Getting Rewards Points at the Funeral Home
That time I planned my aunt's funeral and paid for it with plastic.
You’re supposed to learn something new every day, so here was my lesson for July 30, 2021 in the year of our Lord: you can pay for a funeral with a Visa. Or MasterCard. Discover too, I’m sure, but not American Express1.
I am the power of attorney for my aunt, an 84-year-old woman that never married or had children of her own but was as involved as her sisters in the lives of my sister, cousins and me. She was a generous and giving woman that lugged the four of us to Disney World on countless occasions2 and lavished us with attention during our youths. Her sisters are dead and I am the only one of the four cousins that live locally3, so I was on-call when her care needs went from 0 to 100 in the blink of an eye.
My aunt is/was a very liberal, very pious Catholic. She was a rector and eucharistic minister in church, and the type of person who would join a parish council hoping to pull them out of the 15th century4. She is a devoted subscriber to the catechism of the mid-20th century, but would loudly shit-talk Pope John II for his treatment of women. She was happy to hear that I was going to a Catholic college, but encouraged me to think for myself and not fall victim to dogmatic groupthink5.
Pre-planning and pre-paying for a funeral makes a ton of sense as today’s money always gets you more than tomorrow’s6. So, I found myself at the funeral home, Visa in hand, making decisions for my aunt without her input.
Now, ordinarily, this is what happens after a person has died. My mother-in-law and wife did it for my father back in June, but my aunt is still alive.
How did we get here…
I’ll try to keep this brief. In 2017, my aunt had a mental health crash. No one has been able to figure out a trigger or cause, but she abruptly lost the ability to care for herself and live alone. Whatever demons were living in her head finally got the upper hand and took over. In two weeks, we had catatonia, several nervous 3 a.m. phone calls, a stay at CPEP7 and, finally, a decision to move into long-term care.
I was still working in the aging industry at that point, so I had the empathy of an employer committed to caregiving and a laundry list of contacts. The latter resulted in a near-immediate placement at a private-pay independent living facility — think senior housing but with meals and add-on personal assistance; sort of like a college dorm but with people to help you get dressed in the morning.
(I wrote about balancing her care and parenting my kids for a publication called Offspring, which is the parenting subsite of Lifehacker.com.)
Her descent was gradual, hastened by a visitor ban during the pandemic, and manifested itself in a series of falls. I knew it killed the administrator of the facility, someone I knew well from the industry, the day she said they were no longer able to care for her. While I was searching for a Medicaid slot at a skilled nursing facility, my aunt fell again and landed in the hospital and short-term rehabilitation for a stay. She eventually was placed in a nursing home, where she spends her days watching the Hallmark channel non-stop.
In the meantime, I’ve been directing this ship for her.
“We need to talk about my funeral”
It was right before the pandemic, around the time that the article at Offspring ran, when my aunt decided that she had to make plans for her funeral. She was ready and I…wasn’t. Emotionally, I’m not sure I was ready to go over the plans for her exit. After all, she may not have been the same as she was when I was a kid but she was still my aunt and I wasn’t there yet. Realistically, I didn’t think I could truck her over to the funeral home to discuss things; she was already unsteady and having issues walking without falling.
I knew she had readings and music8 that she wanted, and a list of the people she wanted to be part of the service. I figured that I could take all of these notes and go make the plans on her behalf.
But, the world shut down. Pandemic-related anxiety consumed her, as residents at her place became confined to their rooms, meals were delivered and visitors were banished. I was allowed to bring the pill holders with her prescription meds to her room, but had to immediately leave.
We never had the conversation.
So, I sat at the table at the Thomas J. Pirro Funeral Home and listened as David, one of the funeral directors, ran through my options. My aunt is old school, so I tried to keep what I think she would want in mind. Our first step was selecting a casket.
If you’ve never visited the casket room at your local funeral home, it’s sort of like the showroom at auto dealership but smaller. Floor models of the popular sellers from the big brands — Titan, Matthews, Batesville — have sales material propped up on easels, showing you the features and benefits. You can’t test drive anything, though. There’s no hopping in to gauge the comfort.
David walked me through the types of caskets — bronze, copper, stainless steel, wood veneer — and all of the possible adornments. Want a cornerpiece adornment of the Virgin Mary that you can remove and take home9? They’ve got those for a few hundred extra per corner (I skipped those). Do you want satin, velvet or linen interior? And what about color? Neither of the last two mattered since I made the call of a closed-casket affair.
He left me alone to walk around and kick the tires. I settled on a solid bronze casket that cost about as much as my first car. She deserves to go out in style. And, since we got the heaviest casket in the room, I hired pallbearers ($60 each for six people) and saved some physical wear and tear for her rapidly aging friends.
The one thing they provide free of charge is the name of the deceased screen printed on the top, presumably to keep things straight if people go in a double-wide drawer at a mausoleum (like my grandparents on my mother’s side) or crypt. For an extra $350, I could have the name engraved; I passed on that.
By state law, the funeral home has to itemize all of the services and prices with you, like embalming. I was sure that would cost more, but it’s only $795 for them to do it. Christ, the funeral service was almost as much ($790).
