Alexandra Kathryn Mosca — Exploring Life and Death: A Writer's Journey

People often assume choosing a funeral director is a simple, transactional decision—pick a place, sign a few papers, and the rest somehow takes care of itself. But from where I stand, behind the arrangement desk and beside the grieving, the choice is far more intimate than most people realize. And when a family chooses a funeral director who knows them—or knew their loved one—the experience becomes something deeper, something personal, something that cannot be replicated by a stranger reading from an arrangement form.

When the Relationship Matters

When I’ve known the deceased or their family, the care is different. Not because we I try harder (I give my all to each and every family who comes to me), but because the person in my care is not “a case.” They are someone whose laugh I remember, whose stories I’ve heard, whose family I’ve sat with before. The work becomes a kind of guardianship. I’m not just handling remains; I’m carrying a legacy.

That’s why it stings—yes, stings—when families I’ve served beautifully –with my whole hear–choose someone else for reasons that are, frankly, baffling.

The Rejection No One Talks About

Funeral directors don’t often admit this, but we feel it when we’re rejected. We’re human. We pour ourselves into this work. We show up at 2 a.m. We guide families through the worst days of their lives. And sometimes the reasons people give for going elsewhere are so shallow they’d be funny if they weren’t so sad.

I once handled a funeral for a former friend’s father. He called the service perfect. His mother later chose me for her own arrangements. And yet, when she died, he went to a stranger—solely because we didn’t share a religion. This was a man who advocated for patients in his legal work, yet couldn’t advocate for his own mother’s dignity. I knew, walking into the funeral home he chose, that she would be just another body to them. To me, she had been special. He learned that the hard way.

The Mystifying Logic of “Keeping It on Long Island”

Another time, after arranging a direct cremation with a memorial service, someone from the family called to say there had been “a change in plan.” They wanted to “keep it on Long Island.”

“You understand, right?” he asked.

No. I did not.

The church was on Long Island. The crematory was on Long Island. The only thing that changed was the funeral home—nothing else. The logic made no sense, but the decision was made. These are the moments that leave us shaking our heads.

The Lure of Saving a Few Dollars

And then there’s price. Sometimes families will switch funeral homes over a difference of a few dollars. Not hundreds. Not thousands. A few dollars.

To save a handful of dollars, you risk losing the personal care of someone who actually knew the family and the deceased, who would have guided them with compassion and continuity. You may also ended up paying more in the end. But the greater loss is the relationship.

What Families Don’t Always See

When you choose a funeral director who knows you—or knew your loved one—you’re not just choosing a business. You’re choosing someone who will:

• speak your loved one’s name with familiarity
• remember the details that matter
• advocate for you when you’re too grief‑stricken to advocate for yourself
• protect your family from unnecessary stress, confusion, or indignity

A stranger can complete the paperwork. A stranger can schedule a cremation or burial. But a stranger cannot care in the same way.

The Best Advice We Can Offer

Before you go elsewhere for reasons that are shallow, unclear, or based on assumptions, talk to your funeral director. Ask questions. Be honest. Tell us what you’re worried about. Tell us what you need. Most of us will bend over backwards to help you—because this work is personal to us.

These days, we talk a lot about personalization in funerals. What could be more personal than choosing someone who knows you, or who knew the person you loved, the experience will reflect that. It will feel like care, not processing. Like remembrance, not logistics. Like a farewell shaped by someone who understands the weight of the moment.

Because for us, it is never “just another funeral.” It is a life entrusted to our hands.