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After simply just trying to process what happened in Newtown, CT (which cannot be processed–you only can try), after reading the names of the victims, after praying for an end to senseless violence, after living under the big bubble of sorrow that extends across the nation, I thought of two things.
One, I keep seeing the Christmas presents for the children who had died. And I wonder, are the presents still under the trees? Will they stay there through Christmas? Or did the parents take them away, put them in another room, forever to remain unwrapped? A grim memento mori?
I also thought: Where do you get 20 little caskets? Surely the funeral home doesn’t have 20 children’s caskets on hand. Who placed the call for more? To where? To other nearby funeral homes? To the manufacturing plant? Were more caskets nearby and delivered quickly? Do they have to wait days for more to arrive?
In my book, I write about the Zimmerman family of Waseca. The stunning 24-foot-long gravestone in Calvary Cemetery demands your attention. Seven Zimmermans, the mom and six children, killed in a car-train accident in 1959. I’m not sure the Waseca funeral director had enough caskets that day. I know he didn’t have enough room in the funeral home to wake all the bodies. That was done at the Zimmerman home.
Zimmerman gravestone, Calvary Cemetery, Waseca, Minnesota
I wasn’t the only one wondering about the Newtown funeral director. On Twitter I follow Caitlin Doughty (@TheGoodDeath), a mortician in Los Angeles. She tweeted the link to this story, which starts with the Daniel Honan, the undertaker in Newtown. He’s doing all the funerals. He’s had to hire around 25 people. He calls it “the week from hell,” which seems like an understatement.
I thought the article could have focused on more on Honan. Really only the first couple of paragraphs are about him. Maybe the general public would find an entire story on a funeral director distasteful, I don’t know. But I want to know more.
If You Have Five Seconds to Spare 
I can’t even begin to imagine what Daniel Honan has been through these past days, trying to guide these fragile families down a new path of adjusting to life without their loved ones. I, too, am a funeral director, and know from experience that as the director caring for these families, we take on a portion of their grief. It doesn’t matter if we knew them before….we’ve been introduced to them now, on what is often the worst day of their lives. I have cried with some of my funeral families over the years. There is no shame in that. I’m just careful not to fall apart, so I can still be the professional they look to for help navigating their way. It’s a calling, so God equips one to handle this kind of sadness on a regular basis.
Rarely does a funeral home keep more than one child’s casket, if that. My experience has been that we don’t order the casket until the family makes their selection. In this kind of a case, everyone rallies together and does what it takes to get the caskets needed and delivered in a timely fashion. Calls might be made to local competitors to see if they have any of the caskets in their inventory (to be replaced on the next regular delivery date at the requesting homes expense). Then the director calls the casket company to check on availability. If they don’t have the specific caskets in their local warehouse, they get them trucked in from their closest manufacturing plant or closest warehouse(s).
As far as the unopened Christmas gifts, no one grieves the same way. Each of the scenarios you cited could easily transpire in some of the homes. Some might even exhibit anger and crush or destroy the presents. Others might even unwrap them and display them in the child’s room or somewhere in the house. This kind of tragedy is unthinkable and no one knows how to handle it, even when you are in it ~ including Daniel Honan.
All we can do is pray for strength and grace, muster our skills, and be thankful for communities. These kinds of tragedies seem to bind communities together, causing them never to be the same, yet somehow united like they might not otherwise have been.
I know Daniel Honan has done a superb job serving these families and my heart goes out to him with all he’s seen and done and lived through since this fateful day. Blessings on him and all of the families touched by this nonsensical evil.
Becky, thank you so much for this thoughtful reply and sharing your perspective as a funeral director. I would guess a lot of people wonder about these things but are afraid to ask.
I think it would be strange if I were someone who lost a family member and the funeral director did not exhibit some kind of empathy, including tears if warranted. Through my dad’s job as a gravedigger I knew our local funeral directors well and I have fond memories of them.
Thanks again for commenting. Please stay in touch. I often write about topics associated with death and grief, and I would welcome your continued perspective.
You’re welcome, it was my pleasure.
I like your two questions best of all, Rachael. Of course, the presents. That’s the saddest image of all. And the thought of all those little coffins. The heartbreak is in the specifics, isn’t it?
“The heartbreak is in the specifics.” Thank you, Richard, I think you are exactly right.
So true. The specifics make it more real to me.
You should be the one to interview him, Rachael.
I can’t think of anyone more qualified.
How does one funeral director meet with the families planning funerals for their child without weeping? I believe he did. I would like to know more about his feelings, thoughts during this awful time.
I want to know more, too. I hope someone does a more in-depth story on him.
Among Ken’s thoughts, too, were about how a town arranged such a large number of funerals.
I simply haven’t been able to allow myself to think about it, at all. I know better than to force myself out of shock–it never works. Slowly, I’ll wake up from this vague sense of unreality. Then I’ll start thinking too much.
Someone ought to record the story of Honan’s week–it’s a significant story.
I completely understand not wanting to think about it. I knew the minute that the names would be released, I would read them and feel an incredible heaviness. I also found myself glancing over the photos until yesterday. I wanted to look away, but I did force myself to look at each child. It seemed important, if unpleasant, to do.
Honan does have a significant story. I hope it gets shared.
You’ve piqued my curiosity about this, too. And there is no sadder image than all those little caskets.
Without a doubt.