As the clock has officially struck midnight and I’ve finished studying for the night (or morning) I sit in a moment of silence in my kitchen hearing the hissing from the baby monitor sounding out the silence in the house.
As I sit at the kitchen table, I begin to wonder and think about all the things have changed in the last year and a half with the passing of my father and what feels like a crossroads in our family business. Growing up, I looked up to my father, like any kid would look up to a superhero. I never really knew what he did for work other than he was a “Undertaker” And although he dress like the wrestler, sometimes I never saw him on WWE.
I knew my father helped people, to what extent would be unknown, but soon found out as I would wander the halls of the funeral home after school or later in the evening while my dad met with families and wrote obituaries. He and I would drop them off at the local papers as back then, that’s what happened before email. A lot of our time was spent together driving around in his car going from place to place doing the job that he was taught to do like generations before him, three others to be exact. Many of the things, my father did was to levy the burden of others around him. Whether it was by simple errands like this or showing up in the middle of the night to sit bed side at a hospital, my father always showed up for others in need.
As I idolize my father, my dreams of being in the funeral home were not always there. Early mornings, and long nights with my father away from us kids, I once vowed to myself to never inflict that onto my family. This promise made to myself was one made with ignorance. Knowing there would be time away from his kids, my father found purpose serving those around him. He found use in being with others in their own grief and once you know how to do that you can never turn away. As if God reached down from heaven to bless him, he was given this gift to help others and his warmth soothed others for over 30 years.
My father, fortunately enough, was taught by his father throughout his career up until the day my dad passed in 2024. I, unfortunately, was Not afforded that luxury as my education from him fell short. Furthermore, the expectations of me finishing school fell short as I sit here and study in the wee hours of the morning for pathology, quiz on malignant and benign tumors, cardiovascular disease and symptoms relating to congestive heart failure, among other pathological conditions I wish to never know.
I feel like the crossroads I’m at right now is one that can make or break legacy and tradition. Whether or not it’s real, the pressure I feel lives within me like a boot on a chest. With his passing and then his father‘s passing within the year, I can imagine many are wondering what might be going on with the Funeral Home. I can imagine many might be wondering if the tradition of service stopped as we placed the dirt on my father’s grave. Is the fourth generation the last generation?
I really don’t wanna let anyone down.
I really wish my father was here to Help me.
I really wish I could finish school sooner.
And I really hope I don’t fuck mess this all up.
I’m really proud of what I do and understand the sacrifices generations before me made to be afford an opportunity to carry this tradition further. I find meaning in my own life knowing how to hold the hands of the grieving and how to be dependable to others. I want to do well and do as well as others before me did, if not better. Not for ego, not for status, but in finding the meaning and being called on my the big man himself to serve others because to me life without service is life with no meaning.