Tag Archives: Funerals

‘Grave’ Therapy

Over the years, I’ve had to do some pretty weird things for work, had to work for some  weird people.  And while I have sometimes felt that my job was hell, and that it would be the death of me, well, I never thought that it would lead me to an early grave.  Or an early casket.

Possibly among the things I’ve hated most have been those retreat-thingys organized by HR.

For the most part, I’ve gotten along with folks I worked with.  Still, I find HR retreats — with their artificial conviviality — uncomfortable.  And even I, who willingly tells my most embarrassing stories to the whole world, finds doing so in a closed room to folks I work with when I don’t choose the timing — awkward.  They always seem so false, so forced.  Perhaps because they are.

Work-Life Balance

Google Images

Never again will I complain though.  Because as bad as things seem, they can always be worse.  MUCH WORSE.

Today I found out just how much worse things could be.

Yup, I read on my new BBC App that some Korean companies are holding mass funerals.  For their employees.  For their LIVE employees.

According to the article as well as independent sources, the Korean suicide rate is quite high, because folks are seriously stressed out.  Of course that is a serious situation — so much is expected of employees that they just can’t take it.

So, to alleviate the stress, somebody came up with a colorful approach to stress reduction.  [Please don’t tell my boss.*]

Well, they hold a company retreat, of sorts, many companies worldwide do that too.

But this one has a twist.  Or maybe it’s just twisted.  Perhaps both.

You see, they have groups of employees all get together, and write farewell letters to their families.  As if they are about to kill themselves.  Then, while gathered in a room with the folks they work with, they stand next to empty coffins.

The participants at this session were sent by their employer, human resources firm Staffs. “Our company has always encouraged employees to change their old ways of thinking, but it was hard to bring about any real difference,” says its president, Park Chun-woong. “I thought going inside a coffin would be such a shocking experience it would completely reset their minds for a completely fresh start in their attitudes.”

Yes.  They get into the fucking coffins!

Let me reiterate:  You go to work one day, and head off for a company retreat, knowing that it will be an awkward, wasted day and that you are already way behind in your work.

Then they have you write a suicide note and put you into a coffin.

lyingincoffins

BBC Photo, I’m guessing. Because while it came from the article linked to above, there is no credit given. Perhaps the photographer did not want to disrespect the, umm, un-dead.

The idea is to make employees feel that their lives are worth living.  However, I think that if someone forced me into a coffin, I would be thinking long and hard about my career choice.

And about litigation.  I would definitely be thinking about suing the shit out of somebody.

So the next time you decide you hate your job, count yourself lucky.  Because things aren’t really all that bad unless they trade your cubicle for a pine box.

***

*My current boss would never do this.  She’s a doctor.  She tries to keep people OUT of coffins.  But there have been other bosses …

 

 

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Customer Service

Today, my son Jacob is taking his very first airplane trip alone.  So of course I woke up wondering if John and I had told him everything he needed to know before hand.

It was a very early morning flight, so he’d arranged to stay with a friend near the airport and take a cab from there.  When I woke up, I immediately checked up on him.  Err, in on him.

He was at the airport in plenty of time, and had even found his gate.  But I could feel his eyes rolling from across the miles when I suggested he sit at the gate and not move until they called his flight.

Because once I made the mistake of not doing that …

***

It was March 31, 1997, and my mother had died the day before. John, Jacob and I picked up my sister Beth who lived not far away, and they dropped the two of us off at National Airport, to take our flight south to Florida to help Dad with the funeral arrangements.  To be there with him.  John and Jacob would follow in a few days.

“The Terminal is under construction, so leave yourselves extra time to get to the gate,” John warned us as he said good-bye.

Yes, National Airport’s Terminal A was a complete mess.  There were barricades everywhere, dust, dirt, grime.  The air was thick with it.

We found the US Airways desk conveniently located just outside of an Au Bon Pain.

Google Image

Google Image

We got some drinks and sat down at a table.  I took a seat facing the US Airways desk, with the information about our flight scrolling across the top.

Like every shy person I’ve ever known when they’re with someone they know, Beth began talking and kept on.  She talked about Mom, about being a kid, told stories that I had heard, and ones I hadn’t.  It was really wonderful, just sitting there.  Neither of us wanted to be going to Florida.   Neither of course, wanted to be motherless, either.

I kept looking at my watch, and at the information desk, which kept displaying information about our flight.  I was just about to go and check, when the display began giving information about another flight.

“Grab your stuff, Beth,” I said over my shoulder as I headed to the desk to find out what was going on.  We hadn’t heard any announcement.  Fortunately, Beth was right behind me.

“Ma’m,” I said to one of the two women at the desk, holding out my boarding pass. “What happened to Flight 183 to Ft. Myers?”

