One

Work was fun today. I prepped a body that shouldn't have been able to have had an open casket funeral. The whole left side of his head was caved in. Actually, most the left upper body was caved in as well. It was a beautiful process to reposition and fill in all the missing areas. My coworker... for the sake of this blog I'm going to call him Daniel... was beside himself. He couldn't stop saying how sad it was that this life was taken at such a young age and was repulsed at the damage done to the body in the accident. I, however, could barely keep from bursting out in song.

It truly was beautiful.

The transformation from something dead and broken into something closer to perfection than he had ever been in life pleased me. I didn't understand Daniels' grief. He didn't know the teenage body or his family. It doesn't make sense. We are paid to make bodies presentable. It's a great job. I don't think he's cut out for it.

Me? I love being so close to the dead. I thrive being around death. Being able to be hands on with bodies keeps my never ending homicidal thoughts a lot more manageable. Taking a vacation isn't an option for me... even being away for a few days feels like a few decades and I get antsy. I was made for it.

Dealing with the grieving... that I was not made for. I have to act as if I understand, though I don't. Then there are my coworkers and superiors who think I should be horrified when small children or gruesome bodies come in, when I am actually elated and excited. I'm tired of having to behave the opposite of how I feel.