This is more autobiographical than I'd like to admit.
Nowadays, I can't stand silence.
Even when I'm trying to sleep, I need something on in the background. If I don't, I can hear the screaming in the back of my mind.
Everyone has one of those moments that sticks with them for a while. Mine is the dead husband in the basement.
Standing in a room with a dead body is a strange feeling. I'm not talking about at a funeral home. I'm talking about the wife of 40 years discovering her husband dead in the basement and calling 911.
You can look at the body and think, "this guy was up and talking less than two hours ago. he had plans for today."
Dependent lividity is what they call the blood pooling in the lowest-lying parts of your body. It makes your skin look purple. Everyone knows what rigor mortis is. He had both.
The body isn't the problem here. It's the family.
In quiet moments, I can hear them. I can hear the wife screaming when we pulled up. I can hear her reaction when the chief came out and gave her his condolences. I can visualize the son entering the house, embarrassed to cry in front of the firemen.
I can't get the wife's phone call to her daughter out of my head.
"Hey honey. I've got some bad news." Like she was calling to tell her dinner was cancelled.
Standing there with the body, I notice the smell. I can't begin to describe it.
We don't talk. The only sound is the wife sobbing and trying to figure out how this happened. The ECG beeps. Flat line. Triple zero. No reason to try to resuscitate. If the wife was in the room, we would have tried. Only for show. To give her hope.
So I resort to sound to keep my mind occupied.
At least I'm not being haunted by ghosts.
Even when I'm trying to sleep, I need something on in the background. If I don't, I can hear the screaming in the back of my mind.
Everyone has one of those moments that sticks with them for a while. Mine is the dead husband in the basement.
Standing in a room with a dead body is a strange feeling. I'm not talking about at a funeral home. I'm talking about the wife of 40 years discovering her husband dead in the basement and calling 911.
You can look at the body and think, "this guy was up and talking less than two hours ago. he had plans for today."
Dependent lividity is what they call the blood pooling in the lowest-lying parts of your body. It makes your skin look purple. Everyone knows what rigor mortis is. He had both.
The body isn't the problem here. It's the family.
In quiet moments, I can hear them. I can hear the wife screaming when we pulled up. I can hear her reaction when the chief came out and gave her his condolences. I can visualize the son entering the house, embarrassed to cry in front of the firemen.
I can't get the wife's phone call to her daughter out of my head.
"Hey honey. I've got some bad news." Like she was calling to tell her dinner was cancelled.
Standing there with the body, I notice the smell. I can't begin to describe it.
We don't talk. The only sound is the wife sobbing and trying to figure out how this happened. The ECG beeps. Flat line. Triple zero. No reason to try to resuscitate. If the wife was in the room, we would have tried. Only for show. To give her hope.
So I resort to sound to keep my mind occupied.
At least I'm not being haunted by ghosts.