The Funeral Director

My other girl (Milly) spread the modesty cloth over Mrs. Santiago. She took the extra time to make sure Mrs Santiago was modestly covered and her legs were closed.

Next was the washing. I started the hose. While I was waiting for the water to warm (more about that later), I reminded the girls to put on rubber gloves. I let them handle the remains that first time without gloves, only to let them experience the feeling of dead flesh. But health department rules require gloves.

The girls returned all protected. I introduced them to Mrs. Santiago. "Mrs. Santiago these are your bath attendants. The brunette is Milly and the dirty blond is Sally. If there is something you need or want don't hesitate to ask either of them. Now is the water warm enough? "

"Sally please let Mrs Santiago pick out which soap she'd like."

I got no strange looks.

Sally jumped up and ran to the shelf I keep the fancy soaps on. Milly helped with the selection. They would take a bar out of the container, each smell it, and then put it under Mrs. Santiago's nose. They ended up picking one of my favorite scents.

I let the girls wash their charge. It took them almost an hour, but as they washed, they talked to Mrs. Santiago,

I could see a bond forming.

After they dried her off, I gave them the moisturizing cream. I explained that this would keep Mrs Santiago from drying out. They first needed to use the heavy duty cream before they could use one of the scented ones.

They asked why.

I explained that because her heart had stopped, we needed to protect her sensitive skin from early decomposition. That was a bad choice of words. It brought my girl's world crashing down around their heads.

Well I would have needed to bring them down before long anyway, but I hated to do it so soon.

"Girls, Mrs. Santiago is becoming uncomfortable. Let's finish her massage before we start the next step."

"Okay"

They returned to their task.

They were sad, as if they had lost a friend. I felt bad for them, but they did need a dose of reality. While they were finishing up, I brought the two hoses from the embalming tanks over to the table.

It was time for reality check #2.

"Now Mrs. Santiago, we will change out your fluids with ours. Ours will keep you fresh and pretty for you family and friends. They want you looking just like they remembered you. "

That caught both Milly and Sally's attention.

They both got back into making Mrs. Santiago look natural.

I showed them how to insert the needles and start the pump. I also demonstrated how to check for clots and blockages to the fluid transfer. We massaged Mrs Santiago while listening to a classical CD.

It started slowly at first, but soon both girls were including Mrs. Santiago in their conversation.

It sounded so natural, I almost expected Mrs. Santiago to answer back. Almost answer.........

It took almost three hours, but we got her embalmed. I had the girls rub some more cream into the skin.

When they were finished I said, "Mrs. Santiago we're going to put you in the cooler so you can rest tonight. It will be a busy day tomorrow. We will need to do your hair and put your makeup on. We'll then dress you in something pretty that your family chose. After that, I'll show you the casket they chose. It is very nice."

The girls started discussing what hair and make up Mrs Santiago would look best in.

I stopped that discussion in the bud, "Remember girls our greatest complement is when family members and/or friends say, 'She looks so natural. It's almost as if she'll wake up at any minute.' Our job is to create memories of Mrs. Santiago that her family can call on when they need them. Heaven forbid that we leave them with a bad memory. I never want anyone looking at her and saying, 'It looks as if she has clown makeup on' or, 'Her hair is terrible!' If my work produces those types of comments, I'll quit and get a job driving truck or something."

Sally asked, "Can I give her a little kiss goodnight?"

"Me too?" asked the other.

"Go ahead, but just don't tell the health department. They'll go nuts".

My girls pushed the work table into the cooler. They returned to me a little misty eyed.

I turned off the lights and locked up.

I poured the girls each a glass of their favorite wines and me a scotch. We toasted Mrs Santiago. The three of us sat on the couch, me in the middle and a girl on each side. They were unusually quiet that night. They were lost in their own thoughts. While they were both in their 20's, tonight was the first time they really faced life.

Tonight they were forced to grow up.

And they didn't like it.

After they trotted off to their respective bedrooms, I sat on the couch having a second scotch. I had some thinking to do. I knew that Mrs. Santiago was the tipping point.

