Our high school’s guidance office had a Career Room. Students could sit in there and research different professions, all arranged on large cards in a file box. One of the careers was Mortician, and I remember wondering, who chooses that? What kind of eighteen-year-old, with a bright and promising future spread out before them, says, “Should I work with dead people?”
Most of us are instinctively repelled by death, even at an early age. Ask a six-year-old girl what she wants to be when she grows up and you won’t find many who mention undertaker.
In the struggle between Life and Death, we almost always prefer Life. Death has several drawbacks. For one thing, it’s forever. That’s a long commitment, one we’re not used to making.
You can divide time into three parts. There was that period before you existed, which was really long, but eventually ended at your birth. Then came your life, which, as you know, is also going to end someday. And there’s death, that time during which you will be gone, and gone for the rest of eternity. It’s that last part that gives death its negative reputation: it never ends.
It’s a strange concept, eternity. We understand that there was a time when we weren’t here. We look at photographs of Abraham Lincoln and we realize that when those pictures were taken, the world was doing fine without us. We weren’t there, and no one knew we weren’t there. We didn’t even know we weren’t there. But then we were born and we became aware of ourselves. We don’t remember a time when we weren’t alive. (We don’t even remember being in the womb, which is strange because when else have you spent nine straight months in one spot doing the same thing?) We don’t remember being born either. It seems as though we’ve always been here, and inconceivable that we won’t always be here.
Another drawback of death is that we have no idea what it’s like. Do we go somewhere? If so, where exactly? Some people claim they know, but no one really does. It’s the not knowing that I hate, because maybe we don’t go anywhere. Maybe we die and that’s it. In that case, the people who believed they’d go somewhere never find out they were wrong, and the people who thought they wouldn’t go somewhere never find out they were right. It’s the ultimate injustice.
Some people also say we should embrace death, that it’s a natural part of life. No, it isn’t. Death is the end of life. That’s why it’s called death. People who say death is a part of life have never been dead. They aren’t speaking from experience. They’re just trying to make themselves feel better.
All of our death-related behaviors have at their core some measure of fear. No matter how old we get or how much we learn, death remains incomprehensible. When I was seven, my father took me to the cemetery to visit his father’s grave. I had been named after my grandfather. We had the same first, middle, and last names. My father had explained this to me more than once. Still, it was a shock when I looked at my grandfather’s headstone and saw my own name there. I remember not being able to move my feet as the image of those carved letters burned itself into my fragile little mind. We stood there for just minutes, but I can still sense the emotional damage.
Three years later, my maternal grandmother died. By then I had become an altar boy at our church and was asked to help serve the funeral mass. My job was to follow the priest around while carrying a huge candle. When combined with its brass holder, the candle was taller than I was and I had trouble holding it straight. But I kept trying, worried I’d bump into the priest and equally worried I’d do something to put out the flame. Several relatives later remarked on the tears they saw running down my face, and how touched they were by my display of grief. I was sad, but mostly it was the hot wax dripping onto my hands.
During the decades that have since passed, I’ve been to dozens of wakes and funerals. Every one has made me feel as though I’d been plucked from reality and dropped somewhere else, caught in a strange and disturbing kink in the flow of life. The questions never go away, because they never get answered.
Sometimes people have Near-Death Experiences. They die for a little while, then come back to life and tell us all how beautiful it was and how they no longer fear death. I don’t think this counts. Maybe when we appear to die, our brains stay on for a little while, the way those old black-and-white television screens used to have a little gray dot that slowly faded away after you turned off the set. Near-death experiences, then, might just be stored memories of summer camp and trips to Disneyland. Stay dead for a week or two, then come back, and maybe I’ll listen.
I learned about Heaven and Hell when I was very young. They told us that in Heaven we would never feel unhappy. But they also told us that most people would not make it into Heaven. What kind of reward was this that had many of my family and friends going to Hell? How could I avoid feeling unhappy about it? Maybe I would just forget about them, and focus instead on my own eternal bliss. But wasn’t that exactly the kind of person who wasn’t supposed to get to Heaven in the first place?