We need a hearse, so that’s $395. I got two limos, at $295 a pop, that way I don’t have to drive and the pallbearers have a ride. I was at a loss on flowers; I wanted to keep it simple but knew my aunt wouldn’t. We put $750 into an interest bearing account for that so we could keep pace with price fluctuations. The clergy honorarium? We locked that in at today’s price of $30010. Prayer cards? I picked St. Francis of Assisi11 and the prayer of St. Francis. That was $500.
I could have purchased a Toyota Corolla by the time we were done. The charge went through and I immediately paid the bill when I got home. I figured it this way: I could have paid cash but why not collect some rewards points while we’re at it?
And then, out of nowhere…
I visit my aunt on Saturday mornings. It’s a convenience issue for me, as weekday visits are impossible and I can run other errands after heading out to Jamesville. Plus, she’s more conversational in the mornings after she has rested12.
On a recent Saturday visit, she asked me how the kids were adjusting to the new school year and as I finished, she blurted out, “Jared, we have to talk about where I’m going to be buried out of.”
Okay. I asked her where and she told me Our Lady of Pompeii, the Catholic church of her youth, a short walk from her childhood home. I told her I would update the file at the funeral home, and tried asking if there was more she’d like to discuss about her funeral.
She said no and immediately asked if I would buy her more black pants.
Impulse control. I’m used to it in toddlers, but still getting used to it with octogenarians.
“Honey, I know scripture better than you…”
As cynical as I may sound about the trip to the funeral home, I do feel some guilt that my aunt couldn’t participate. I asked her last week if she wanted to talk about her funeral and she said no. Hallmark was on the TV in her room13 and there was a schmaltzy movie that needed to be watched. The window has seemingly closed.
And that’s fine. She doesn’t want to think about it and knows that I took care of things. Frankly, it doesn’t make sense to sit down and pick people to read or bring gifts to the altar. After all, her friends are around her age so I can’t be certain who will be there to step into their appointed positions. We’ll make it up as we go along.
I know she had opinions on readings. My aunt was always very particular about scripture. She insisted on picking the readings for my mother’s funeral and was critical of the readings I selected for my wedding14. She explained that she knows scripture better than my wife and me and that she could have picked readings more appropriate for a wedding15. If you’ve never met my aunt, well, that would sum her up in a sentence.
So, I picked the readings.
I think Daniel 12:1-3, “the wise shall shine brightly” seems appropriate for the Old Testament reading and her; she was the person people in my family sought out for advice. For the New Testament, I like Ecclesiastes because it’s upbeat, but she would likely want some sort of trust in the Lord bit. “Everyone who believes in him will receive forgiveness of sins,” as it appears in Acts of the Apostles 10:34-36, 42-43, aligns nicely with that.
We’ll go with The Beatitudes (Matthew 5:1-12), which is basically Billy Joel playing “Piano Man” in concert, right? Let’s end with a banger.
So, the funeral is planned, mostly. The equipment has been selected. Now all we’re waiting for is the guest to honor to arrive. You know, I have a pretty dark and morbid sense of humor, but this even a little twisted for me. That’s the thing with pre-planning a funeral, I guess. If a wake is the party where the guest of honor doesn’t get a say in who comes, pre-planning and pre-paying for it all is sort of a kick in the ass.
Everybody hurts…
So says Michael Stipe. In fact, Griever’s Digest was nearly called Everybody Hurts16. True story. Thanks to those of you that have offered to share your story. We’re always looking for more voices and experiences to share. Get in touch with me at jaredpaventi at gmail dot com to learn more.
Final thoughts on finality…
“They say love dies between two people. That’s wrong. It doesn’t die. It just leaves you, goes away, if you aren’t good enough, worthy enough. It doesn’t die; you’re the one that dies. It’s like the ocean: if you’re no good, if you begin to make a bad smell in it, it just spews you up somewhere to die. You die anyway, but I had rather drown in the ocean than be burped up onto a strip of dead beach and be dried away by the sun into a little foul smear with no name to it, just this was for an epitaph.”
— William Faulker, The Wild Palms
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Amex processing fees are nearly twice as much as the others.
My aunt was a Disney addict. At the risk of bragging, she’s the reason I went to Disney World 10 times before my 20th birthday.
She used to live about a quarter-mile from me in the Fairmount/Camillus area.
These were the types of fool’s errands she would thrust herself into.
Now, thinking for myself eventually led me to walk away from the church, so be careful for what you wish.
You’ll know this if you’ve tried to buy a house or groceries since 2020.
Acronym for Comprehensive Emergency Psychiatric Program.
Not “On Eagles’ Wings,” though. Never “On Eagles’ Wings.”
And who wouldn’t?
Vow of poverty, my ass.
I went to a Franciscan college, so I made this about me.
Assuming, of course, that she slept the night before. That’s not always a gambler’s bet.
Hallmark is always on the TV in room. And, like everyone else on her floor, the volume is at 30.
Someone remind my wife and me to not get married in the Catholic church again.
You would have thought we chose a selection by Judas Priest or KMFDM for the Responsorial Psalm.
Until the coffee kicked in.
Bronze eh? They didn’t have anything in quartz or jade from the Peoples Pottery brand line?
❤️
When my mom and dad prepared and prepaid for their funerals, they noticed that my mom’s was, like, $50 more than my dad’s. They asked why, just out of curiosity. Hairstyling. For the woman. After she goes.
The patriarchy, man.
(This is three times funnier if you knew my mom and how little she cared about such things.)