Before today the schooling the girls were taking was just that, schooling. Now they were faced with the reality of the work they wanted to perform for the next 40 years.

It was "Shit or get off the pot" time.

Tomorrow I would find out if I still had two interns, one intern, or none. I would miss them if they were gone.

The next morning at breakfast they both were still subdued. They were still conflicted and I resolved not to help them. This was one decision each needed to make on her own.

I left them to clean up while I got Mrs. Santiago's folder out of my office. The folder contained all the information her family had given me.

As was my custom, I asked them to pick out a few of their favorite pictures of their mother. I knew what I'd receive, wedding pictures, family Christmases, plus pictures with her and her young children. But what was hoped for were those precious shots of her with her grand children. In these photos, she would appear most natural.

The way everyone would remember her.

The rest of the pictures I would place in an album for the people to browse through while waiting in line to offer their condolences. The album would represent the highlights of her life.

I took the photos down to my work shop. There I would go through them with the girls. I knew what photos I wanted to use. I hoped the girls would choose the same ones.

The three of us spent close to two hours discussing Mrs. Santiago's makeup and hair. After all this was her last trip to the "beauty shop". We owed her our best. When we were done, we had the best of our combined three minds.

We spent the rest of the morning and part of the afternoon, making up Mrs Santiago. Notice, I didn't say making her beautiful. We worked to make her look natural.

When the girls finished up her hands, I sent them off to the photo shop I used to pick up an empty album for all the photos. They came back with four identical binders. They had charmed the owner into enlarging all the smaller photos into 8.5 x 11's.

I was proud of the girls. They had taken part ownership of the rest of Mrs. Santiago's life.

They had also negotiated a reduced rate for any family members wishing their own copies of the albums. The photographer had managed to display his business card inside the front cover of every album.

While the girls had been gone, I applied more cream to Mrs. Santiago's body and dressed her. I didn't want the girls to see that part of the procedure. Dressing a corpse was not a pretty sight.

There were usually still some signs of rigor. And the whole operation left a female corpse, no dignity. I also didn't want the girls to see that I usually don't bother with underwear. For some reason, women get funny about that.

Me? It's just a matter of practically and besides the deceased won't be needing them.

I had returned Mrs. Santiago to the cooler and lowered the temperature. I wanted her to stay nice and fresh for the next two days.

The girls asked to spend a little time with her. They said they wanted to show her the albums. I agreed.

It was close to 6:00 PM when Mrs. Santiago's son and daughter showed up asking to spend some private time with her. I sent the girls down to bring Mrs Santiago up to one of the viewing rooms. I escorted the family members to that room after turning on the lights and starting the background music.

The girls brought the coffin into the room and placed it in the alcove designed to furnish special soft lighting on the deceased. I opened the top half of the cover and gave Mrs. Santiago a quick once over.

While I was doing that one of the girls ran out and returned with the photo albums. They sat with the family and displayed the photos. The family shared the history of the pictures with my girls.

There wasn't a dry eye in that room. Hell, they were even getting to me!

That night we sat in my kitchen and ate pizza. "We" the three of us and the family. I excused myself after a couple of hours. My girls explained that I needed to put Mrs. Santiago to bed,

"Tomorrow will be a busy day for her."

When I returned from the basement, it was a quiet group, I found, sitting around the table. The daughter in law asked, "Is she ok down there?"

"Yes and I left some music on for her." Damn, I hated this part.

The next morning was very busy. The first viewing was at 2:00. My crews arrived to set up the viewing room, the parking lot, and generally police the area. The flower deliveries started about 10:00. I wanted them to arrive as early as possible so we could place them. The florists wanted them as late as possible to stay fresher.

It's a good thing the drivers got along or there might be fights.

It was 1:00pm and I was treating my crew to a lunch consisting of subs in the break room when the first family member arrived. It was one of Mrs. Santiago's daughters. You could tell the woman was distraught. She kept standing, shifting from one foot to the other, wringing her hands, and trying not to break down.

