Mortuary Confidential: Undertakers Spill the Dirt

Maddison burst into tears. Her mother held her, and I sat in silence studying my notes. After a minute or two she stopped. “Tuesday night we fought. We rarely fight, but when we do it’s always about money. Money!” she spat and paused. I nodded for her to continue. “Pay was thinking about expanding the garage. Big project, but I wanted to start a family. We have no children, just a boxer. I told him we couldn’t afford the expansion if we were going to have kids now. I was planning on staying home with the kids. Anyhow, we fought for a long time and Pay went to sleep in the spare bedroom.”

She gulped down half of the water in her glass and looked at me steadily. “I let him go. Sometimes it’s best that way. The next morning—that would be Wednesday morning—I slipped a note under the door saying if he wasn’t mad at me anymore then that night we’d go to our favorite spot for dinner. It’s this romantic Italian bistro in the city we can walk to from our townhouse. We like to go there on special occasions; it’s so quaint and perfect. Pay proposed to me there.”

I could tell she enjoyed that memory.

“I had a meeting that night and knew I would be real late getting home. The note also said—” She glanced at her mother and blushed. “It also said if we went to the restaurant then I’d give him his favorite dessert.”

I figured the dessert wasn’t food. Maddison’s mom seemed oblivious to the connotation.

“That was our kind of way of mending fences.”

I nodded.

Maddison continued, “That night on my way home I was thinking Pay would be waiting for me as I walked through the door—all showered up, smelling of his cologne, and maybe he’d even have a bottle of red open so we could have a glass before we went out. He’s sweet like that. We never stay mad at each other for very long. When I got home the house was completely dark, the spare bedroom door was still shut and our dog was sitting in front of the door like he was guarding it. I thought, Fine, if he wants to be an asshole and let this continue, then I can too. I took the dog out, fixed myself a Lean Cuisine, and went to bed without ever bothering to knock on Pay’s door.”

Maddison paused and squeezed her mother’s hand. “So anyway, I get up for work—this is Thursday, yesterday—and the spare bedroom door is still shut. Pay usually got up and went to the garage pretty early, but I thought that maybe he wanted to avoid me, so I took the dog out, got ready for work, and left.”

She drank the rest of her water, started to hyperventilate, but quickly got herself under control to finish her story. “When I got home and the door was shut, I started to get worried. It wasn’t like him to not talk to me for two whole days! I went and knocked on the door. No answer. I decided to go in and I opened the door—” She broke down sobbing. Her mother put her arm around Maddison’s shoulders and massaged them. Maddison continued, “There he was—”

I sat there stunned while Maddison wept. I had heard a lot of tales come across this table, but this one was probably one of the more heart-wrenching. The guy was my age! I shuffled my papers and avoided eye contact, giving her a minute, but she wasn’t finished.

“But—but next to him on the bed was the phone book…open to the restaurant section in the yellow pages!”

My head swam.

I guided them through the funeral arrangements. It would be awhile before the initial numbness wore off, maybe even until after the funeral. I told them what they needed to do, where they needed to be, and wrote down everything for them. They were going through the motions, just trying to get through each minute to greet the next and see if it brought less pain. The office air hung heavy with unrealized dreams, guilt, and the bitterest remorse I have ever witnessed.

When Maddison and her mom left, I called my wife. When she answered I told her without preamble, “I love you.”

“What was that for?” she asked.

“I’ll tell you all about it when I get home,” I promised.

Maddison’s story really put my marriage in a new perspective. I still do some easy building hacks from time to time because I love it, but I’d like to think I have my priorities in line now. And I tell my wife every night before I fall asleep, no matter how angry I am with her, that I love her because you never know when that time will be the last.

And there will be a last.

CHAPTER 21. Buried in the Nude

Contributed by a church choir member

When it comes to clothing, I’ve run the gamut as an undertaker. I’ve buried people in everything from military service uniforms to tee shirts and cut-off jean shorts. And I’ve buried people nude, or, at least partially nude. From a sociological point of view, I find it interesting to see what a family chooses to bury a loved one in, or what they choose not to bury them in.