A little gross

I'm wondering if I should put in the title a warning when something's icky. Not like I've been writing much of the icky stuff here. Somehow I can't. Somehow I've joined a club, one where the things that happen in the arts and crafts room aren't discussed with people outside the industry. People just don't really want to know, I'm sure of it. I wouldn't want to know. Some of it's too weird.
So, that said, I'll try not to be too gross. I saw two new things. First is that a mormon lady died, and I guess they dress their own dead. Four women came in and dressed the lady in temple clothes, which, not being Mormon, I'd never seen. The outfit was weird. A little green apron, white peasant dress. White veil. Kind of like a shephard girl outfit, it was pretty bizarre.
On their way out, the ladies said that she was leaking a little. Leaking? What the heck does that mean?
I helped Tom move her from the guerney back into the cooler. She had to go in there because she hadn't been embalmed. Ok, side note. Embalmed: don't have to go in the cooler, no bodily fluids leak, body looks fresh (Steve says I shouldn't call them "fresh", it freaks him out). Refrigerated: No family/friend viewing. Body deteriorates more quickly, hence "leaking" occurs.
So, I don a pair of gloves, he doesn't, this is old hat to him. I grab her legs, he grabs under her shoulders. It's awkward as the guerney she's on is between me and where she's going, so I'm trying to lift and reach over. I end up not helping much and she's too heavy for Tom to move alone, so I'm really trying. He lifts her head. Yellow green liquid runs out her nose. Not a little. It streams down her face. He's grossed out. I'm severly grossed out. Her legs are so heavy, dead weight, hmm. So dead. He gets a towel and cleans her up. Her veil slipped over her face while he was wiping her chin. He's so gentle, i'm so nauseous. The veil, Tom, put back up the veil. It doesn't go on her face, it needs to cover her hair.

I've kept this post as a draft. It's been a few weeks. Last weekend, at home, Steve is looking through the fridge for something to eat. It's not hard to look through cuz I dont' shop as much as I should. He laughs as he comes out with egg nog from last Christmas. He laughs even harder as he turns back to the fridge to put it back in for the next lucky contestant. I say hand it over buddy, I'll get rid of it. It's five or so months old, seperated, pure liquid on one hand, chunky blobs on the other. I'm pouring it down the garbage disposal, when I lose it. I'm crying and laughing, both hysterically, both at the same time. I hold my mouth to stop the giggling while the tears stream down my face. I'm gagging and disgusted and maniacly laughing. He's scared for me and of me. I say "her veil was covering her face, it doesn't go there". He only knows a little about "the mormon lady", right now it's way too much. He says that sometimes my inappropriate reactions tell him way more about my job than my words. Well, those aren't his exact words, but it's what he means.

Friday, Friday

What is it with the last several Fridays here. Three new first calls this morning. First call= initial call telling the funeral home that there is a new case coming. One is a young mom who we were expecting (did I already write about her?). Yesterday I talked with someone about being so dang sad here. He said when people ask how he deals with this industry and if he takes it home with him, he responds "How selfish of me would that be? The grief isn't about me, it's about the families. I'm here to do a job and to try to make it as easy as possible for them." Wow. What a way to look at it. The same guy is who told me that when i make the transition from "dead person" to "loved one", I'll know I can do this job. They're still dead people. Well, if I'm in the back room, I think of them as dead people, obviously I treat them like they're my own loved one. I'm gentle and respectful, but in my head they're still dead people if I'm the one helping to move them around. When I'm in the office, they're always loved ones, because there's, purposefully on my part, no dead face to go with the file. It's almost like I'm still seperating the bodies from the people they once were. Maybe at some point they'll merge and that's when they'll become "loved ones". The bit about it being selfish to take on their grief is a good thing for me to remember. He asked me if I'd rather the families have a cheerful, kind face to greet them or if I dont' really care. Cuz if I care, I'll stop being selfish and help them heal. Talk about tough love. I've questioned this job exploration a lot in the last week, but maybe the answer is right in front of me. I'm here, it feels like I'm right where I belong (most of the time), so the rest of it I'll have to suck up and work through. sigh.

is this for me?

