How to Say Goodbye. Katy Colins

you know I’m not so up on my technology-speak,’ Frank admitted with a self-conscious chuckle.

      ‘A QR code. You know, those funny little black and white squares, a bit like a barcode, that you can scan on your phone?’ Still blank. ‘Never mind, you’d know one if you saw it. Anyway, they’re encouraging funeral homes to install this software so the families can input their loved ones’ details and then anyone with a QR reader at a gravesite can just scan it and the whole history of the person comes up!’

      ‘Next you’ll be telling me they’re adding phone screens and Facebook pages to tombstones,’ Frank guffawed.

      Linda leant forward excitedly. ‘Actually there’s a company in Slovenia, I think, who incorporate fourteen-inch touchscreens onto headstones. At the touch of a button they share information about the deceased’s life, with videos and photos. It even has the ability to play films!’

      ‘Can you imagine!’ Frank said, half choking on the words. ‘The cost would be extortionate.’

      I spotted Linda’s shoulders sink.

      ‘It’s a bit unusual,’ I said, ‘but it would be fascinating. Imagine wandering amongst graves, being able to find out the stories of the names written in the stone. Stories that we’d never get to know without some serious digging around the genealogy department of the library. It would be a great way to keep their memories alive.’

      ‘Exactly. Surely we could add it to the maybe list?’

      ‘I’ve been in this business for nearly forty years and never heard of such a thing. But I guess times have changed. People want bells and whistles and eco, vegan, plastic-free funerals nowadays…’ Frank trailed off, looking miserable. ‘OK, let’s move on. Can we have an update on the recent services? Grace, if you could start first please?’

      I flicked through my notepad, ignoring a slight huff from Linda that her idea had been rejected so quickly.

      ‘Sure, well the Davidson family burial was well attended and went without a hitch –’

      ‘Ah, let me stop you there. I actually have my own feedback somewhere.’ Frank flicked through his folder. ‘Ah, here.’ He picked up a torn white envelope. ‘It was addressed to me but really it should have gone to you.’ I felt the rush of heat on my cheeks as I read the heartfelt thank you card from Mrs Davidson for the funeral we’d arranged for her husband, Ernest. A keen fisherman and golfer who’d lost his long battle with throat cancer. ‘Another one singing your praises.’

      ‘You’re going to need to find another blank wall to fill soon, Grace,’ Linda said.

      ‘I hope that’s not a hint of jealousy, Linda?’ Frank let out a tinkle of a chuckle.

      ‘Of course not! I was just pointing out how well Grace is doing. I think it’s very sweet receiving a card and all,’ she said, crossing her arms in front of her ample chest, belittling the heartfelt words from Mrs Davidson. ‘But can we also remember that I’ve brought in yet another prepaid funeral plan sign-up?’

      ‘Yes! Terribly sorry for not mentioning that. A new monthly record, actually,’ Frank spluttered.

      Linda sat back in her chair and smiled smugly. People like Ms Norris, who paid upfront, and got their big day all planned out and in order whilst they were still with us, made a huge difference to the company accounts.

      I needed to up my game. Linda was right, the many incredible acknowledgements from families I’d helped were heartwarming, but they didn’t always bring any further business – unlike the prepaid sign-ups that she was renowned for. Linda had this can-do attitude that I’d never seen in anyone before. I wanted to stay positive and trust in the word-of-mouth recommendations from my personal funeral services, but that wasn’t something that could be as easily counted as numbers on a page.

      ‘The truth is we all need to think outside the box more, without any extra budget unfortunately. Instead of pie-in-the-sky technology fads we should focus on securing more prepaid sign-ups, getting more five-star reviews, and making the effort to push what we do out there into the community – as well as continuing to provide excellent customer service.’

      Simple.

      ‘Another thing I wanted to mention is the Love of My Light service. I know it’s ages away, but I want us to get a little more creative with it this year.’

      The Love of My Light service was a sort of remembrance event held in the church at the top of town in November. There was something soul-nourishing about standing amongst those who were there for one reason: to remember the person or people they had lost, to light a candle in their honour, and to support one another in whatever stage of grief they were.

      ‘Last year was great,’ Frank flashed a look to Linda; it had been her project for the past few years. ‘But I’d like us to get more community-focussed. I’m not saying we should use it as a marketing opportunity, but I think it makes sense to make sure the people of Ryebrook know what we’re able to offer. Great – I think that’s everything. Back to it, team!’

      *

      ‘What do you think about tribute wreaths, dear, the ones that spell something out, like “Nan” or “Poppa”?’ Ms Norris asked, shuffling through the pamphlets spread in front of her. ‘I’ve never had my name in lights so maybe my name in petals is the next best thing? But, then again, perhaps they are a little on the garish side. I don’t want people to go away from the day discussing the lovely service that was ruined by an in-your-face flower arrangement.’

      ‘Hmm.’

      ‘Or, even worse, imagine if the florist made a mistake with the spelling! Grace?’

      ‘Sorry,’ I shook my head. ‘I was miles away.’

      ‘Please tell me it was some delicious daydream about an attractive man?’

      ‘Er, no.’

      She let out a deep sigh followed by a wink. ‘Shame. Well you were certainly lost in some deep thought. You need to watch you don’t get wrinkles frowning away like that.’

      I raised my eyebrows dramatically to iron out any creases. ‘Sorry, very rude of me. What were you saying about flowers?’

      ‘That can wait. Come on, tell me what’s on your mind. I’ve not seen you looking so perplexed before.’

      I wafted a hand. ‘It’s just a work thing.’

      ‘Linda?’

      ‘No – listen, it doesn’t matter.’

      ‘Oh blimey, Grace, will you spit it out? A problem shared is a problem halved.’

      I took a deep breath. Over the many months of Ms Norris’s weekly visits we had built up an odd friendship, one I felt that I could trust enough with what was going on in my head.

      ‘Well, I feel like I need to do something to attract more business. Linda is doing a really good job at bringing in more prepaid funeral plans, and I just feel like I’m letting the side down.’

      ‘Ah, and how is Lovely Linda managing to go about this?’

      ‘Cold calling mostly.’

      She let out a sort of ‘pfft’ noise.

      Linda had no fear of calling a very recent widower, or grieving parents, and making it seem like she was helping by reminding them they ought to be considering their own funeral plans. I was much happier in my comfort zone of funeral planning, and getting lost in the detail of personal preparations. I thought it best to leave the families to focus on their grief after the funeral, not to be pestering them to think about how they wanted their own big day to be.

      I found it unbelievably tough to ask someone if they’d thought about their own death and, if so, what they wanted their funeral to be like. Of course, I knew how important it was to get things laid out and decisions made so you didn’t burden those left behind, but it’s still not something