attic to hallway, 1.2 seconds

Non-funeral home related. My husband and I gutted our master bathroom a few weeks back, all the way down to 2x4s. Had some re-wiring done and yesterday I started putting insulation in the ceiling. I had some left over and couldn't see the point in taking it downstairs to the garage just to bring it back to the attic at a later date, so I was going to go up and have my daughter (21 with 2 1/2yr old son, just moved back home) hand it up to me. Long story short: She wanted to go up, earn her keep, help me out, yadda ya, "I'm almost to the bathroom, Mom, you can start handing it up", crash boom bang, Danielle is on the floor in the hallway surrounded by sheetrock and blown in insulation. A bone in her foot appeared to be almost through the skin, Logan snored from the bedroom on the other side of the wall. I ran to the neighbor who is a nurse, scared her half to death banging down the door, then ran back. The neighbor took charge, cuz I quickly disintegrated, she checked out Danielle while I called 911. Paramedics arrived within five minutes, ambulance shortly thereafter. Dislocated 1st metatarcal (sp?), in addition to being fractured. Some bone on the top of her right foot. It's the most horrible feeling I've encountered in quite sometime and it didn't even happen to my body. She's getting better on the crutches. But can't keep up with Logan. I don't know how this will play out. We go to the orthopedic surgeon tomorrow. She's feeling guilty cuz now she really can't work, I'm feeling guilty cuz I let her go up there, Steve's feeling guilty cuz he wasn't home to be doing the work himself. Logan and Corey just play. It's going to be a long road.

children

Dang. What a sucky day. The young lady from yesterday went to the crematory today. I think I may have hit her in the face with the lid to the casket insert. We have a rental casket for people who are going to be cremated but also have viewing. A plywood box with a nice liner goes into it, the whole thing is removed with the person and cremated. When I put the lid on, I think it hit her, even though we were very careful and removed the pillow from under her head first. It keeps running through my mind, even though it isn't possible because her face was well below the top, I know I didn't really touch her, but I keep thinking if it were my daughter in a box and the lid touched her face. Crap. It's one of the more and more rare days when i take on grief which doesn't belong to me. I don't even know how to describe how i'm feeling. I know the lid didn't touch her, but I keep seeing it in my mind that it did. Maybe it's the finality of her life and the closing of the lid somehow made it more final. Did I say that her Mom went and bought her a beautiful long prom dress. Her daughter could be a princess one last time.

I thought i'd do some shelf cleaning in the back this morning. There are two urns which have been here since last year. I cold called both families and said come and get them. One is a still born baby, who I talk to and who I feel so sad that he's still here. I called his mom and told her we're taking good care of him, but he really should be with people who love him. She was obviously caught off guard to hear me, but she said they'd come on Monday to pick him up. Well, as I was working with a lady whose son will probably die this weekend, a young man came in. It was the baby's dad. As soon as he said who he was, I said oh, I'm so glad to see you. I excused myself from the lady (see next paragraph) and went to get the baby's ashes. The dad was struggling to remain composed, I didn't struggle at all, I just cried. I told him I couldn't imagine how hard it must be for him and how sorry I am for he and his wife. He said it was good for them to come and get him, they needed to be able to finish dealing with it. I told him that I'll miss his son, and I will, and that we've been taking very good care of him, but I'm also very glad he gets to go home now. The dad hugged me, not a quick hug, but a long hug, a grateful one. Then he told me very quietly that they're pregnant again, they didn't think it would happen again so soon and that they are excited, but scared. I wished him well and sent him on his way.

There was no pretense when I went back in the room with the older lady. I told her I was sorry, but sometimes it's just a difficult job, I dried my tears and we began to once again talk about her son. He's 39, colon cancer. She did okay for a while, then her tears began again. She asked if i have children, yes, five. She wished for me that I would never ever have to bury one of them. She said how wrong it is and of course she's right. It's unnatural for a mother to outlive her child. I can not fathom a mother's grief. A 19 year old girl or a stillborn son or a grown man, it makes no difference to the mother, it's still unbearable. To the father too. I hope to never experience it. I wake in the middle of the night sometimes filled with dread that one of my children is in a bad situation, usually my youngest son. I wait for the phone call to come or the doorbell to ring, all the while praying that God would hold him (or her or them) in His hands and keep them safe for one more night. Finally exhausted from the depth of the unknown, I drift back off to uneasy sleep.