I had a hard time coming into work Monday (it's tuesday now). Partly cuz I spent the weekend in the Bay area with Steve, so didn't want to get up early yesterday and catch a flight away from him. Partly cuz I just didn't want to come here. Today people keep calling, "are you guys holding the funeral for that girl who was murdered?" Seems to me if they ask it like that, they have no business attending. She was too young to die. It was too random.
Last week I was archiving more old files and came across another young lady's file. 19. Beautiful. Her family made a little booklet to give out, stories about her, pictures of her life and of her family. She'd dropped out of preschool cuz they had bad snacks and she didn't really get to go to sleep during the "naptime". She played piano. She was absolutely stunning. The booklet was filled with Bible verses and memories. I was sure it was lukemia, how sad to lose her so young. I was imagining her parents and their grief and their anger at her illness. I wondered if it was long and drawn out, if she was sick a lot. Thumb thru the file to the death certificate.
Decedent shot herself in the head. It shocked me. The ending doesn't fit the story. They must have it all wrong. She was so beautiful. Certainly it was lukemia. Certainly she would have overdosed if she'd wanted to die. Certainly this was much too violent. I don't understand the brutality of suicide. I've come across several in the archives. Each one creates a knot in my belly. Each one brings images of Mike. Not her though. It just makes me mad. What was she thinking? How could she think it was her choice? Who was she to remove herself from the lives of her parents. To deprive them of her college graduation, her wedding day, their grandchildren. She's the only female suicide I've come across. There's so much sadness here. I'm wondering if I'll continue.

my own history in this funeral home

Many (many) years ago I had a friend named Mike. It was one of my sicker relationships. Actually it was the sickest one of all, alot of pain, alot of anger, alot of crying, and a heck of a lot of therapy afterwards. Not good most anyway you look at it, well except there had to be good times or it wouldn't have lasted as long as it did, maybe, I don't know. I was only 21 when I met him, very young, very stupid, and very naive. Long story short, he died. Longer story shorter, he shot himself in the head. I didn't go to the funeral. I never went to his gravesite. Two or three days before he died, I'd simply walked away. Well, not so simply as he was pretty mad, but I'd walked away and he didn't know where I was.
So last week, I go back into the prep room to talk to Tom. (Yes, I'm getting more used to it and sometimes I go back there if I know they're not doing anything gross) Well, he was working on a guy (who ended up looking absolutely amazing, believe it or not, what a make-up artist I work with!), but the guy on the next table is who caught my eye. He was really skinny and fairly young, late 30s, maybe early 40s, maybe way younger but lived a hard life. Well, I asked why he was so skinny and Tom said "stupid meth-head shot himself". I'd never heard him say anything negative about the deceased, but that's not what this story's about. I looked closer and saw the hole on the side of the temple, I walked around to the other side and looked at the entrance wound. There were burn marks around it, but both holes had been repaired very well. I thought he would open his eyes, grab my arm, and tell me to stop gawking. I've never thought that about someone in the prep room, someone in a casket, all the time I think they'll open their eyes, cuz they just look asleep. but a "real" dead person has never scared me before. He scared me, sent a chill straight to my toes.
I thought about him for a couple days and Tom's words kept going thru my mind "stupid meth-head", over and over.
Friday afternoon, I did the unthinkable. I looked in the old files for Mike. He was there. He was here. In my funeral home. I had no idea. He lay naked on that cold steel table with only a towel draped over his privates. His chest was probably stitched shut after his autopsy. His wounds stapled closed. The funeral director stood over him "stupid coke-head shot himself", same disgusted tone, same frustration at the wasting of one's own life. His family was here. They made arrangements. They walked through these rooms. They cried and mourned for him. Without me. I stayed away. I didn't even know he was here. May not have taken this job had I known he was here, well, definitely wouldn't have, it's just too weird. For years, I felt him looking over me, touching me in my sleep. I'd wake up and know someone had just moved away from my side. I sat in the chapel for a long time and talked to Mr Smith. He couldn't talk back and luckily no one else was here and Mr Smith's family didn't show back up for viewing. But I talked to him and told him the story. I told him Mike's name, but stopped short of asking him to give Mike a message. Tom thinks that the dead stay around for a few days before they go to whereever they're headed. Maybe after that, there's no sending messages. I dont' know. I'm ready to go home now. I've managed to completely freak myself out and i don't want to be in here any more. Big talker I am about sending a message, but the sounds I hear startle me. Make my heart race. I'm just ready to go home. Leave the building where Mike was.

