It’s different when it’s mom who must leave

It’s 2 a.m. and my oldest daughter, Allison (3 ½ years old), has just come into our bedroom for the second time. “Mommy, I want you.”

I give in and move over, letting her crawl into our bed.

At 4 a.m., the ASD app on my phone makes a bird-tweeting sound indicating that someone has a death call. Allison rolls over and asks sleepily, “Mommy, you have to go to work?”

I kiss her forehead and say, “Yes, sweetie, go back to sleep.”

She rolls over and cuddles with her daddy.

While this is not an every night occurrence, it does happen more often than not when you are a funeral director and a mom.

I grewup a funeral director’s daughter. It was my father who was the funeral director, notmy mom. Planswere often changed, and holidays delayed. Whenmy dad went to work, my mom was there to take care of my brother and I.

It’s different when it’s mom who must leave. It’s heartwrenching when you come out in dress clothes and your daughter instantly begins to cry.

Me and my husband Scott Kinville, an officer for a local sheriff’s office, were married in October of 2012. In August 2014, we welcomed our first daughter, Allison Lynne, and our world was changed forever. In March 2016, we welcomed our second daughter, Danielle Elizabeth.

After the birth of Allison, we moved back into my family’s fu- neral home to live with my parents, Bruce and Kathy Ironside. We are very blessed and forever grateful for my parents, especially my mom, for this opportunity.

My husband works the afternoon shift and, well, I never know when I have to work. My mom, a retired special education teacher, has been there for my girls when I can’t.

When I need to be there for another family, mymomis there for mine.

I could never thank my mom enough for what she provides to my family. My husband and I are eternally grateful.

I truly believe that I was born to be a funeral director. Shortly after I became licensed, my parents went on vacation and left me to handle the business. I had never run a call start to finish before, truly bymyself. Someone was always there to help me.

My parents hadn’t been gone very long and my first call came in. A three-year old had passed away from brain cancer at home. I immediatelystoppedbreathing.

“No way can I do this,” I thought. And this was years before I became a mother.

Walking into the family’s home and having the child’s mom place her son in my arms stopped my heart. My heart wept for this poor mom, but she was unbelievably strong. Shesaid, “mybaby is atpeace.” Her boy will always hold a piece of my heart. Being the funeral director to take careof her boy affects me now as a mom.

I try not to take one day for granted with my girls. My profession has taught me that tomorrow truly is never guaranteed.

Raising two girls and being a funeral director isn’t easy, as any workingmomwill tell you. Sorry dads, it’s just not the same, especially when your children are little

My girls love their daddy. But their eyes don’t fill with tears when he puts his uniform on to go “watch the bad people.”

Theywantmommy inthemiddle of thenightwhen they’ve had a bad dream, they wantmommy when they’ve skinned their knee; they want mommy when they’re overtired from playing all day with friends; and whenmommy has to go to work because someone else lost their mommy. It’s tough. Now it’s not every time I get called out for work. Sometimes they don’t even notice I’ve gone. They play with Grandma and they go on with their day. Other times, they hold on as tight as they can.

But because of those two little girls, I hug a mom who just lost her child just a little bit tighter. I try to comfort a child who lost their mom the best I can. I tell families to bring their children and grandchildren to funerals to see theirmother or grandmother because theywill miss themtoo.

Trustme, there are dayswhen I feel like the worst momin the world. When I have to miss taking them to a birthday party or cancel plans because mommy’s work has rearranged our plans, there will be no mother of the year award here.

But I remember the family who just lost someone, and they will never get another birthday party with their loved one.

So I leave my family to try to help their family and when that family says, “thank you,” that’s all I need to know that I’m doing the right thing.

Allison and Danielle are growing up in the family business just like my brother and I did. I try to be as honest as I can with them. I neverwant themto be too scared to ask me a question about anything in life.

In our profession, I feel it is very difficult to keep your family life and work life separate. They become woven together like a warm pair of socks knitted by your grandma. And tome, that’s ok. Howcanweexpect ourselves to be there for other families if we can’t be there for our own?

Like any profession, there are good days and bad. Same as being a parent, whether you are a mom or dad.

I couldn’t be a funeral director and a mom unless it was for my mom. My mom has been the rock behind the scenes of our family for decades.

Now she is there for a whole new generation.

Some days it’s tough, some days it’s easy.

It doesn’tmatter, she is taking care of her family so her family can take care of another family.

And tome, that’s what being a funeral director and amomis all about; being there when someone needs you the most.

So Happy Mother’s Day to all the moms out there, especially to mine.

PHOTOS COURTESY MICHELLE KINVILLE Michelle Kinville with her husband and daughters.

Michelle Kinville’s daughters Allison and Danielle.