I can not imagine the grief of a mother. Nor do I want to.

young lady

19, female, drowned. Son appears to be about a year and a half old. Could be my own daughter. Mom brought in a prom dress for her. I curled her hair in long sweeping curls. She looks very pretty. I'm sick to my stomach. I was finishing up her hair and Skip came over to see, he just stared at me, made me look him in the eyes. I told him to knock it off or I'd start to cry. He just kept looking at me, I cried. How do you lose your daughter? How does her son grow up not knowing her. Last night, after work I picked up Logan from daycare, it was my first time to get him from the new place he goes. I saw him in the window, he got a huge smile and started yelling "Grammy, Grammy". When they let me in, he ran to me and grabbed my legs. I just heard the young lady's son say Grammy to her mom. I don't know what I'd do if one of my children were gone, just like that, swimming, having fun, then gone. I want to throw up now.

cause of death

Random ages and causes of death of those whose families wouldn't pay their bills in the late 1990s: (i'm entering archived files into excel)

-65, complications of colon carcinoma
-34, Multiple blunt force injuries, pedestrian struck by three vehicles
-56, Anterior Myocardial Infarction (spelled wrong by doctor and scribbled over)
-33, Acute obstructive hydrocephalus
-82, Congestive heart failure
-72, Complications of Acute Bacteral Pneumonia
-79, end stage Copd
-41, overdose of heroin
-88, rupture abdominal anc anneurysim
-47, acute hemorrhagic pancreatitis
-33, Pneumocystis carnii pneumonia, Aids
-75, Myocardial infarction, heart failure, diabetes

young man

He's 18. His body is broken in many places after the car he was a passenger in was hit by a train. He was embalmed, but he's decomposing rapidly as the fluids couldn't travel to all parts of his body. Normally we're embalmed from one or two places, he was "injected" (i dont know what they call it) from seven points. No less than four funeral directors have worked on him, so that his family could see him. He smells so bad. His viewing time was decreased from two days to one hour and there is real fear on the part of Schewan that an hour is too long. During the last round of his reconstruction and makeup, the decomposure was much too evident. That's all I have to say about that. Well, actually i have alot to say and probably no one ever reads this but me so i could just let it out yet i'm hesitant. Funny how this started as a place for me to say what i need to say but now i don't want to because sometimes its too horrific for anyone else to read. it's weird.
His dad came into my office. Angry, beligerent, demanding explanations for the reduced viewing time. He closed the door to the entrance of my office. I closed the back door, now i was sure no one could hear. I told him that we knew how important it is for the family to be with their son and how difficult it was for us to say they couldn't spend more time with him and that there wouldn't be time for his friends to get here. I said that God was taking "Young Man" home faster than we were able to keep him here. I carefully explained how much work had gone into the restoration and how it wasn't slowing down the process of death. He was somewhat appeased when he went back out.
Can't they see what's happening? Would I be just as blind if it were my own child?

sigh...

So, it's pretty rare for me to get freaked out in here, but today seems to be the day. I don't know why. Maybe it was something Steve said about how weird it is to him that someone is surrounded by their family when they die and then an hour later they're lying on a cold steel table amidst strangers. Two here now, within a couple hours of their deaths. Or maybe it's that the dang door has opened and closed a couple times today and it's bugging me. There's one door between the front and back areas that sometimes opens and closes. Maybe fifteen times since I've worked here, usually when I'm here alone. Once when Tom was here with me, we both thought Skip had come back over to embalm someone, then no one ever came forward. We ignored it like we hadn't both just said "I didn't know Skip was back". Just went on with our conversation like we hadn't heard a thing.
I was in the back with Mrs. R. She was cremated a year ago, but her daughter brought her back today so I could seperate her into three small keepsake urns before they spread the remainder next weekend. I kept thinking I heard noises in the prep room. It's impossible, I'm sure, well unless it was that outgasing thing. Anyway. I didn't finish seperating Mrs. R. I came back to my desk.
Whew! A funeral director got here from the other home. That nervousness only lasted about fifteen minutes and it's over. yippee.

