It is surprising how completing the process of burying someone can have a liberating effect. For me, it is similar to a cleansing breath. You know how when you hurt yourself physically, like kicking the table leg with your bare toes; and then you jump around, on one foot, until you remember to take a deep breath? Once you settle down and take that deep breath of fresh clean air and then release it; ah you can literally feel the release of pain from your toes escape right along with it. That is what a funeral does for me. It’s almost a reset. Of course, just like my toes, a bit of the pain still lingers, but that horrid, I’ve lost my breath sort of pain, is greatly lessened.



Yesterday was my mother’s funeral. My mother had been in a refrigeration unit in my embalming lab for seventeen days. Those were seventeen of the most difficult days of my life. After work, and each morning before I would begin my daily tasks, I would go to the back of my funeral home, unlock the doors to my embalming lab, and check on my mother. I would check for signs of deterioration; her color, the firmness of her embalming, other things too, to ensure there were no signs that would alert me to employ a deeper level of preservation for her. I would touch her cheek and whisper that things were okay. My whisper was more to comfort myself rather than to inform her that she need not worry. Those were slow-moving, yet rewarding days for me.

Years ago I decided to go into funeral care because I wanted to be able to care for my family members as they passed away. When my grandmother passed away, I had the privilege of dressing and casketing her in preparation for her burial. That was the first time I had ever cared for a decedent. My mother and my sisters were there with me. We did it together. It was a life-changing experience for me. It taught me that there are things we can do for those we love that they cannot do for themselves and that when we do it with love and generosity in our hearts, the love that resides within us is magnified immeasurably. Two days ago, my sisters and I were again with my mother in an embalming room to dress and prepare a family member for burial. This time, however, my sisters and I were there to dress and casket our mother.

Over the years, I have realized that while a decedent is in my custody, I receive a spiritual responsibility of service to provide for their comfort, safety, care, protection, and love. It is interesting because the instinct to protect them is almost that of a mother to her child. I go to battle for them for signatures, permits, and registrations. I try to guide and direct their families to organize and prepare their finances, schedules, and grief so that they can survive the horrors of loss. I arrange the wishes and details of the family’s desired services so that they can say goodbye with a memory impression that will sustain them as they try to recover from the ravages of pain that loss imposes. My goal is to close a loved one’s life in such a way that those who remain behind will wake up (the morning after services) with hope and the ability to carry on.

When I first entered funeral care, I didn’t know that nurturing, protecting, and caring would be my mission. I didn’t realize that caring for a complete stranger, and their family would draw out of me every ounce of love and service from within my being. I didn’t know that I had that in me, not that my Savior would expect that out of me.

When I was interning for my funeral licenses, my proctor advised me of many things. One of the things he advised me to do was to take a wonderful vacation, every year. He warned me that too much death could rob me of my happiness, vitality, and spirituality. I think he and I are different types of funeral directors. For him, funeral directing was his job; mechanical with markers to meet. For me, funeral directing is my purpose; caring for others, protecting them, and helping them overcome the fiery darts that loss imposes on the soul. I have now been a licensed funeral director for fifteen years. To date, my husband and I have not had the time for vacations.

When my husband was in the US Navy, he bought us tickets over to France for our anniversary. I had lived in France before our marriage, as a missionary, and I loved the beauty of the people, the architecture, the food, and the art. While we were there, we visited many beautiful and spectacular sights. We ate amazing dishes. We walked endless miles along the cobblestoned streets of Paris, and we toured many museums. My favorite has always been the Louvre, and my husband enjoyed it immensely. He would stop and stare at paintings in amazement as he took in the details and skills of the renowned artists from so long ago. Art and music can reach right down into your soul and reveal truths that you never even knew existed. They can awaken you to the love and beauties that reside within your heart and reveal to you the potentials that you can reach during your life. Art and music are spiritual gifts.

My husband changed on that trip. He experienced spiritual growth that he had not before obtained. He discovered things about himself that were new to him. His revelations were not a surprise to me, because I had already seen those beauties and vulnerabilities within his soul. God had put them there, but the world around him had clouded them. His focus changed in Paris. Previously, my husband went after whatever challenged him with aggressive fearlessness. After Paris, my husband, although still fearless, would analyze the impact that his fierceness would impose on others. He understood that there were other ways available to him to serve and improve the lives of others. His goals and focus became to assist others to find happiness, beauty, spirituality, joy, and comfort. My husband saw that loving and serving others was better than forcing them into obedience. Of course, my husband’s profession was to be a warrior and fight the United States’ battles. He was very aptly suited for it.

Yesterday was my mother’s funeral. I tried to assist my family as they passed through this sad and difficult experience of losing our mother, grandmother, sister, aunt, cousin, and friend. Yesterday, as I lay my head down upon my pillow, I thanked God in my prayers for a husband who understands that service to others through love and tolerance is better than imposing his will on them. I expressed my gratitude for my husband’s love and patience toward me as I have traversed the passing and burial of my mother, for our wonderful vacation to Paris and the enlightenment it brought into our lives, for the glories of children and grandchildren, for my sweet extended family members and friends who attended my mother’s funeral service giving me support during my time of loss, for my experiences as a funeral director, for my amazing marriage, for the blessings in my life, and for the long-awaited burial of my mother.

My mother has been in my embalming lab for seventeen days. Yesterday, I received and released my cleansing breath; my sigh of relief. With the love and support of my husband, and surrounded by my family, at long last, I laid my mother to rest in peace.

My name is Tracy Renee Lee. I am a Certified Grief Counselor (GC-C), Funeral Director (FDIC), published author, syndicated columnist, Podcaster, and founder of the “Mikey Joe Children’s Memorial” and Heaven Sent, Corp. I write books, weekly bereavement articles, Podcasts, and Grief BRIEFs related to understanding and coping with grief. I am the American Funeral Director of the Year Runner-Up and recipient of the BBB’s Integrity Award.

It is my life's work to comfort the bereaved and help them live on.

For additional encouragement, please visit my podcast “Deadline” at https://open.spotify.com/show/7MHPy4ctu9OLvdp2JzQsAA or at https://anchor.fm/tracy874 and follow me on Instagram at "Deadline_TracyLee".