Dang it. Mom couldn't hold on.

Well, the mother from the previous post died late yesterday afternoon. I was so sad to take the call. Tom was too. We were rooting for her. Everytime the phone rang, one of us would say aloud, "not Dorothy, not Dorothy". Too bad she couldn't hang on till the weekend! I'm not as mad at her children today as I was yesterday. Dorothy won't be "back" for her own memorial gathering, but that's the way I told them it would probably be, especially since I found out she had Kaiser insurance. They can't even figure out which doctor is going to sign the death certificate. Pathetic institution, that Kaiser. Anyway, I guess that's that. Dang.

My mom's not dead, but when can you cremate her?

It's the weirdest thing I've dealt with yet. A woman called over the weekend, her mom is dying, what do we need to do. I called her back Monday morning and said inform the hospital that we'll be handling it, you don't have to worry about anything else. Ok.
She called again yesterday, Monday.
"Mom's not dead yet, but how soon will we be able to get her cremated remains back?"
"Excuse me?"
"Well, we have alot of family in town for this and they'll be needing to leave by next Tuesday."
I can't believe what I'm hearing. Is Mom conscious? If not, maybe we can just send her straight to the retort and she won't notice. Maybe the doctor could give her a little pain medication so she won't feel the burning.
Out loud, I say "We'd need you to come in and fill out some paperwork, then we'd need to get the death certificate to her doctor, then to the health department before she can be cremated. The process usually takes 4-5 business days."
"Can it be done any faster?"
What the heck is the matter with you? You're talking about your own mom. Is there a little repressed anger here? Did mom beat you with a coat hanger? What's the big dang rush?

I tell her what info we'll need and tell her again that the hospital will call us, she instead wants to be the one to call, so we don't have to wait for them. I explain that this is the procedure. She is somewhat appeased and finally lets me off the phone. I put together a folder and tell Tom how weird I think that was.

Later in the day, she calls me back.
"Do you do memorial folders that we hand out to guests?"
"Yes, we have several styles to choose from."
"How much notice do you need? Can you get them done right away or does it take a day or two?" I'm getting down right angry now. "We can make them immediately, it won't add any time to this whole process."
"Well, do I need to make an appointment for tomorrow to come in there and settle all this, because she won't make it through the night."
"Why don't we wait until tomorrow to schedule it?" I don't know why I wouldn't give her an appt time, we do pre-needs, but this was somehow so different. So wrong.

Tuesday morning and the first thing we do is check incoming faxes. Well? Did she die? No. Whew! I'm rooting for her. Hang on, old gal. If it's all you can do, make 'em all mad and die in your own timing!

Tuesday 10:30, van pulls into the parking lot.
"Hi, I spoke with you yesterday about my mom."
"Oh, I'm sorry, we didn't get the phone call yet."
"Oh no, she's not dead, we just wanted to get everything done. This is my sister."
Tom comes into the office. He looks at me, I look at him. We exchange an unspoken question. I hand him the folder and introduce him to the sisters.
I hear them now in the arrangement room. Why am I so disgusted? Is this really about her or is there something about me that I'm placing on her? Why've I had so dang much therapy that now I'm questioning my motives when a stranger is involved? Why is she so anxious for her mother to die? I hear one of the sisters say "will this take long, cuz we left a baby in the car." What is the matter with these women? Can I just slap them both now?

