A Life Once Lived

"Really? Really? Well.. that's uh... good for you."

"Oh, I guess someone has to?"

"Whoa, that's gotta be interesting."

Audrey was well versed in the dichotomy of reactions of either disturbed and disinterested or morbidly curious. Neither provided comfort or reassurance. She didn't know herself why she did what she did. It was a job. Bills had to be paid, money had to be earned, people had to die, and others had to tidy it all up. She had long left the wave of nausea accompanying the task, the stomach flip of more gruesome sights, or the reality of inevitable decay - her tasks had become clinical and emotionless. In fact, the silence and loneliness of solitary work had grown to comfort her. She was alone with her thoughts and this provided much peace.

The world outside had become more and more chaotic and Audrey was not adjusting well.

"If you think about it, really think, then it's an honor what we do here. We are the last human hands to touch the remains and we do so with respect and reverence. A life once lived, regardless of how it was lived, is a miracle and we must never forget that."

Her father explained this to her as she stood, a young child, on his wooden desk chair observing the intricate process. The pale, dry skin slowly losing its softness. The thick aroma of chemicals filling her nose and causing a faint burn in the back of her throat. The comforting squeeze of her father's hand on hers and friendly wink that calmed her breathing. Even then, she knew it was more than mere quality time, it was his teaching. A passing of his legacy. One day, she would wear the medical coat and honor the bodies that lay in front of her, thin cloths hiding their modest parts. Her father had died a proud mortician, well known in the area as the man to go to during tragedies. He prepared the bodies as per request and held his head high to do so. But he was more than that - so much more.

He was the warm hug, the soft shoulder, the reassuring head nod to so many folks in town. Mourners would come visit, long after business was completed; Audrey would often find her father consoling people in the sitting room. Cups of tea, biscuit crumbs, and damp tissues were a common, almost daily, sight. Audrey did not understand at first, but she knew, her father was somehow incredibly important to these people. The reverie was practically contagious and she found herself walking proud, holding his hand, making eye contact with all passerby's. This strong, loving, kind father of hers was so much more and she knew it well before she understood it.

"Isn't that kinda... uh.. depressing?"

This question arose often. Most people did not know how to react to death. It was understandable. Most people linger in a desperate shock mixed with deep deep sadness. Western culture does not know how to process death and it's now Audrey's turn to guide others along the path to the other side. Audrey had been a mortician for years but still was uncertain if her warm looks, kind words, and knowing silence were of any comfort to her clients. She trusted her instincts and let them lead her through each interaction. At first, she felt confident in her ways, assured that she had been both professional and helpful. But lately, she was riddled with uncertainty. It all stemmed from a tiring conversation a few weeks back.

“You’re a mortician?”

“Yes, yes I am.”

Her aunt had arranged a blind date with her neighbour. Normally, Audrey was equipped with a myriad of credible excuses, but it had been a long day and quite honestly, she welcomed the distraction.

“Hmmm, well that’s a huge responsibility. It’s must weigh you down over time.”

“Uh, well, yes, it can be emotionally draining, but it’s also surprisingly hopeful. There’s something sacred about being there for the grieving. The time spent together is so precious.”

He paused, considering her words.

“Were you trained? I’d imagine there’d be a psychological component, not wanting to cause any harm to your clients.”

“Harm?”

“Yes, harm. A person is so vulnerable when they’re experiencing loss.”

“Uh, yes, well I suppose so.” She took a sip of water as her discomfort grew. This man across from her seemed almost confrontational.

“I mean, a person grieving is so fragile and you could say anything. You could impose certain beliefs, moral righteousness. You could create a massive sense of guilt, possible traumatizing the client.”

“Well, I don’t think I – “

“The ramifications are massive. I’d imagine things could get incredibly messy.”

“Perhaps, but I try to comfort the client based on the individual. I provide more of a… a listening ear.”

Her date seemed to be lost in his own thoughts. She wondered if he’d experienced loss of his own. Maybe he was still grieving?

“Anyway, enough of that. I’d love to see you again.”

She almost choked on her bread.

“Oh, um, sure, that sounds great.”

From that moment onward, the date was quite typical – a kind thank you, an exchanging of numbers, an awkward hug farewell, and a small peck on the cheek.

Audrey walked to the train station, letting the cool autumn breeze envelop her face, gently stinging her cheeks. He was an unusual man and she wasn’t quite sure of her overall impression. He seemed genuinely interested in her line of work; certainly not put off in any way. But he also reacted quite intensely, as if she had wronged him somehow. She shook her head, deciding to chalk it up to first date nerves and give him the benefit of the doubt.

But she could not shake his words, nor had she for weeks.

An older lady came in clearly in shock and unable to make decisions. Audrey found herself stopping mid-sentence while trying to provide some comfort. Thinking carefully over her words, she wasn’t sure if they held a religious stance and would somehow influence this poor woman. She bit her tongue and scanned her thoughts for words but was fruitless. She just shook her head and offered condolences. Weak, empty condolences that every other person had offered this woman.

That night, for the first time in years, Audrey pondered the life she had led and whether or not it was the path for her.

‘A life once lived, regardless of how it was lived, is a miracle and we must never forget that.’ Her father’s words played on repeat in her mind.

She began to focus on the phrase ‘regardless of how it was lived,’ ‘regardless, regardless, regardless.’ She’d never focused on that part of the phrase; it had always been the fact that a life was a miracle that she’d clung to. But now, her father’s words took on a new meaning and she realized that, within the teaching of prepping the body, embalming, dressing, and enhancing the features, her father was preparing her for the life of a mortician but also offering permission to not.

‘A life once lived, regardless of how it was lived, is a miracle and we must never forget that.’

Audrey did not go to work the next day.