Reincarnation is a tremendously entertaining idea, although I think it’s something we made up to console ourselves. “Things will be better in the next life.” But at least reincarnation involves recycling, which is very popular these days. What about cemeteries? I used to wonder what would happen when we ran out of land. If we kept burying people, eventually there’d be no place to put them. Then what? I still haven’t quite resolved this question, and imagine a day in the distant future when they bury the last person and the gravedigger says, “Well, that’s it. We’re full.”
Then there’s Cryonics, the practice of freezing people right after they die and storing their bodies in stainless steel tanks filled with liquid nitrogen. The premise is that someday medicine will find a cure for what killed them, and then they can be simply brought back to life and treated for the now curable disease. The catch, of course, is that while we’ve figured out how to cure a lot of diseases, we’ve never even come close to bringing someone back from the dead, and we probably never will. Plus, they freeze only your head, which for $28,000, seems like (if you’ll pardon the expression) something of a rip-off. At around one-tenth the cost, cremation is much more affordable, although it doesn’t offer the same return on your investment.
All of our methods for dealing with dead bodies sound uncomfortable. They involve intense cold, vaporizing heat, burial in the ground, or storage in some kind of little stone building. They’re hard to think about. Maybe this is why we have so many euphemisms for death. He passed away. She went to her eternal rest. They’re up there right now, smiling down on us. That’s one of the advantages of being alive. We can tell ourselves anything we want about death, and no one knows any more than we do. Except those smart high school graduates who chose Mortuary Science as a career. They’ve had their whole lives to get used to the idea.
Happy Halloween.
Betty Londergan
October 31, 2010
oooh, so creepy! I see Dead People!!! actually, your simple way of putting things: death isn’t a part of life, it’s the end of life… was so hilariously true, i’ll never hear that cliche the same way again. And when you asked what was the use of being so happy in heaven when most of the (really fun) people you knew hadn’t made the cut … and if you didn’t care, why were you in heaven in the first place .. I just busted out laughing. I think you need to be working at the vatican!
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bronxboy55
November 1, 2010
The Vatican — that’s the one place I haven’t tried! Thanks for the tip, Betty, and the nice comment.
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cooperstownersincanada
October 31, 2010
A smart, humorous look at a dark subject. Very appropriate on Halloween. You have certainly made me think about death — in a good way though 🙂 Well, you know what I mean 🙂
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bronxboy55
November 1, 2010
It’s interesting that during the rest of the year we go out of our way to treat death in such a sterile and fearful manner (or we ignore it completely), and then on this one day we go to the other extreme. Halloween is the only time we feel comfortable with blood, severed body parts, skeletons, and cemeteries. Maybe it’s a healthy outlet.
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Marie M
October 31, 2010
Very, very good–both entertaining and thought-provoking, a combination you are well on your way towards mastering. May I share this with my colleagues? You know what we do for a living . . . .
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bronxboy55
November 1, 2010
Marie, you have unlimited permission to share anything from this blog. And thank you, as always, for your encouragement.
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Earth Ocean Sky Redux
November 1, 2010
Like another, I came to your site from Betty’s What Gives 365. This thread is wonderful, so well written, and the thought of hot wax dripping down your hands at your grandmother’s funeral mass……hysterical! Good blog!
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bronxboy55
November 1, 2010
Thanks, EOSR. I’m glad you liked it, and hope you’ll be back. I just visited your blog and was equally impressed. You seem to have a sharp eye for spotting the absurdities of life (so there should always be plenty to write about).
Let’s keep in touch.
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Earth Ocean Sky Redux
November 1, 2010
For sure.
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jharris
November 2, 2010
Charles – i am sure you’ve heard of Pascal’s Wager? you’ve done a neat trick in turning that inside out. “Maybe we die and that’s it” — but maybe we die and that’s not it. It’s the ultimate open-ended essay question on an entrance exam to a school we’re not sure exists but think we really might want to get into if it does.
i really like so many of your lines in here — “become aware of ourselves” and “people who say death is a part of life have never been dead.” it’s the unknowable. and i think that’s what makes us all so crazy.
