Paying the Morgue-age

Aunt Florence looked great. Well, I should say, she looked great for a dead person. Her bright, gray hair was brushed straight down by her sides. It seemed to glisten under the Myer’s Funeral Home lights as I inched closer to the front. She wore a tidy pantsuit, tucked in on the sides, with her arms folded gently in front of her. I swear she looked better than I had seen her in years. Gone were the skin blemishes that made her look haunted and hollow. She looked at least fifteen years younger. Funny, how we can attempt to look the best we can day-in-and-out but fall short until we are laid out, dead and gone, being spoken about, and pointed to for an hour service before we’re buried forever. You did it, Aunt Florence, unfortunately you won’t know about it here on earth.

“Hey, big guy, heard you were struggling a little in the job market?” My cousin Ronald whispered, while still moving up in line, in front of me.

I hope if I just nod, he won’t say anything else. Why would he mention this when we’re both a few people in front of the casket?

Ronald gets up to the front of the line and then steps to the side when we reach the casket and turns his back to the seated mourners, positioning himself to my left, while leaving me enough room to turn toward the maroon casket that holds Florence. We both placed our hands, crossed in front of us as we stand looking at her dead body, like we’re contemplating buying a used car.

“I think I might have something for you. It might not pay as well as you’ve been making but it’s in an industry that’s never going to go down, Life insurance.” The irony of Ronald telling me about a job in the insurance industry while standing in front of my dead Aunt makes me chuckle a bit, then I try and make it seem like it was a cough that I covered with my left hand.

“She looks great, doesn’t she?” Mr. Chatty was right, so I nodded my agreement and turned to allow other people the chance to see Florence’s final modeling show.

Ronald turned and seem to follow my steps exactly and I felt the need to acknowledge him, hoping our job conversation will end.

“Sounds good. Can we talk after?” I whispered out of the side of my mouth.

“Sure. But don’t forget because this job won’t last. It’s a prime job you can bank your future on. I only say this because your mom sounded worried about your prospects.”

Ah, here’s the reason for the conversation.

I looked toward the back part of the room and noticed my mother, Aunt Florence’s younger sister, waiving me back toward an open seat.

My mom is obsessed with me getting a solid job. So much so, she’s already spread the fact that I’m struggling throughout the whole funeral. The embarrassment covers me like a heavy blanket as I walk toward the back. I see faces of relatives, some I know, others I have no idea who they are, looking at me with pity. I’m not dead and yet I seem to be garnering more attention than the lady upfront in the casket.

I slide into the aisle seat next to my loving mom. “Mom! Why did you tell Ronald I need a job?” I whispered, forcibly.

“Oh honey, it’s alright. Ronald has had great success in insurance and I just thought he could help get you into the industry.”

“And how many other people know about my job struggles?” I inquired, while accepting a piece of gum she found in her industrial size purse.

“Honey, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. These people are all family. Well, I think most of them are. I recognize some from your father’s funeral.” My father’s funeral took place two years before in the same room, at the same funeral home. The only funeral home on our side of town. I think this might be the fourth event I’ve attended here in the last few years. Mr. Myers runs it, and his dad ran it before him. I played football with his son, Chuck, and I’m guessing he won’t be following in his dad’s shoes. Chuck has a problem with Oxycodone and the last I heard he was back east in a maximum penitentiary facility for armed robbery.

“Shouldn’t you be sitting up front with the family?” I inquired, hoping I could sit by myself.

“You know I don’t do well at funerals. I’d rather be back here.”

“So, you can escape?” with this comment, I got a leg slap, which used to sting more when I was younger but now just tells me to shut up. That’s exactly why we’re in the back though. My mom will slip out of here so fast, people’s heads will spin. She’s always had that kind of relationship with her family. She recognizes that she’s related but not in public so much. I think it had something to do with her mother and the pressures she put on her, which my mom now puts on me. DNA is a hell of a thing, isn’t it? We hate most of the stuff passed on to us, but we fall right into step when we need to.

Suddenly a loud wail of sorrow explodes at the front of the room. I look up to see one of my other Aunts, Beverly, leaning over the casket beating Aunt Florence, like she’s giving her CPR. Knowing this wouldn’t work, I instinctually jump up and head to the front. Once there, I put my arm around her shoulder, and she turns and cries into my jacket sleeve.

“Oh, Douglas! She looks so good, doesn’t she? Like she can just talk to me at any moment.” She gets most of this out followed by an explosion of tears and snot as I hold her tightly. I look out to the gathered group sitting and move Aunt Beverly over to the row where my other Aunts and Uncles sit. I gently lower her down and kiss her cheek, then make my way back to my mother.

“Oh, what a scene!” my mother exclaims while moving her purse for me to sit down again. ‘That was so nice of you. I’m sure Beverly appreciated that.” 

“It didn’t seem like anyone was moving. I mean, you can’t leave her up there beating her dead sister.”

Someone taps my left shoulder and I turn to see it’s Mr. Myers holding a stack of programs. “Would you help me pass these out, Douglas?”

I grab half the stack and make my way to the front, passing a stack of programs to each row. The picture of Aunt Florence on the front cover is how I remember my Aunt. The hollowness is back in her face. Under her face are the dates: January 15, 1942 – April 20, 2019. 77 years she was on this earth.