They're gone now. Tom is as disgusted as I. When they left, he just sat in front of me and said "well, the funeral's Friday. I hope Mom holds on till Saturday!" Me too! I told him I'd call the hospital and make sure they don't let the daughters in the room with pillows. No smothering allowed. Everytime the phone rings I hope it's not the hospital calling about her.
I'm so mad I could just spit. Don't they have any respect? Tom said once the children even brought the parent's clothing, and then the parent lived. Ha! I hope this lady pulls through. No dying, no funeral, no cremation!

women and urns

I've decided to make a new rule that only men can pick up cremated remains. The women realize they're going to pick up mom, dad, husband, whoever and carry them out of the building. I can tell the second the realization hits them. A woman today was carrying out her 41 year old husband, well he would have turned 42 yesterday had he not died three days earlier. She filled out the paper work fine, talked about engraving the urn, then it hit her. She lost it, grabbed him up, and started rushing out. Tom rushed after her to comfort her. I sat still and tried to hold back the flow, it didn't work very well. When he came back I asked if it was still hard for him. He said it's time for him to retire. So much sadness. It's draining me.

funeral director's song

Tom started singing this and the boss' daughter joined in. I was very frightened.

Peace and sorrow fill the air
People dying everywhere
Happy Birthday
Happy Birthday

Buddist funeral - Day 3

I didn't go to the actual funeral service, even though I sort of wanted to. It was a Saturday and we had other plans. However, I did get the honor of cleaning up afterwards. HA! Steve helped too, poor guy. What a disaster. One huge garbage bag of trash from the chapel alone. More vacuuming than I've done in the last year. Our dumpster out back was already full, now it's completely overflowing, hopefully no cats attack. Steve was entirely freaked out, I think he had two sets of gloves. He was a huge help though. He kept reminding me that this was my career choice not his! At least he was too busy cleaning to get too hung up on being in a building with dead people. He was more freaked out about germs than death.

Buddist funeral - day 2

It's 7pm on the second day of "viewing". The family got here at nine and hasn't left yet. Luckily I got here about 8:15, as it took the whole 45 minutes to throw out garbage, vacuum, clean up the chapel, sweep the front, pick up cigarette butts (yuck), and restock the bathrooms (bigger yuck, no one told me i'm the bathroom girl too).
The Buddist Monks came this morning and they just got here again. They wear orange robes, just like on Anger Management. Again, I wish I knew Viatnamese, so I could understand what is being said. Chanting through out the day. Long sermons, well I don't know that they're sermons, but it seems that way. People milling in the lobby and in front of the home, out there they smoke. And smoke. And smoke. Incense, cigarettes, and death. What a smelling sensatition. Of interest, earlier, was a power play over the death certificate by the sister (who paid for the whole thing) and the older brother (who thought he should automatically get one of the copies she paid for). Guess sibling rivalries transcend culture.
I'm amazed at the outpouring of love from the Vietnamese community. I can't even count the number of flower sprays without being totally obvious. they are across the front of the chapel and side by side all the way down both outside aisles. It'll take several vans to get them to the gravesite.