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bronxboy55
November 2, 2010
Pascal’s Wager was more about the existence of God and the possible results of believing or not believing. So yes, my argument is inside out: if you don’t believe in an afterlife and you’re wrong, you actually win, because you find out that there is something after death. Unless of course it’s set up in such a way that you end up going where you believe you’ll go.
I periodically tell myself that the unknowable isn’t worth thinking about. (What will the distant future be like? What do planets in other galaxies look like? What’s going on in my cat’s brain?) But it’s too much fun to not think about. Isn’t it?
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Kissie
November 2, 2010
What can I say, you are an awesome writer. It takes a lot to draw me in and keep me there. Twitter has ruined my attention span and you are the kryptonite, good grief!
Great observations! (if you ask me … I think you kinda did)
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bronxboy55
November 2, 2010
Thanks, Kissie. I don’t believe I’ve ever been called Kryptonite before. That’s good, right?
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Mitch
November 4, 2010
Dag, I had to read this one; ugh! This is a topic that I have my issues with, but one thing I’ve noticed is that the older we get, the better we handle it because we start getting closer to that point where a lot of our friends start going away, and we’re thankful that it’s not us yet.
As to what you said at the beginning, when I was in school you took a test that then told you what jobs your responses lead you to. Mine said I should have been a radio DJ; of all things!
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bronxboy55
November 4, 2010
I think we also appreciate the time more as we get older, because we understand that we don’t have an infinite amount of it.
Given your interest in music, I’m not surprised about the DJ result. Have you ever considered it?
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dearrosie
November 4, 2010
I agree: “What kind of eighteen-year-old, says, “Should I work with dead people?”
One of the teenagers who baby-sat for our children was a very quiet, solemn boy who knew, from his early teens, that when he left school he was going to work in a funeral parlor. Which as you said, is VERY weird, and of course made Mr F and I nervous to leave our kids with him! We did in the end because other neighbors vouched for him, and he was fine. Though very serious.
I ran into him a few years after he’d graduated from mortician college (or whatever it was called) He was working in a funeral parlor, and was so very HAPPY!
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bronxboy55
November 4, 2010
I guess it’s like any other product or service: if there’s a need there’s going to be a demand, and if there’s a demand there’s going to be someone there to meet it. And that’s one business that will never run out of customers. Still, I think it takes a special kind of person to do that work.
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arborfamiliae
November 4, 2010
My three-times-great uncle, Henry Shaw, worked for a local undertaker in the late 1800s. When he took his own life on November 16, 1900, he left this note: “Dear Dr. Eber K. Watts, Coroner, Dear Sir, I have made up my mind to take my own life. Not that I am tired of it, for no one enjoyed life any better than I did, but I am cornered financially and cannot get out. So please turn my body over to Harry Downing. I want him to embalm me and take me or have me taken to Cincinnati and cremated, and my ashes brought back and strewn over the top of my dear old mother’s grave. Should anything happen that Harry Downing should be out of the city, then get Wilson & Pohlmeyer. Goodbye, Doctor. Henry C. Shaw.” Then on the back, he wrote: “I am going to take two ounces of laudanum, and hope that will do the work. I don’t want you to hold an autopsy on my body. I have seen so much of it that I would not like it on me. If possible, please don’t do it. Henry.”
I found this interesting–especially with respect to your post–because of his strong concern about what happens to his body after he’s gone. Even as he is letting go of his life, he’s holding on and has specific plans for what he wants to do after he’s dead (i.e., be strewn over his dear old mother’s grave). It also shows how being an undertaker must have scarred him.
Thanks for your interesting and thoughtful post.
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bronxboy55
November 4, 2010
Do you know how old Henry was when he died? I wonder what he was going through, and how he managed to write in such a clear-headed and methodical manner right before ending his own life. He must have felt completely powerless. Maybe leaving instructions for the coroner gave him one final feeling of control.