Hair-dos

So I did a lady's hair about a month back. Haven't been writing much in here. Some of it is boring, some too gross, some too personal. The lady had one braid down the back and her family wanted a more sophisticated look. I took out the braid, ha!, way easier said than done. I tried to turn her head to get to the hair in the back. It wouldn't turn; stiff, looking straight ahead. I ended up pulling it out from under her. She was in her late 90s and the tiniest little thing, but I couldn't move her. Her hair was sparse and pretty kinky, curly. I used a curling iron to straighten it. I touched her forehead with the iron and then panicked, first cuz I automatically thought I'd hurt her, duh, and then because I didn't know if her skin would just melt. It freaked me out. I yank out her braid, then I brand her forehead! yikes. I was trying to be so gentle, it didn't work. She looked very nice in the end and her family was pleased.

retirement and a new funeral director

Tom officially retired last Friday. He's here doing a service today, because he said he would. It's nice to have him here for another day. The new funeral director is a woman, let's call her Szechwan. She's into Feng Shui (sp?) and on her first day she started moving furniture around to create better energy. What??? I don't know how it'll be to work with her. I should ask the manager why everyone keeps apologizing when they find out she's Tom's replacement. I think they put her here from the other funeral home, because she was making people mad over there. Great. I'm trying to keep an open mind. Trying.
Today's service is basically just a chapel rental by another funeral home about 75 miles from here. They did all the work and then came here for the service and burial. It's a great way to do a service, very little time involved on our parts and I get to meet new directors. Stan lives in a smaller community, but went to mortuary school in San Francisco. He reminds me completely of a friend of Steve's who died in March, so that's a little weird. Before the family got here, we were swapping fun stories (not that i have many yet). He had a client named Mr Lynch, who hanged himself. One of his teachers in San Francisco was named Mr. Grimm. He's a funny guy. He's one of my favorite directors yet. He speaks very eloquently, as if confidently exuding good breeding. Fantastic suit, perfectly manicured nails, salt and pepper (mostly pepper) hair in a stylish cut, bea-u-tiful shoes. I'd expect him to be a banker in a large city rather than a funeral director in a smallish city. He's probably a couple years older than me, but he sure makes me want to pinch his cheeks cuz he's so adorable. (facial cheeks, clean it up some). Anyway, it's uncanny how much he reminds me of Russ, well Russ minus Marine attitude.
Ok, I'm back, not that you knew I was gone. Had to sign for cremains from the crematory guy. Another super nice person, there seems to be an abundance of good folk in this industry. I like that.
Last week we had an open house/retirement party for Tom. It was enjoyable as far as work functions such as that go. A good turnout, nicely catered, except the crab dip was WAY too salty. Tom was pleased, he seemed somewhat humbled when he gave his little speech. It was nice. I'll sure miss him. I don't know how it'll go with Szechwan. Tom taught me whatever he thought I should know and then some, she seems more like an information hoarder. We'll see. I keep saying that.

absolute boredom

I wanted a job so i could have some social interaction, staying at home was awesome, but sometimes a little lonely. Aargh. This is isn't much better. Tom has been gone three days this week due to a family emergency and there is NO one to talk to. He's retiring at the end of the month anyway and I don't know who is coming down here to work. Who knew I'd get this bored. I just sit around waiting for someone to die and then when they do, I'm disappointed when it's only cremation. How much energy does that take? grr.

Mother's Day in the Morgue

Something to know about me, if you don't already. Mother's Day is my least favorite day of the year. It reminds me of the many ways I've failed my children. It reiterates that I was not the mother they needed me to be as they were growing up. I am inundated with sadness, self-pity, and regret for the week preceeding the dreaded day. (that said, I had a wonderful weekend with my older children this year, it was relaxed, fun, and no pressure for me to win best mother award or anything like that).

Apparently, I am not alone. Two moms, two suicides, two sets of children left wondering. I was certain I recognized the grown son of one of the women, he was so familiar to me. It took several days, then I knew it was his grief I recognized, not him personally. aay. It was a crappy week here.

Suicide by helium. There's a new one. A chaplain was here for another service (meth addicted dad found in field, hmm) and he told us about a house call he'd gone on with the police on mother's day. The woman died by putting a plastic bag over her head and hooking up a tank of helium to it. Apparently it's supposed to make for a calm death, no struggling or panicking when you don't get air. I don't know if that's true, but I do know it turns you green. Weird. Anyway it didn't take long for us to realize that she was one of our suicide moms. One grown child, three minor children. What a selfish thing to do.

