Most people go their whole lives without the pleasure of knowing the feel of dead flesh. I remember the first dead animals, a cat, that I ever held. It was so cold, stiff and lifeless. Most people would instinctively withdraw from the alien feeling. All I could think of was that the cat could feel nothing, yet I could feel it. It was a strange and pleasing realization.
Over the years I have caused many deaths with my bare hands (snakes have to eat), prepped human cadavers for burial, cut all sorts of animals and people open for necropsy and autopsy, dressed the dead, cleaned the dead, skinned the dead (animals) and I have enjoyed every minute of it.
Sometimes I overlook that I have the perfect job for me. I get caught up in petty political power plays and forget why I am in the business. Today, as I was folding the hands of a young woman over her abdomen, I was reminded why I always smell like formalin and put up with the weasel-faced-twerp. It's calming to be with the dead, familiar. It's the living I am unacquainted with.
No comments:
Post a Comment