“That flight just pulled away from the terminal.”

NO!!!!!! BRING IT BACK!!!” I shouted, with a voice full of all the pain of my loss, “IT’S FOR MY MOTHER’S FUNERAL!!!!”

I began to sob.  Loudly.  In the empty airport terminal, my sobs echoed off the ceiling.

“Lease,” Beth said, starting to console me, “It’ll be OK.”

I got what we call the “sup-sups” — where you can’t stop crying, and you can’t quite breathe either.  I couldn’t stop.

The clerks looked at one another.  One grabbed the phone, the other grabbed my arm and pulled me.

“The gate is down here,” and she ran with me, my sister right behind us.

The gate was, in fact, a long fucking way away.  Miles, it seemed.  WTF?

We got there just as they had clicked the landing tunnel back into place.  They opened the door and we ran down it to the plane.

US Airways had brought the plane back so I could get to my mother’s funeral.

Google

Google

As Beth and I moved down the aisle, I was still trying to catch my breath, still trying to stop crying.

Heads were turning, as the other passengers were trying to figure out just who we were, and why we were important enough to bring the plane back for.  (And now doubt that if we were so damn important, why were we in coach.”

But another problem emerged.  Someone was in my seat.

There were dozens of seats on the plane.  But in my rather frantic state, I wanted my seat.

“There are lots of seats, Lease,” said Beth.  “Here, we can sit here.  Or here.”

But I made the person move.

Beth sat next to me as I shook and wept the whole trip.  “We nearly missed Mom’s funeral,” I said, again and again.

“It’s OK, Lease,” she’d say, shaking her head.  “We made it.”

***

I never got the names of the two US Airways desk clerks who helped us.  I did write an incredibly nice letter to the company, though, giving times and flight numbers in the hopes that they learned how much their kindness meant to me.

I’ve always been amazed that a big company, which no doubt faces things like this every day, would demonstrate such kindness.

But Beth said they just wanted to shut me up.  And you know, she may have been right.

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Hey Doc? Do I Need This?

Perhaps I mentioned it a time or two, but I am something of an impulse buyer.  I succumb to all those “buy one, get one free” offers.  The “50% OFF!s,”  and, naturally, every sale.

Huffington Post Picture

Huffington Post Picture.  I just don’t get enough opportunities to use it.

 

The other day, I had to make an appointment for a medical test at a large DC hospital center.  Because I am a patient extraordinaire, I have all my tune ups and oil changes done at a major medical center.  The hospital version of Jiffy Lube.  I like feeling like my surgeons are on the cutting edge, and that my gastroenterologists are qualified to show others just what to put into my orifices.  I do not like amateurs poking about where I can’t see them.

But now?  Modern healthcare is just getting better and better!

Because there are all kinds of deals available.  I can shop for services at my local hospital!  How can you beat that?  You see, the MBAs have taken over healthcare.  So it’s just another consumer good.  Right?

In fact, I learned that I can purchase all kinds of pancreatic treatments!  Really!  Right there at Georgetown!  I can even, if I want, sign up for a pancreatic transplant!

But WAIT!  There’s MORE!

I can get deep brain stimulation!  I’m told while waiting on hold to make my doctor’s appointment, that it can treat (not cure) not just my GI problems, but illnesses, syndromes and conditions I don’t have!  Imagine that!

Yup!  I can treat not just my depression or bipolar symptoms, but my Parkinson’s Disease symptoms, too.  I’m not sure if I have to wait for those to develop first, or if I can just plunge right in and treat em.

Of course, I’m hoping that once my brain has been deeply stimulated,  I will come to understand why the MBAs think that someone with poo problems (and who spends way too much time with doctors and getting other treatments for the condition she is waiting on hold about) might enjoy some additional time in the hospital.  Because we all know just what a hoot those procedures can be.  Not to mention the designer gowns you get to wear.  Ammirite? 

Perhaps I can organize a girls’ retreat with my besties!  Hey girls, this gastric bypass is on me!

I’ve learned that I can have bloodless surgery at Georgetown, too.  I’d hate to make a mess.

The kidney tumors I also don’t have?  You guessed it.  They can be gone in no time.  Still gone.  Or maybe “Gone again” is the accurate description.  How about “Gone with the Wind?” Or is that mixing up body systems?

As soon as the lines open on Monday, I’ll be calling again.

These deals won’t last forever!

 

 

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All We Are Saying, Is Give Peace A Chance

EXTRA!  EXTRA!  READ ALL ABOUT IT!

Have ya heard the latest?

A group of 47 Republican Senators are trying to thwart international negotiations with Iran!  What fun!  You know, the ones where we are trying to prevent them from developing and holding on to nuclear weapons?