Buddist funeral - day 1

Guess I need to take a class in different religions, or at least in the death ritual aspect of the religions. A Vietnamese funeral is here for the next three days, viewing today and tomorrow, service Saturday. It seems to be a huge affair. The relatives carted in ice chests full of soda, bottled water, food, flowers, I don't know what else. I'm hungry and lunch looks like it may be slipping away. It's been such a busy morning, Tom is in with another family making arrangements, so the Vietnamese family keeps asking me things. The daughter wants to change her mother's make-up, Skip dove into the midst to see what they should change. I think he did the make-up himself earlier. He just walked by in his whole blue outfit, gloves and all, headed into the chapel. He said "c'mere and give Papa Smurf a hug". It's weird to see him in the public areas in that outfit. The hair dresser called me this morning to ask what style the woman had, the only picture of her was over here. So this whole thing was crazy to start with, the funeral was going to take place at our other home, but they didn't have the availability the family required, so it all got shipped over here. I just peeked into the chapel. They're moving the casket, hey, stop that. They put it up on the little stage. Tom will grumble about having to get it back down, I wonder how he'll do it by himself, he'll probably have to ask some of the men to help him. Now I hear hammering. I hope they're not putting holes in the wall, what will Tom say, he left me in charge and they're reconstructing the chapel. yikes. I better go check. Well, now that I've looked, what am I supposed to do? They're hanging up huge banners, maybe 5 feet by 8 feet in front of the chapel. They're hammering huge nails into the wall above the podium. Maybe I shouldn't have looked, it was better if I didn't know and then won't have to take responsibility for not stopping them. This place has taken on a circus type atmosphere, children are running around playing. Family members are going from the chapel to a smaller viewing/family room. I should've worn a suit. I didn't realize so many people would be here today so just wore slacks and sweater, I feel sorely under-dressed. And I'm so dang hungry. I suddenly find myself wishing I could speak Vietnamese.
It's later now, some of the younger guys were asking me about working here. Do I ever see or feel spirits. Unfortunately I had to say no, although I think it would be okay if I did. Certainly I'm just as curious as they are about spirits or ghosts or whatever. Only good, kind ones though, do you get to choose? No nasty ones, please.
Someone just came in and asked for duct tape. Tom came into the office just as the young man walked out, and exclamed (much too loudly for my comfort) "What are they doin' in there???" I had to laugh. He checked out the chapel, shaking his head as he returned, "It's not as bad as I thought from all that noise." It is pretty noisy. I like it. It's more life than this building has seen since I got here, it's good. More flowers are coming in. "Norel, can you get us another table?"
It's almost three in the afternoon, I haven't eaten lunch, there's some much insense I can barely breath, and I usually like incense. Blue hazy clouds pouring from the front of the chapel. They've opened the back door of the building, which has Skip chomping at the bit. He wants me to go close it, but he doesn't want to be choked out. He said "Cats love to come in and chew up bodies." I asked how often he'd seen that in his thirty years, he laughingly admitted he really hadn't, but he'd "heard about it happening". Right. He did say he's seen rats chew off faces. Gross. Guess that settles the open or closed casket question. Ha!
A meal is set before the deceased. Rice, boiled eggs, shrimp, fruit, vegetables, incense, and flowers. It's beautiful in an odd sort of way. The daughter put bows on the end of the pews, it sort of resembles a wedding chapel, well except for the casket and the flower sprays, ok the only part that is wedding-y are the bows, they seem a little out of place. In the back is a memory table of sorts. Pictures, folders for the guests, sign in book. I appreciate how much this grandmother was loved and am surprised by the huge turnout.

Funeral home Field trip...what?

This morning a group of high school students came here for a field trip. It's the weirdest thing to me. Of all the places they could go to learn about business, they come here. Of course, they couldn't go into the back room and definitely not the prep room, aka Arts and Crafts Room. I can think of a lot of places to take students and a funeral home would never enter my mind as one of them. One girl, very appropriately, was dressed completely in black. I think it was her normal mode of dressing though as she had on knee high boots. Well, I wear knee-hee black boots, but they're a little different. Hers were chunky, maybe five pounds each. They were similar to biker boots, but had row upon row of big silver buckles. Leather strapped thru the buckles, so it looked like little tags sticking out. Black hair, white white skin, is she even alive?
Tom gave each of them brochures and price lists. They acted interested, except for the impassive faces and stifled yawns. I think they were all very disappointed when the tour didn't go past the public places. It would've been a much better field trip could they have gone back to school and talk about something gross that they'd seen.