Suicide by train. Yep, I said train. We were thinking she'd be in three sections: head, torso, legs, but she wasn't. She looked fine except for the head injury and even it didn't look fatal. Guess it was. So, my daughter told me that her friend's dad is who found this woman. He works for the railroad, repairs signal lights that go out. He got the call that a light was out and went to repair it and there she was. The signal being out was unrelated. He was pretty messed up about the whole thing. I told my daughter not to tell him it was suicide, that would really push him over, I'd think. Guess this one had been threatening for years, suffered from mental illness. It's a little easier for me than the helium one. But still, next mother's day for these children (adult or not) will suck. I can't imagine on my worst day being that selfish and thinking so little of my children. I just don't understand it. As my little grandson would say "di-sgusting", the word is all drawn out as he shakes his small red head, hands on hips. It's what I say too, "di-sgusting".

Afraid of the living, not the dead

I am still shaking like a leaf. I had a little excitement here this morning. Some guy came in and wanted info on cremating his mom. He made me nervous from the start, because he didn’t have a car, he smelled bad, and he was jittery. I actually thought I might have bad breath or something, cuz he startled a little when I handed him a price list, so I thought I must really have coffee breath. Then he asked to use the facilities. I realized after a few minutes when he was making quite a bit of noise that he’d left the bathroom but he didn’t come up to the front to go out. At the ten minute mark I called Steve, who didn’t think much of it but still chatted with me for a few minutes so I wasn't nervous. He laughed that I should've realized when the guy was taking in a paperback that he'd be awhile. At the twenty minute mark, I could hear him in the back. I was scared and called Steve back. He stayed on the line while I looked in the bathroom, but the guy wasn’t there. I could hear him in the building in the back room, so hung up from Steve and called 911. As I was hanging up from them, a pastor (who used to be a cop) came in. I’d never met him before, but as soon as he said pastor, I was trying to hold back tears and told him I’d just hung up from 911 and that someone was in the building. He was very nice and went thru the building with me but we didn’t find the guy. I think he went out the back while I was talking to the operator, cuz I could still hear him when I first called. Part of me still doesn’t actually believe that he went out, but I’m sure he probably did as we’ve looked everywhere (several times by now). Anyway, a policeman came and he knew the pastor, which made me feel even better. ) I was pretty shook up, but now my funeral director is back and it’s much better. I was shaking for over an hour. Funny that it’s not the dead who scare me as much as the living here! It’s not the best neighborhood and I’m often here alone and weird people seem to be drawn here. What a combination.

young mom

It’s the funeral now of a young mom and wife. We’ve got a full house. Her husband and young son came in last week to talk about some arrangements, because she was sick and dying. The husband is a big teddy bear of a man and when he cried, geez, it was all I could do to not. They’ve stuck in my heart, the man and boy who are left behind. After she died, he brought in clothes, jewelry, and makeup for her. It’s a beautiful dress, but not entirely great for a casket, shows too much skin. He asked us to make her beautiful, one last time. Yesterday, I helped Tom with her makeup. Yep, I’ve come a long way from my first week here. She’s actually the first person who I’ve touched, well personally like that. I mean, I’ve touched people, but it’s to move them, not to actually touch them. A family friend did her hair and Tom did her makeup, but I wanted to help, so he let me. He does great makeup and it wasn’t that I thought I could do it better, I can’t, I just wanted to do something for her. Lipstick doesn’t go on well over the waxy stuff on her lips. It wouldn’t stick as well as I’d have liked. She still looked very nice though. Her mom, today, thought she looked wonderful. I’m glad she was so pleased. I haven’t talked to her husband today, probably won’t, it’s my job to sit quietly, answer phones, and smile as people peer in my window. Mom was a wail-er, boy did she wail…loudly. Maybe I would too if it were my child, I don’t know. The sister is talking about her now with a bunch of girlfriends. They’ve got really fun stories about her, the laughter stops abruptly and the tears begin again. The group disperses quietly with murmurs of bathroom stops before going to the cemetery. It’s a beautiful sunny day, for that I’m glad. She was so young to die, it’s nice to see that she’s sent off in sunshine. From the conversations I overhear, the young woman would be very pleased with the weather. The boy runs through here with some other children as though he owns the place, he’s king for the day and he knows it. I’m glad this has turned out so well, the husband will be able to remember it as a wonderful send off.

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