In “An Open Letter to the Leaders of the Islamic Republic of Iran” this gang of traitors announced:

“It has come to our attention while observing your nuclear negotiations with our government that you may not fully understand our constitutional system … Anything not approved by Congress is a mere executive agreement,” the senators wrote. “The next president could revoke such an executive agreement with the stroke of a pen and future Congresses could modify the terms of the agreement at any time.”

Among the signers of this letter were three GOP Senators who are running or are expected to run for president in 2016:  Rand Paul, Ted Cruz and Marco Rubio.  And naturally, former GOP Presidential nominee John McCain signed it as did his shadow, Lindsay Graham.

Because, as you know, we can’t have peace.  And we can’t have anything positive come out of the evil Obama Administration, now can we.

But more importantly to voters of this country, this group of Senators has no real idea of how either international agreements work.  They don’t they quite have the details of the Constitution down, either.  It’s kind of like when you sneak the keys to the car from your parents and take the car out on the road before you know what you’re doing.

It was a good thing that somebody else understood how American international agreements work, though.  And what powers the Executive Branch of the U.S. Guv’ment has under the Constitution.  And what ones are given to the Legislative Branch.  Yup.  It’s a damn good thing.  Here is the schooling these boys received from a source that likely sits in their craw (as it should):

Asked about the open letter of 47 US Senators to Iranian leaders, the Iranian Foreign Minister, Dr. Javad Zarif, responded that “in our view, this letter has no legal value and is mostly a propaganda ploy. It is very interesting that while negotiations are still in progress and while no agreement has been reached, some political pressure groups are so afraid even of the prospect of an agreement that they resort to unconventional methods, unprecedented in diplomatic history. This indicates that like Netanyahu, who considers peace as an existential threat, some are opposed to any agreement, regardless of its content.

Zarif expressed astonishment that some members of US Congress find it appropriate to write to leaders of another country against their own President and administration. He pointed out that from reading the open letter, it seems that the authors not only do not understand international law, but are not fully cognizant of the nuances of their own Constitution when it comes to presidential powers in the conduct of foreign policy.

Foreign Minister Zarif added that “I should bring one important point to the attention of the authors and that is, the world is not the United States, and the conduct of inter-state relations is governed by international law, and not by US domestic law. The authors may not fully understand that in international law, governments represent the entirety of their respective states, are responsible for the conduct of foreign affairs, are required to fulfil the obligations they undertake with other states and may not invoke their internal law as justification for failure to perform their international obligations.

The Iranian Foreign Minister added that “change of administration does not in any way relieve the next administration from international obligations undertaken by its predecessor in a possible agreement about Irans peaceful nuclear program.” He continued “I wish to enlighten the authors that if the next administration revokes any agreement with the stroke of a pen, as they boast, it will have simply committed a blatant violation of international law.

I would say that these Senators were “caught with their pants down,” because we haven’t had a good sex scandal in a while.  Penis problems however, don’t start wars.  Stupid actions by traitors do.

And that what this is.  Members of the Senate, including some who have or who plan to run for the highest office in the United States, try to interfere with international agreements to stop wars.  These folks don’t even know how our government works, and have to learn about it from the very folks they are trying to threaten.  And they want to be in charge.  Hell, they are in charge of too much already.

Which song do you prefer?

Or this one:

*     *     *

I would like to write good things about the current crop of Republicans.  Really I would.  Feel free to send me links to anything good they have done.  Anything that helps people.  Anything that helps our country.

ELECTIONS MATTER

 

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Healing

Before I started blogging, I hadn’t done much personal writing.  I’m a medical writer at work, so I’ve been working with words for decades.  But they weren’t for me.  They weren’t about me.  And they didn’t help me get beyond my share of those things that landed on my shoulders and my heart and pushed down.  Tried to drag me under.  Things that succeeded sometimes, I’m sorry to say.

For years I’d grieved.  I couldn’t get beyond the loss of much loved family members.  Until I wrote this post.  Now, I think and write my stories with more smiles and fewer tears.  Through the humor I found writing it, I got myself back.  And them, too.  It was a win-win.  By writing it, I was able to heal.

I had forgotten that really, the only thing as powerful as words is being able to laugh.  When I first posted Both Sides Now three years ago, my bloggin’ buddies didn’t quite know whether it was OK to laugh.  It is.  I did.  I do.

My long-time bloggin’ buddies may remember this post.  I’m posting it again mostly for myself and for my newer friends.

*     *     *

Both Sides Now

“The Season” makes me crabby.  Grumpy.  Irritable.  I’ve come to hate it.  Everything about it.  I hate the music, the crowded stores, the decorations.  I especially hate the decorations.