As I finished passing out the programs, I sat down to notice the southern Baptist preacher making his way to the podium, next to my aunt’s casket. I believe his name is Pastor Williams but I’m not completely confident in that. I’ve heard him preach on a couple of occasions and I remember struggling to stay awake. I always think of Jesus yelling at his disciples for not staying awake during his prayers and I can’t help but feel guilty for dozing during a sermon.

“I have to use the bathroom” I whisper to my mom right before I slip out the back door of the room. I notice her look but I wasn’t about to stay and risk sleeping during his talk.

The door closes behind me just as the preacher asks for heads bowed to start a prayer. I wind my way around the mid-70’s looking carpeted hallway and look for the men’s room. As I’m walking, I notice an office opened and Mr. Myers reading my Aunt’s program.

“Douglas, how are you?” I stop and poke my head in. “As good as can be expected Mr. Myers, how are you?” This will fill time so I can miss most of the sermon.

“Business has been brisk lately but it’s always hard to be excited about my business picking up. I’m sorry to hear about your Aunt. I remember her from the neighborhood, growing up.” He looked off, fondly.  

I think they dated a couple of times before he met his wife, but I won’t bring that up now.

“Missed Chuck at our 25^th reunion.” Just as I said this, I remembered why Chuck had missed our reunion and I wish I could have taken it back, open mouth, insert foot.

“He’s still got a few years left in Illinois, but I get a letter every now and then. I’m glad to hear you never got involved in that pill shit.” A good way to describe it.

“No sir, not me.”

Our conversation came to a natural pause and I began to turn and head out.

“Say, Douglas. What are you doing now? For work?” For a second I think he’s heard my mom talking about her concerns, but I ignore it as a coincidence. 

“Right now, I’m kind of in-between jobs.” Sounds a lot better than, I got fired.

“Have you ever thought about the funeral business? You seem to be good with people. Sounds kind of funny but being good with people is an especially important part of working at a funeral home.”

“I guess I’ve never thought about it before.”

Mr. Myers jumps up from his chair, grabs his jacket, and heads for his door, “Walk with me, Douglas.”

He rounds the corner to the right and makes his way down a winding hallway and I try and follow right behind him. For a short guy, he has incredibly long strides.

On the far East side of the building, there’s a door with a frosted glass window marked private. Mr. Myers flips out a big ring of keys and places one into the door handle and turns and opens it in one move. I step in behind him, but not too far until he turns the light on.

Sitting in the middle of the room are two long, flat gurneys with white sheets draped over, what looks to be bodies. Each one has tubes coming out from under the sheet that’s pumping liquid.

“This is where we stage the bodies. By stage, I mean this is where we inject formaldehyde, and we correct any blemishes for them to be laid out for their final viewing.”

“I was going to say my aunt hasn’t looked as good as she does now for a while,” I added, as a weird compliment.

“Well, thank you. I take great pride in my job and it brings me great happiness in knowing the loved ones get to see a proper goodbye. That’s a part of the job you can’t explain to people unless they work in a funeral home. When you think about it, our product, that we sell, that we perform is for a deceased customer. So, the only way we can judge if we achieve what we desire is by the looks on the faces of the family and friends.”

Mr. Myers pulls back a sheet and reveals the head of an older man. He stops before he gets past the chest area.

“This is Mr. James Tucker, he died two days ago from a pulmonary aneurysm. His family is having a viewing tomorrow night.”

I stepped closer to the gurney and looked at the color in his cheeks. It wasn’t Rosie but it looked a lot better than someone who died two days ago.

“It’s funny, I could see him sit up and just start talking right here.”

“Well, Douglas, let’s hope that doesn’t happen. We will still put color make-up on parts to draw out the right reflection. The family gives us pictures.” He hands me a snapshot of the same man I’m looking at, in happier times. I look at the picture and then back at the body a few times. I think about all the pictures I’ve taken and which one they’ll use to stage me.

Mr. Myers pulls the sheet back over Mr. Tucker’s face and turns to head back to the door. I walk back through, followed by Mr. Myers, who locks it back up and heads back around to his office. We step back in and sit back where we started.

“It’s always been my desire to have Chuck take over the business, but I realize that probably won’t happen now. Plus, he doesn’t seem that interested. I saw how you handled the distraught lady by the casket, and I was super impressed. I tell you what, think about it and stop by Monday morning and we can talk more about what would be expected out of you for the job. But I tell you, my gut is usually not wrong, I have a good feeling about you coming to work for me. And who knows, you could take this over one day.”

I suddenly find myself in a bit of a daze, and without anything else to say, I thank him for the offer and headed to the bathroom.

The rest of the night was filled with my mind churning. A funeral home? Me working at a funeral home. I don’t think I have a problem with dead people. At least Mr. Tucker and my Aunt didn’t phase me. I can see their faces if I concentrate on it and it makes me smile to think that their families would be happy to know they were taken care of.

Mom kept trying to push the insurance business on me the rest of the weekend, but I couldn’t get the thought of the satisfaction of performing a job a lot of people would not want to do.

I look in my rear-view mirror and practice before heading in to meet with Mr. Myers on Monday. “I’m so sorry for your loss. Please accept my sympathy. They look at peace.”

Who would have thought?

Welcome to my new life, working with dead people.