The Undertaker's Eyes

First published on June 5, 2019

I went to my grandmother's funeral a few weeks ago. There were many ways, of course, that the day was memorable, not least the sense of the end of an era as a bridge to more distant relatives left the world.

But as I got on my train back from Darlington to London one of the things which stuck in my mind the most was the experience of meeting and shaking the hand of the undertaker who had brought grandma's body from Reeth, in the Yorkshire dales, to the crematorium for the funeral.

There was something about him, as he shook my hand before and after the ceremony. Something about the way that he spoke to me. Something about his eyes. 

I spoke to my mum and dad about it afterwards, in the bar of the hotel where we had held the wake, as the guests left until it was just me, mum, dad and my sister. They knew what I was talking about, and said their experience with the other undertaker, the one in the village who took care of the first part of the process, was the same. Memorable. With a quality to it not easy to define.

These men, both of them, as we understood, had become undertakers as part of the family business. They had been doing it since they were maybe 15 years old.

As I reflected on this, I thought of the impact that thinking about death has had on me, and on my clients. And then I thought about the experience of dealing with death every week, from the age of 15 onwards. Being part of these impossibly difficult moments for people, these moments of loss, and grief, and anger, and frustration, and love. And humanity, deep humanity. Every week.

Most of us ignore the prospect of death (we see it as a certainty for everyone else, but somehow never for ourselves). Fred Kofman says that CEOs who have had near death experiences perform better as leaders, and no wonder. Facing your death can't help but put life into a different perspective, and must free to you behave so much more in line with your values, seeing the world as it is, not as you wish it was. And so, I imagine, must facing death every day of your adult life. 

I know what it's like to sit with someone when they are facing tragedy in their life, from my work with clients. It is enriching and enlivening and - of course - deeply emotional. The presence of the undertaker, the love in his eyes and his heart, still feels almost tangible to me weeks later.

And what a life's work it is to do that every week, for your whole life. It makes me wonder, given the power that considering our own death has for any normal person, what life is like as an undertaker. And it makes me wonder what life would be like if we all had the presence and depth that this man from Yorkshire had as he shook my hand in a Darlington crematorium. 

I think we would be free from so much of the angst - my brother recently called it 'the madness' - that seems to flood the modern world. I think each of us would be able to be what Jordan Hall calls 'sovereign' more often, far more often. 

And I think from there we would be able to create so much more from this world, individually and as a race. So I wish you a sense of your own mortality. It doesn't sound like something you would want, but I think it might be best for all of us if we had it.