Last year a friend stopped by our house in the middle of December.  “God, it’s December 15th,” I said to her, “and the only decoration I have up is the wreath on the door!”

“I don’t think that counts, Lease,” responded my husband John. “You didn’t take that down from last year.”

“Oh, yeah.”

Tonight, I’m looking around at my undecorated house thinking, “uggggh,” not “Ho ho ho!”

It wasn’t always true, though.  I used to be one of them.  I was a veritable Christmas Elf.  I baked, I decorated.  I embroidered Christmas stockings for the whole family.  My son Jacob and I built gingerbread houses that did not come from a mix or a box and were actually made of gingerbread stuck together in the shape of a house!  My friends got a bottle of homemade Irish Cream liqueur.  Some used it to get their kids to bed on Christmas Eve.

But mostly, I sang.  The records, tapes and CDs came out on Thanksgiving.  From the moment I woke up the day after Thanksgiving, until New Years, I would trill away.  “White Christmas,” “Do You Hear What I Hear?” “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas.”  I belted “Mele Kalikimaka” when I had an established escape route to avoid people trying to punch me.  I know the words to all 18,423 verses of Frosty the Snowman.  I would start singing in the shower and keep going until John tackled me and put duct tape across my mouth, usually at about 8:30 a.m.  Regardless, I’d start up again the next morning.

If the current, Crabby Christmas Me got a hold of the old Merry Christmas Me, I would slap myself silly.

So you see, I do understand the Christmas-sy part of Christmas.  The love, the joy, the traditions.

But now I see the other side.  And it’s that “tradition” part that is to blame.

You see, my family’s always been fairly competitive.  My mother and her sister Ruth were particularly so.  They’d argue at each shared Sunday dinner over a million things:  whose gravy was better (my mother’s), who cracked the best one-liner (always Aunt Ruth – she was a hoot), and most traumatically for me, whose young daughter was taller. (Duh, Maureen was almost a year older than me – of course she won every time.  But you’re not taller now, are you?  And you’re still older, Maur.  You’re still older.  How do you like it??)  Darn, I wish I’d missed the competitive gene.

When I was a kid, Aunt Ruth was high on the list of my favorite relatives.  Now she’s tops on an altogether different list.  And it ain’t Santa’s list, neither.

Because Aunt Ruth started a family tradition.  A competition.  But it’s not a family tradition I recommend, especially during the Christmas season.  In fact, it should have a warning, although I’m not sure where you’d put it:  Don’t try this at home.

You see, Aunt Ruth started the tradition of kicking the bucket on a major holiday.  What fun!  Great idea!  Not many families do that!  Hey, we are DIFFERENT!

Knowing Aunt Ruth, I’m sure her last thought was “Doris, you’ll never top this one!  I’m dying on Thanksgiving!!!!”   She was no doubt a bit miffed when my mother joined her a couple of years later.

Because, not to be outdone, Mom arrived in the afterlife on Easter Sunday.

Their party really got going when we reached Y2K, and my sister Judy died unexpectedly on my birthday in January.  Now, you might argue that my birthday is not, technically speaking, a holiday.  Not a paid day off for most folks.  But hey, in my book, this qualifies.  So there.

As time went on, there were fewer and fewer holidays I could celebrate.  The only big one left was Christmas.

Guess what happened on Christmas, 2000!

Yup, Dad reclaimed his spot at the head of the table with Mom, Judy and Aunt Ruth. Dad trumped them all.  Or because it was Christmas, perhaps he trumpeted them all.  Maybe both.

I must say I am rather ticked off about it all.  Sort of changes the tone of the Holidays, you see.  I plan to have words with all four of them, next time I see them.  And I will not be nice.

In the meantime, celebrating holidays, well, it just seems so odd to me.  Especially Christmas, because Christmas is so stuff-oriented, and most of my Christmas stuff is from them.  It takes a bit of the fun out of decorating.

For a while, I considered joining the Eastern Orthodox Church.  That way I could celebrate the same holidays, just on different days.  I could keep all my Christmas crap!  I could decorate!  I could bake!  I could sing!  But then I realized that the change would just give us all additional high priority target dates, and I don’t have enough family members left to meet the challenge.  So Eastern Orthodox is out.

At the same time, I also realized that, when Dad hit the Holiday Lottery, the whole tradition had to stop.  Because I’m pretty sure that biting the dust on, say, Columbus Day, just wouldn’t cut it.  So why bother?

Nevertheless, this whole thing has made me decidedly anti-holiday.

There is one holiday I still look forward to, though.  Groundhog Day.  I just can’t figure out what sort of decorations to put up.

Photo courtesy of Google Images

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