110 Mortuary Hours

Image Credit: Keekalee Photography™; Blank flat headstones rest in neat stacks on the grass. A line of trees by the upper right corner gradually fades into the foggy backdrop.

At the onset of 2024, after five years of being homebound to focus on my physical and mental health, I needed to rejoin the workforce due to the ever-rising cost of living. However, going back to work included many hang-ups that would significantly impact the type of work I could perform.

I was still experiencing mobility limitations that would affect my job performance in settings that I’m qualified for with only a GED and few utilizable skills. There were time constraints that I contended with from being the sole driver in my household. Additionally, I needed a weekday off due to having regular appointments that could only be scheduled during the citywide working hours module.

With these restrictions, as predicted, I was failing to find work. After a couple of months with no success, I learned of a vocational program that helped people rejoin the workforce. Initially, the goal was to help me achieve an education that would qualify me for writing or editing positions. After some discussion, however, I mentioned that I enjoyed researching genealogy and spending time in cemeteries, holding reverence for the departed, and had intended to apply to Arapahoe Community College in 2011 to join their Mortuary Science [MortSci] program. Life happened, though, and I never applied.

The next thing I knew, I was authorized to complete 120* hours as a funeral assistant at a local funeral home, allowing me first-hand experience before committing to four years of college for a bachelor’s degree. After 13 years, I was set to work, even if temporarily, in the industry I’d always been called to.

I was an absolute nervous wreck.

With little socialization during my five years at home, could I still connect with clients in such a personal way? I’m Autistic and have ADHD, which could further complicate forging connections. I had no formal knowledge or training in MortSci, relying solely on what I’d researched and studied over the years through my interest in the topic. What if I showed up and made an utter fool of myself? What if, when faced with the inevitable morbidity of this profession, my fortitude gave? What if I mistakenly ruined a loved one’s last impression of their dearly departed?

Thankfully, the directors and staff that I had the pleasure of working with fostered a wonderful environment and handled all aspects of their profession meticulously and gracefully. They committed to teaching me the responsibilities of the mortuary trade, and I committed to absorbing as much information as I could retain.

As the hours came and went, I gained perspective on life within the deathcare industry. I observed the respect and care shown, the dedication and sacrifice given, and the intricate delicacy of owning and working in a business that intersects with grieving humans. I witnessed the raw emotions of innumerable strangers contending with the absolution of death and loss. I saw the shaking strength of a daughter who would only cry when she was on her own. I heard the subdued chuckles and even laughter of memories come alive again as stories of the past were swapped. I felt the palpability of unified sorrow.

Yet, I didn’t want to be anywhere else. I was honored to be trusted to witness, see, hear, and feel these experiences with the bereaved and about their departed loved ones. I was honored to have been involved in even a small part of helping to make their final goodbyes palatable and cherishable.

With my last day approaching, I thought about the question at the end of it all: Do I want to do this? Despite the nature of the work, I’d never felt quite so fulfilled as I did within that parlor. Working there only compounded my belief that deathcare was my calling and that I cared about its mission.

Concurrently, the vocational program delivered unfortunate news: I wouldn’t receive financial aid to achieve the necessary degree to pursue a career in deathcare.

While that news was a devastating blow, I’ve shifted my priorities to saving up for college — however long that may take. In the meantime, I’ll keep up with the industry as I always have, and take comfort in having gotten the opportunity to live my calling and to feel purposeful for 110* hours.

*I was allotted 120 hours but could only complete 110 hours.