One of my girls took her aside and they started talking.

I went downstairs and got Mrs. Santiago.

I had just finished opening the casket when I heard, "Can they come in yet?"

"Yes, I'm ready. I just need to place the flowers on her. Can one of you stay with the daughter? I don't think she's going to make it very easily through these next few days. "

The daughter proved stronger than I thought. It seems that the daughter lost her husband and child in an accident a year ago. She had been staying with her mother to mourn and gather her strength.

Then her mom left her too.

I called my friend the bishop. We had become golfing buddies since my wife had died. Speaking of died, a few bottles of my good scotch went also. Catholic clergy can do some serious drinking! Anyway, I explained my suspicions to him. He agreed to have someone sit with the daughter.

That afternoon, my receptionist hunted me down, "Someone is in your office and would like to see you and Mrs. Santiago's daughter."

"Someone is waiting in my office to see us", was all I told the daughter.

The Bishop was sitting in a chair glancing through the spare photo album. My charge took one look at him and dropped to her knees, "Forgive me Father for I have sinned".

He presented his hand so she could kiss his ring, "My child, Thomas called me and said you were having trouble accepting what fate has presented you with. This is a true test of your faith....."

I closed the door and left them together.

The viewing went off without a hitch. One of the family members inquired after the daughter whose name turned out to be Maria. I explained that she was talking with a priest and she was okay. Hey, the Bishop is a priest, just a higher ranking one.

It was almost 5:00pm when Maria walked out of my office. She looked as if the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders, "Thank you. We had a wonderful talk."

"He's not a bad golfer either."

She smiled at my weak attempt at humor, took my hand, and placed a gentle kiss on my cheek. One of my helpers was coming around the corner when she did that. I knew I'd never live that one down.

Since all her family had left to dinner, I invited her to join the girls and me for subs in my kitchen.

It was a good meal.

She opened up to the girls and the three of them discussed her mother. My girls talked as if they knew Mrs. Santiago all their lives. It was an interesting dynamic. They supported each other in their shared grief.

Maria thanked them for their kindness in creating the photo albums. She also complemented me on how natural her mother looked. I smiled and just pointed at the girls, passing on the credit.

There was a women's group hug. I think I got my girls back.

The evening viewing hours flew by. As I closed up Sally said, "I was thinking of dropping out, but watching you with Maria, I realized that this was what I wanted to do with my life. I might not be cut out to be a mortician. But watching you helping Maria with her grief. Well I just knew it was for me and I can work through the rest. "

"You and Molly did well today. If you guys need to talk, my door is always open. And besides my hugs aren't that expensive either."

That earned me a playful punch in the arm.

The next day was Mrs. Santiago's day. Her funeral service would be at 11:00 and burial at 1:00. We would be busy today. Some donuts and coffee were placed in the family lounge and the rest put out in the employee lounge for my crew.

While I was running around taking care of all those last minute details, my receptionist hunted me down, "I have a phone call for a Maria?"

"That's one of Mrs. Santiago's daughters; she's in the family lounge."

About 15 minutes later, Maria tracked me down, "He's going to attend the burial. He has appointments he cannot change this morning or he'd be at the church too."

I must have had a blank look on my face because she added, "Bishop Cleary!."

"Oh". Was all I said. As she walked away, I resolved to watch the Bishop closer. He appeared to be moving into my business relm.

I got busy and didn't get a chance to talk to Maria again that day.

Everything went off smoothly. I did spot the Bishop at the cemetery. He was standing with the family. The local priest who was providing over the burial service was impressed. As I was loading up the cars for the return to the funeral parlor, the priest whispered in my ear, "I didn't know the family knew his eminence."

"They don't. I do. He attended as a favor to me. The daughter needed extra support." I then went on to explain the daughter's series of tragedies.

When I got done, he remarked, "You couldn't have made a better choice. He joined the priesthood late, right after his wife and three children died in a house fire. He was out of town at the time or he would have joined them. He never went back to his house.

He joined the seminary the next day."