Thank you for the interesting and thoughtful comment.
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arborfamiliae
November 4, 2010
Henry was about 45 years old. The newspaper story reporting his death is filled with interesting and poignant phrases. For instance: “It is said by Mr. Shaw’s most intimate friends that his financial troubles of which he speaks were more imagined than real. His indebtedness, while undoubtedly a source of much worry to him, was not of great magnitude.” Alcohol was also a factor in his demise.
The feeling of control is almost always an illusion of one degree or another, but certainly feeling that we have any control after death is just ridiculous. Two days after the story ran in the newspaper with the suicide note posted above, the paper reported his funeral with a few lines ending with “The internment will be at Elkhorn.” It doesn’t say whether the autopsy was performed or not. In the end, he was powerless.
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bronxboy55
November 4, 2010
Is it possible that he was just susceptible to depression, and that had it not been imagined financial trouble, it would have been something else? It’s a sad story, no matter what.
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shoreacres
November 5, 2010
What a remarkable experience you had – to see your own name upon a gravestone. Even for an adult, I can imagine such a thing would cause, as they say, a pause in the action. 😉
Actually, one of the best parties I ever attended (in Houston, about 20 years ago, with a group of very good friends) devolved into writing our own epitaphs. An entymologist from the University of Houston said she’d like her stone to say, “Stop Bugging Me”. And a married couple who both worked at an Austin tv station said they’d like one stone, with matching outlines of tv screens and the words “Stay Tuned. We’ll be Right Back.”
I had my own choice, of course. I think it would be lovely to have a grave marked with the usual info and the phrase, “She Varnished From Our Sight”.
🙂
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bronxboy55
November 6, 2010
Would you also include some kind of boat graphic, just so people wouldn’t be wondering if “Varnished” was a mistake?
I’d prefer to be cremated, but that does take the fun out of having a personalized gravestone — and the last word. Maybe I can combine cremation with skywriting and have my ashes ejected from an airplane to spell out something profound, like “I Am the Message.” Or, “Look Out Below!”
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partialview
November 7, 2010
An extremely interesting take on this ‘concept’. Love your humour. And my over-active imagination also sees some veiled double meanings at places. (in the womb, not moving, doing the same thing for nine months).
I do believe cremation is an environmentally friendly option. Or there are others that Parsis and Tibetan Buddhists practise. Feeding the body to vultures. How noble. And sustainable.
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bronxboy55
November 8, 2010
It’s understandably difficult for most of us to accept the idea that physical sensation ceases when the brain dies. When I think about burial in the ground, my mind goes straight to thoughts of claustrophobia and cold. Cremation is less terrifying, but not much. Being fed to vultures seems both rational and horrifying. The only acceptable solution I can come up with is immortality. And I know living forever would introduce a whole new set of problems, but at least I wouldn’t have to give up pizza. Any suggestions?
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partialview
November 8, 2010
For living forever? Well, blimey. Lots of them. About how not to miss on pizza when dead? There is just one. Take Betty’s suggestion and work for the Vatican. Proximity and life (with pizza, I hope) after death.
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bronxboy55
November 8, 2010
I knew I could count on you!
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Val Erde
November 14, 2010
I love the way you can take a serious subject and lighten it. It’s something I’ve thought about myself, too (I suspect a lot of us do).
Years back when an aunt of mine died and I went to her memorial service some words were spoken that really made me quite anxious. I can’t quote them directly as I’m not a ‘bible-y’ sort of person, (and don’t even know what I believe, exactly) but to paraphrase, we were told that she’d been ‘returned to God’. And I thought – what? No way!! We’re on loan from God, like library books!
Do you think that if I overstay my welcome in life, I’ll have to pay some sort of fine?
😉
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bronxboy55
November 14, 2010
Well, the video stores have stopped charging late fees. I would expect God to be at least as understanding as Blockbuster.
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