Tuesday, March 9, 2021

A Vulture Needing Money

 Yesterday was weird. A funeral director called and left a message on my phone, “Hello, ummm, Elisa. I heard you were interested in hearing more about our services.”

Funny thing. I didn’t call that man. And I don’t want to hear about his services. This came on the heels of three strangers’ messages about miracle drugs that cure cancer. One drug is only $1,000 a time, but each cost an exorbitant amount of money—and all of the sales reps became incredibly pushy. 

Honestly, these messages were sobering in a way that made me sink with weariness.

“Who would give my name to that funeral director?” I asked Mike.

He stared at me, stunned. 

“Do you think they saw my interview on TV?”

“I have no idea,” Mike said, looking less stunned as his voice came out forced and his muscles pulled with stress. “Can I see your phone?”

He listened to the message and called the man back. “We didn’t call you.”

“But someone said you’re interested.”

“We—listen, we’re not interested. We’re just fine.”

But it was the biggest lie in the history of the universe because we really weren’t fine, not that day. Sometimes this crazy fear grips me; maybe I should call a funeral home and just get an idea. Will my funeral cost $8-10,000? How much will my family need?

I guess maybe we all should think about this at some point...but I don’t want to, not yet.

Mike hung up the phone, and I looked into his big, blue eyes. “We’ve had so many amazing people help us. We’ve received a tremendous amount of emotional and financial support. I shouldn’t let this bother me. But that man, well, he was like some sort of human vulture.”

Mike held me then, in his capable arms.

“I’m scared,” I said after a moment. “The cancer is getting worse where they thought they took it out. I just want to know if I’m going to make it or not. I don’t want to lose hope, but I also need to be realistic.”

And then Mike, that hilarious, strong man, said something that shocked me. “Sometimes... Elisa, well... Sometimes I get scared too. I don’t want to lose you.”

And we stood there, crying, holding each other so tight, just because a funeral home director had called, trying to make some money.

1 comment:

  1. What a bloody hide of the funeral director that was just so rude