One of the many part-time jobs I’ve had over the years was that of mortician’s assistant. Much of the job required me to be on-call at all hours of the day to pick up dead bodies from nursing homes, hospitals, private homes and the occasional crime scene or car wreck.
The hours, though difficult at times – like a full moon – were easy to get beyond and the pay was more than generous. But the hardest part of the job came when it was my turn to tend to preparing remains.
One morning I was called up to both pick up and prepare the body. I wasn’t emotionally ready for the sight of an eight-month old child, but I carried on, getting the job finished in a more than timely fashion.
For the next week I could not get that sweet, little baby’s face out of my mind. I dreamed it to the point that I had nightmares.
After two-weeks of sleepless nights brought on by this tiny one’s death led me to realize this job wasn’t something I wanted to do for a living – even part-time.