Tuesday, May 25, 2010

Post Two: Death and winter, sittin in a tree...k-i-s-s-i-n-g.

Is it winter yet?
I'm not all up on my seasons, but I think next week is the official start of winter....and for the funeral industry things go nuts. Hundreds of elderly folk die in the midst of the night and I have to wrangle them out of their cute flannelette twin sets and unbundle their toes from their cheap crazy clarks knitted bed socks. It's sad sometimes, but more often than not I find it kind of sweet when they look so cosy all winter-fied. Pity about the poop and purge and other assorted soilings, but not everyone dead smells. Maybe 60%? Handy fact.

Anyway, I'd much rather die in winter, because if you die in summer and no-one finds you the rate of body decomposition in the australian climate is insane. Unless you die in air conditioning you'll be stinking and bloated like a hit and run kangaroo on a highway in no time.

An old deceased lady came into the mortuary the other day and she died with one hand on her chin as if she was pondering the meaning of life itself. Her index finger was even isolated and curled, I think thats like a traditional break dancing pose too. Maybe she was into that. It was possibly the coolest death position I've seen yet. I hope she premeditated it. This brings me to my point anyway, meanderingly...I wish some crossing over-anthony robbins-clairvoyant- psychic shit happened to me at work. I've been counting how many body preperations I have done since commencing business at my new operations centre (13 months approx) and I am up to body number 1199. Crazy huh. Imagine if I could ask them what they think the meaning of life is, or even just hear what their voice sounded like, or what their favourite colour was. Damn, I wish I could know what they think the future holds for the environment and the community and all that scary global stuff....I wish they'd give me all their knowledge. My closing thoughts probably lie in the fact that we underuse our elderly, or at least the non-senile ones. Hell, the dementia stricken are at least cute and often have fantastic cynicism and impeccible comical timing. My goal = talk to the nearly dead!


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