In the small town where we made arrangements for my son’s cremation, they did a subtle upsell for crap that contains some ashes, or jewelry with his fingerprint on it (which I found ghoulish). My daughter was all over this shit, which, as the person footing the bill, annoyed me somewhat. So even with a simple cremation, and minimal services, the bill still came to around $5K. After reading the above, it looks like I got off cheap, but I really object to the sales pitches and preying on people who are grieving.
One bizarre fact I found out when my daughter died at age 3 yrs 1 mo is that there is a HUGE jump in cremation casket prices at age 3. We went to our family mortuary so they gave us the under 3 year old price.
Now I have visions of a daytime Hi Ho.
Maybe TMI, but just a description of what went on when I observed a cremation.
In my one time experience, it’s head first. When my brother died a few years back, his wife wanted someone to be there so I said I would go. The crematorium was a small building right in the cemetery. There was a small front reception/office area, but 90% of the building was the crematorium.
We went in the back when the hearse arrived, backed up to a roll up garage door. The cardboard casket was put on a gurney and rolled about 10 feet to the furnace, which was already started up.
I was asked if I wanted to say anything, I said no, and he was rolled head first into the furnace, the door was closed and the flame turned up.
Both the front office guy and the guy running the actual cremation were very sincere in their condolences and assurances that my brother would be handled respectfully. As I was leaving shortly after, I asked if family members usually showed up for this and was told it happened very rarely. I could understand that, there is really nothing to do or say at that time. I never would have thought to go if my SIL hadn’t asked.
Maybe you’ll land on Rand Paul & Matt Gaetz…
When a relative died in the late 80s/early 90s the crematorium required that a family member be there to do a final ID.
I’m sorry, but I’d be so, so tempted to go “Nope, that’s not him.” Just to see the looks on their faces.
“Wait, this is supposed to be my Uncle Mitch, but it’s my aunt’s …umm, yoga Instructor…?”
“Ha, gotcha!”
You are a bad man.
“Where’s my grandfather? What have you done?!”
I really don’t give a shit what happens to my body after I’m dead. Then again, I just watched Star Wars, so is it possible to have one’s corpse (DEAD) frozen in carbonite? Or maybe just have a big tombstone that looks like one?
And I hate to break this to ya, but other than the owners of the places, funeral directors aren’t necessarily rolling in dough, contrary to popular belief. 
It seems like a weird thing to do. After all, the funeral home has had the body identified already. It’s a bit like having to open the casket at the gravesite to make sure it’s the same guy you just saw at the viewing. I’m sure it varies by jurisdiction, just like everything else in the US.
Just imagine the stories they tell at funeral home conventions when they get drunk. “You once lost a body so you buried a goat instead? I can top that!”
Request granted: Death midwife/doula
The only two I have dealt with slightly have been members of the family that owned the place. Are there funeral homes that are large corporations where the funeral directors are [commissioned/quota] employees of the corporation with no other stake in it’s profitability? Sort of like the “Sales Consultant” and “Purchase Partner” at the last two auto dealerships I bought from.
That is how Poppin’ Fresh is going to be buried…
You mean like where the funeral directors are nothing more than commissioned salesmen? My dad was the manager of a place that was corporate owned, but he did all the typical “funeral director work”. At his place, they had separate sales people there, because it was affiliated with a local cemetary.
Other than that, I really don’t know.
Awesome! Thanks for posting that. That’s exactly what I was thinking the death doulas should be.
Nitpick: cemetery
wow, that is seriously wrong.
D’oh!