women

If I get one more phone call from that other office from one more woman who is talking to me like i'm an idiot, I'll scream. Excuse me, I got one day training. One day. We all need to admit that I've probably got some gaps in knowledge. So, it'd be fine if they were even calling to tell me about something i did wrong. But they aren't! they're calling for me to check on files from months ago and then when I give the information they want, they say stupid things like "You do check files before you put them away, right?" I want to shout Of course I do you idiot, but if you were paying closer attention to what you're saying you'll realize that I've been here three weeks and this chart was filed in Jan! Why do I even allow it to get under my skin. Women suck sometimes. They haven't even seen me, we're in completely different funeral homes and they still wanna act all snippy. What's with that anyway. And why do i even care??? Why does it matter to me if they're not nice. Why can't they be nice when they call and say I know this is from before you were here, but if you could look something up I'd appreciate it. It's like they want to find any errors from over here and then pounce on them. I want to remind them that any beef they have was with someone who no longer works here, it isn't with me. They've never even met me, we've only spoken on the phone. I know it's not personal, so why do I let it get to me. I don't know what stress they're under in that office, I've heard it's not fun over there, but they don't have to take it out on me. Jeez....

Rosicrucian

I'm on a quest to learn about this order, as a client (is that what they're called???) belongs to this and can't be buried till three days after death. I didn't find information about that, but did find a ton of other interesting stuff.

http://www.rosicrucian.org/about/index.html
The Rosicrucian Order, AMORC, is known internationally by its traditional and authentic title, the Ancient Mystical Order Rosae Crucis. Rosae Crucis from the Latin means "of the Rosy Cross". There is no religious connotation associated with this symbol; the Rosy Cross symbol predates Christianity. The cross symbolically represents the human body and the rose represents the individual's unfolding consciousness.

ho hum

Well, no one ever told me that this was an exciting business. Guess I didn't realize I'd get so bored in between calls though. I'm going to be recovering some office chairs, but forgot to bring my staple gun this morning. This office is straight out of the 70s and completely depressing. I've moved stuff around a little trying to make it more functional, but it's pretty dang ugly and that will take some time. There's an old storage shed with a cool desk in it, that may actually qualify as antique rather than 70s crapola. Maybe I can refinish it and bring it back in here. I think it'd look way better than this big old thing I have. This is probably an indication of not enough to do, if i've got time to whine about office furniture.
Tom went to pick up someone from a nursing home. Good thing they moved that other lady out of the cooler this morning, now we have room for someone else. I guess there's a large person in-waiting now, which causes some space constraints. What a weird thing to have to think of, where do we put people while waiting for the family to make arrangements. hmm.

baby

A gentleman called from the hospital earlier asking about cremation for a premature baby. I couldn't talk to him, I froze. Tom was across the desk from me, looking concerned. I told the man I'd get a funeral director and hurriedly put him on hold. My grandson was born prematurely at the same hospital two months ago. He was sick for awhile and it was worrisome. I couldn't talk to the man. I don't know if he was the father, but he was crying. I wanted to throw up. I wanted to cry myself. They never called back, so i think the baby is going somewhere else. Tom said "good", he doesn't want the baby to come here either. I know sooner or later I'll see one. and I already know i'll want to hold it. Maybe that's when I'll make the switch from dead body to loved one. How could anyone think of a baby as anything but a loved one? I found myself a little angry when Tom told me of another baby who waited to be cremated for two months, because the dad was in jail and wouldn't sign the authorization and the mom was a flake. He even went to their apartment to make them sign after the dad was released, only to find that they'd been evicted. How could they not have loved the child enough to do the right thing? Or maybe their grief was so great that they couldn't face it? I think they were drug addicts or something, I hope that's their excuse, anyway. It makes me so mad how stupid people are sometimes. There are cremated remains in the back that have been there forever and no family will take them. What is that? I'm really glad the baby didn't come here. Another weekend when I'm a mess and I think Steve will want me to quit.

End of my third week

So, last night I'm at a friend's house and as it seems to be happening lately, talk turns to my new job. People are strangely fascinated. Well, one guy tells me that a friend of his just committed suicide. He said the guy had been happily married and was his coworker, great husband, great dad. Then he quit the job to open his own business, which was very successful. Well, at some point he started using drugs, "running with loose women", and life went bad for him quickly. Lost his business, marriage, respect from peers. Several years later he decided to take a dive off a rocky cliff. As my friend talked, I realized it was the foot viewing. I didn't know what to say, but he realized I knew who he was talking about. I didn't handle it very well, as I wasn't as sensitive as I should have been. I asked if it had indeed been determined to be a suicide, as it was unclear earlier in the week if it accidental, suicide, or homicide. He said as far as he knew it was suicide. Perhaps the family found a note, he didn't know. I kind of panicked, because I didn't want him to ask me more than he really wanted to know, so I changed the subject quickly. Later, I felt bad, because he may have needed to talk about it, but I just didn't know what to say. I thought back about how his face clouded up and I knew he wanted to ask more, but I couldn't tell him what I knew. It was weird.

