Saturday, May 22, 2010

On Being A Mortician

As a mortician, I aspire to raise arteries, conduct funerals, and dress the dead to the best of my ability (and secretly huff Formalin... haha Just kidding). The goal being to replicate the appearance of health and vigor by way of cosmetics, wax, and arterial dyes. These things are bigger than any words I can speak to a family, and for that reason I often speak lightly. I can take a body that was ravaged by quick trauma or lingering disease, with born spots and sunken eyes and fractures and dehydrates cheeks- and turn them into peaceful images in fresh clothing and contented expressions.

During college we are taught throughout the program to sculpt different facial features out of clay. You have to learn every features shape and contours, to learn to recreate mutilated, amputated or deformed features for viewing. If I remember correctly, the assignments started with noses, them moved to ears, eyelids, lips, and finally full facial proportions and lines. Our final test to be certified in the restorative arts was to sculpt an entire head out of wax, based on a photograph of someone of our choice. An entire semester sculpting, and we were graded as if we were fine arts students... on proportions, measurements, and aesthetic appeal. Trust me in that it was quite an endeavor.

All morticians, hell, all death care workers, are cut from the same cloth. There are many types, though. The elegant and well-dressed, the experienced and authentic, the word-savvy and confident, the functional alcoholic, the one obsessed with artistic detail, and the clumsy and unsure (typically referred to simply as 'intern'). Yet we all chose this career path. Some chose it to carry on the family business, but those truly dedicated (not that I am biased) find this path on their own. They just know that they want to stand with a clear conscience and lay hands on lost lives and their mourners.

How can this desire be explained to an outsider?

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