"He and I play golf together. He never mentioned it to me."

"He never talks about it. I don't even think he talks about it with God."

The Bishop went up a couple of more notches in my esteem for him.

__________

It another year went flying by. We had that final funeral, the one that forced the girls make their decisions. Sally chose another career. She no longer wanted anything to with the funeral business.

Maria chose to be only a mortician. She knew she couldn't handle the pressure interacting with the deceased family. She built a wall around her and the corpse.

She would always be a pretty good mortician, but never a great one.

I guess it was that last intake we had that did it.

The deceased was a small child. It was a four year old little girl who just died in her sleep. No one expected her death.

It was a very sad funeral.

Even the weather was nasty, it was cold, windy, and occasionally raining the day we buried her. It was as if God was expressing his displeasure at the reason for our gathering.

I openly cried when that little casket was carried past me. It was times like this I really doubted my religion.

The young mother collapsed at the cemetery. It was as if when she saw that hole in the ground everything went out of her. Angelo was near enough to catch her. Angelo and her husband carried her to someone's car and she was driven away. Angelo put an arm around the young father and whispered in his ear. The boy straightend up and the two of them took their positions in the procession.

Later I learned that Angelo had told the dad to be strong for his child. She would be scared and needed his guidance and strength as she started on her journey to a better place.

It was that night Sally and Molly made there respective decisions.

When it came time for the girls to leave, I had a going away party for them. There were enough individuals the girls had interacted with that I was forced to rent the party room at a local hotel. With some arm twisting by Angelo, I sprung for a sit down dinner, band, and open bar.

Then the bastard invited close to 200 people! With spouse's and/or dates!

He arranged for a raised head table and forced me to be Master of Ceremonies. Guess who got to make a speech and play host. The only thing I can point to as beneficial was when the local television news showed up.

I could write some of it off as advertising (I hoped).

All and all it was a pretty good night.

It took the girls another two days to pack up and leave. After almost four years, the residential section of my funeral home was empty and quiet.

Damn, I was going to miss them.

I wish I had a client to work on to take my mind off the loneliness. But I didn't so I headed for the scotch I kept in my office.

As I poured a stiff shot over some ice in a glass, I heard the knocking on the funeral homes front door. I never even considered ignoring whoever was there. Someone was in distress and needed my professional help.

I called out, "Coming", and headed to open the door.

Well imagine my surprise when I saw Maria standing there with a great big roasting pan. She thrust it in my hands,

"Here hold this. I have more stuff in the car."

I stood there like an idiot, holding the roaster in my hands and my foot keeping the door open. "What's all this?" I asked.

"Bishop Cleary called and said you need a friend and a good meal. So here I am."

We managed to get the food into the residential section and placed in ovens, or microwaves, or whatever was appropriate.

She was a real clown. She entertained me with her silly antics and chatter. By the time we finished desert and cleanup, my dark mood was lifted.

She dragged me into the visitor's lounge with our wine. At first I balked, most women get creeped out being entertained in my "business" spaces.

When she noticed my hesitation, she said, "I've spent enough time in funeral homes lately that it doesn't bother me anymore."

We spent until almost 2:00 am just talking and catching up one our respective lives.

The next thing I knew, we were being awakened by my receptionist. It was 9:00 am.

We had fallen asleep on the couch.

Well my clerk loved it. She was a 60 year old matchmaker. This was right up her alley. She sent us both into the residential section to "straighten up" while she picked up the clutter.

I showed Maria to the residential section and into one of the guest rooms. I went to the master bedroom, stripped, and climbed in the shower. I was about 25% of the way through my shower when I felt a cool draft caused by someone opening the bathroom door.

"Thomas, you have it way too steamy in here. My hair will be ruined. "

I started to compose a smart answer when the shower door behind me opened and Marie wrapped her arms around me from behind.

My smart ass remark flew right out the window.

I felt those soft breasts press into my back. I got an erection so quickly that the force of it popping up almost flipped me over. A little hand reached down and started rubbing up and down on it with some soap.