he said.
I answered, ‘Uh, okay. Thank you.’
“And, if you don’t mind, I’d be honored to take you out to dinner. That is, if you let me.”
My goodness, I was charmed by him, not interested, but charmed nonetheless. ‘We’ll see. It’s been nice meeting you, I’ve got to go.’
And as I was scooting out of the door a thought shot off in my head and I turned around and said, ‘You saw my grandmother naked! Oh my God, you saw her naked.’
I was stunned and appalled. Actually, I was mortified that a man who’d seen my dead grandmother naked would be interested in me. It just didn’t seem right.
Flash forward to Aunt Alice’s passing and the day I met with the funeral director to discuss her arangements. The man couldn’t finish writing whatever he was writing for staring at me. It made me self-conscious and a bit peeved, so I gestured at his clipboard and asked if we could keep things moving. My uncle and aunt thought I was just being bossy, as usual, but that man knew exactly what I meant because he started to avoid eye contact with me entirely.
Once he walked into the next room and started talking to me through the door, and I had to get up and tell him I wasn’t accustomed to communicating with anyone in that manner. ‘Please talk to me in the next room,’ I asked, softly. And he obeyed.
In the space of two hours, he’d told me how beautiful I was more than once; asked me the color of my eyes; and teased me about asking a lot of questions. When he pulled my ponytail, I looked at him cross-eyed.
Wanna know what? I still didn’t think he was attracted to me. Never occurred to me, not even when my aunt and uncle shared that he’d thrown in a lot of freebies. It didn’t occur to me that he had a crush until my next visit to the funeral home.
My lower back was aching and out of habit I rubbed my hip, which he observed.
“Back ache?”
I nodded yes and kept walking ahead of him.
“I’ve got something for that!”
I stopped dead in my tracks and without turning around said, ‘Really?!’ He walked in front of me and gave me this look like he’d sop me up with cornbread.
Later in his office, he asked me my age. I made him guess and he said “28 or 32.” I revealed that I’d be fifty in September and he was shocked. And then he told me he was 65, and I had to admit he looked great for his age.
We finished our business and I stood up to join my uncle and aunt in the viewing room. The undertaker ran over to me and whispered, “You know you’re special, right?” I just smiled and hurried away from him, fighting the urge to blame myself for this man’s interest in me. Maybe I’ve seen one too many Oprah’s when they’ve discussed ‘you are who you attract.’
At my aunt’s graveside, I was peering over into a ditch and he ran over to catch me by the waist though I wasn’t falling in or anything. He said, “Ooooh no, we can’t let anything happen to you.” My uncle was grateful for his chivalry and smiled, though I think he finally figured out this man’s interests in me, which was evident in the way he took over.
Why in the world do I turn undertaker’s on?
I wish these were isolated incidients, but there are others. Like the time I attended the wedding of a mortician and all of his colleagues looked at me the same way as the other two undertakers. They even formed a semi-circle to watch me dance at the reception. My mortician friend told me that one of the guys stated his interest and said that the man said he’d “spoil” me. (How? With more headstones?!)
I honestly don’t have time or the inclination to dig deeper on the subject, but know this: Call me if you need help negotiating your loved ones’ funeral services. I could be an asset. A very strange asset to say the least.
Best, Robin
fiftydaystofifty@gmail.com
