Because they’d already be dead.

Two

After I got home and put my paper away, I hurried next door. I’d worked at the funeral home on Sundays and after school sometimes, but now that school’s out, I am there pretty much every day. That’s worked out great for my parents, since the assistant funeral director, Danielle, takes the summers off to travel with her husband and kids. They drive around the country in an RV, going from campground to campground.

Mom and Dad still have another staff member, Syd, but they had planned to hire a summer student too. Then I came up with the perfect plan to avoid going back to camp, and now I am their summer student.

When there isn’t a funeral going on, my job is mainly to make sure everything’s clean and check that we have enough supplies. When there is a funeral, I direct people coming into the chapel. My older brother, Nate, is in charge of traffic outside and then hands out kippahs to the men who need to cover their heads. I hand out the printed programs and packets of tissues.

It doesn’t seem like much, but when nearly everyone around you is crying or is about to start crying, it’s important to make sure everyone has enough tissues. Dad always says that people shouldn’t have to worry about little details at times like these. It’s our job to take care of those little details.

My first task on this day was restocking the fridge in the quiet room with bottles of water. There had been a funeral the day before, and it had been scorching hot outside. People must have been really thirsty, because the fridge was nearly empty and the recycle bin was filled with empties. I was kneeling on the carpet, humming to myself as I stacked the shelves, thinking about how I’d better get out the vacuum next. Even if the carpet doesn’t look dirty, Mom says it always needs a daily going-over.

I startled when I heard a noise behind me. My mother was standing in the doorway, her arms crossed. She was wearing a charcoal-gray jacket and matching skirt with a crisp white blouse underneath. Her pretty burgundy- and-gray scarf was tied around her neck. Her hair and makeup were perfect.

I knew what that meant. A family was coming in to arrange a funeral. Dad sometimes meets with families, but usually it’s Mom’s job.

“What time are they coming?” I asked.

Mom glanced up at the old wooden clock on the wall. “Your dad just left for the hospital. The family will be here in about an hour and a half.”

I nodded. “Okay, I’m just going to finish this and then I’ll get out of here.” When families come to arrange a service, I am supposed to stay out of the way. Even though I find all the details interesting, I know it’s a really difficult time for the people who have lost a loved one. My parents have to gently guide them in making all kinds of decisions and sometimes explain some of the important Jewish rituals that need to be followed during a funeral.