“According to most studies, people’s number one fear is public speaking. Number two is death. Death is number two. Does that sound right? This means to the average person, if you go to a funeral, you’re better off in the casket than doing the eulogy.”
― Jerry Seinfeld
Let me preface this article by saying that I did not necessarily have a fear of dying, but I did fear dying before doing what I wanted in life.
I did not want my life to end in vain. I want to think most of us feel this way.
We all want to do great things. Whether it is for ourselves or others. We want to go out with a bang. Be remembered. Become a legend.
For in time, all we leave behind will be memories. The stories of our own lives, trials, and tribulations.
I have always known that death will come to myself, and others around me. Even to those I love dearly. No one is immune.
Before I started my career in funeral service (at age 30), I had been to one funeral. It was for my 100-year-old great-grandmother. All I remember is viewing her, and someone from our family speaking about her and crying profusely. And the luncheon afterward.
That was it.
I didn’t fear being the person in the casket. I feared being in the casket and not having someone to speak about me. Let alone anything good to share.
My second fear has always been publicity. I don’t mean gossip or Hollywood speak. No, I mean standing or speaking in front of people.
When I was a kid, for the first few years of my childhood, whenever our school had Christmas or Spring choir concerts; I would stare at my feet and sing.
I know this sounds absurd. I was so embarrassed, or afraid, to even look out into the crowd. So I stared down the entire concert. I did this for years.
As I got older, I never raised my hand in class to share an answer or let my thoughts be known. Again, I was afraid.
I was, however, a class clown. I masked my insecurity with laughter. I could laugh at myself, while also laughing at others. I had no issues sharing a joke aloud or quipping a one-liner aloud.
Whenever we had speeches or projects shared with the class, I mixed in humor. I didn’t take them too seriously, because I was afraid. Of rejection. Of being laughed at, instead of with.
Even in college, I did this. I always kept things light and easy. I never branched out too much from that comfort zone.
Once I started funeral service, I realized this had to change. And I was afraid. Deathly afraid. Pun intended (see, still doing it).
I didn’t fear being around dead bodies. Or going out on night transfers (bringing the deceased back into the care of the funeral home). I wasn’t afraid of what I would see, or work on.
I feared talking to families and making public funeral announcements.
When I was an apprentice funeral director, I always let the licensed funeral director speak. I would watch and listen to what they said, how they said things, what questions they asked, and so forth.
But when it was my turn, I froze. What if I said something to offend the family? What if I didn’t have the right tone? What if… just, what if?
I knew this had to change, though, if I was ever going to make it in funeral service.
I could embalm. I knew how to apply cosmetics. I knew how to cremate someone. I knew how to set up for funerals at church, at the funeral home, and other places to celebrate a life lived. I knew everything about how to be a funeral director. Except how to speak.
I was lucky enough that I had a great mentor who knew this, and brought me along slowly. We practiced different scenarios, and what my response should be when speaking with families.
I listened to him speak on the phone. I watched how he used his words and hands when speaking. I sat in on his funeral arrangements with families. I took notes. I recorded myself holding mock arrangements.
My mentor did all he could for me until it was my time to be set free. What separates a great funeral director from a good one is the ability to think, and act, quickly.
Funerals, phone calls, walk-ins, scenarios, families, clergy, cemeteries, you name it; within funeral service, they will throw you curveballs. I said “should” earlier, because nothing ever goes as planned. Life happens.
Learning to react and think quickly makes a great funeral director and public speaker.
At first, I kept things very basic and simple. I asked families for only the information I needed to know. There was very little small talk, or getting to know someone. This also doesn’t make for a great funeral director.
When a funeral service ends, typically the funeral director will come up to the front of the family and guests, and God, and make closing announcements.
Typically, the closing remarks thank the clergy for officiating, or the guests for their support. These announcements also include cemetery or funeral procession information. They might also be about a luncheon afterward.
I followed the KISS method: Keep It Simple, Stupid. When it was time for me to come forward, I thanked everyone for being here and said something along the lines of “This concludes our services today.”
Not bad, but not great. It got the point across, sure, but I wanted to be great. I asked my mentor what I was missing because I knew I was not like him. He was great at all aspects of funeral service, let alone public speaking.
He told me the one piece of advice that I will never forget. “Treat people as they are, people. They are human just like you and I. They want to be talked to as such. Our families deserve that.”
It was at that moment everything clicked for me. I needed to be more personal. I needed to ask more questions, poignant and deep. I needed to ask families to tell me about their lives, and to share their loved one’s stories.
How can I better serve a family if I don’t know who they are or what they are about? I was good, but I wanted to be great.
I started asking those questions, and my funerals became more personal. My interactions with families, churches, and cemeteries become more friendly. I wasn’t just a pen pusher during arrangements.
In fact, I made it a goal to not touch my pen during our sitdowns. I wanted to show families that I was listening to them.
My public announcements also flourished.
Over time, what was once my greatest weakness in life became one of my greatest strengths. I was speaking with confidence and composure. Nothing phased me.
I became someone who wanted tough families. I wanted to challenge myself by meeting with the ones who were upset and asked lots of questions, or challenged what we did and how we did it.
I began making announcements at the end with personality, but keeping the humor out of it. I always said what I needed to, but I liked to put a personal spin on things.
I still do this today. I like to acknowledge the family served by letting them know I listened to them. The lasting words should be what they told me in the beginning.
I also want those in attendance to say to themselves, “Now that’s a great funeral director.”
To be great, not good. This was my driving force behind facing my fears, and how I became the speaker I am today.
Life, Death, and Everything in Between. 