Prank phone calls I wanna make

We have a little card catalog system for Pre-needs (when people come in to set up their arrangements ahead of time). The theory is that you look for a person's card, if one exists you go to the back room and pull their folder. Then we know what kind of service they want. I'm not so much a card catalog kind of gal, so I decided to input the information to Excel. Way quicker to pull up if I'm on the phone and need to quickly whether they have a contract with us. Sounds weird, but often families don't know where the deceased have a contract so they call around to find it, not very efficient or considerate of the dead, if you ask me.
Anyway! I'm putting this information into excel and I'm realizing that many of the cards say for information only. I'm wondering how we know those people haven't already died and their families just took them somewhere else. Soon I'm giggling, which quickly escalates into flat out laughter at the thought of calling the number, asking for the person on the card, and when they come to the phone saying "Just checking" and hanging up. I imagine their faces as they hear a dial tone, look at caller ID, realize it's a funeral home, then the dawning realization that I was checking to see if they still had a pulse. The laughter becomes somewhat uncontrollable as I allow myself to picture this whole scenario. Their faces go from expectation, to bewilderment, to disbelief, to horror. It takes about fifteen seconds for the whole process to run through their minds. I can't stop laughing. I email my husband to share my hysteria, which prompts him to quickly pick up the phone and laughingly tell me not to make any such calls. Even now, re-telling the story, I'm smiling stupidly and again allowing myself to imagine the faces. What great fun!

daily business

The regulated medical waste guy just came by to pick up our waste products. I'm so glad he went into the prep room and I didn't have to try and lug that big crate out. I didn't even look in there, just barely pushed open the door for him. I told him how I had to go in there last week to get the dirty laundry out, cuz that guy refused to go in the room. He chuckled. There's so much to the business side of this industry. Laundry, medical waste, yuck.

I cleaned out another crazily messy area today in the office. There seems to be crap piled to the ceiling! I found a glue gun and glue sticks, well when I read the packaging of the sticks closely, I found that it was biodegradable and was to use for gluing small heart shaped pressed paper with flowers seeds in them onto memorial folders to hand out to funeral guests. What a weird thing. I think I kind of like it though. Instead of handing out tiny bottles of bubbles at weddings, you can hand out tiny hearts to plant in memory of the deceased. It's a neat idea, but I wonder if any flowers will actually grow.

I found some information packets for families when they're making pre-arrangements for their own funerals. I think I'll send one to my parents. I know they've made some of their own arrangements, but it would sure be a nice thing to do for your loved ones, so they don't have to figure out all the stuff they'll need at a hard time in their own lives. I don't know how my parents will like getting it in the mail though. I'll add a little note, "not that I'm trying to rush you, but just thought you might like to get things in order". ha. I am seeing that there are things i really want to take care of so my husband and children don't have to.

foot viewing

A first for one of our new funeral directors...Yesterday he had his first foot viewing by a family. The brother fell from a local mountain side and he was pretty much a mess. He had no ID except for a library card. The ME took fingerprints and results should be back today. It's unknown whether he fell accidentally or jumped or was pushed over the edge, and it's very unlikely the truth will ever be discovered. The sisters still wanted to see him, so they viewed his foot as it was the most presentable part. Also the director gave him a headcovering and a little ninja style mask, as he was viewable from eyebrows to nose. That small area, along with the foot, was enough for the sisters to know positively it was their brother. I don't know that I'd recognize one of my sisters' feet, my husband's yes, but a grown sibling whose feet I haven't seen in years? kinda creepy.