The Time I Shaved a Dead Body

Given the choice, most people would prefer a sudden, quick death over a long, drawn-out demise. We are selfish. The sudden unexpected option is a much sadder experience for our loved ones. When we linger on, whether in a hospital or at our homes, our family members get a comforting sense of relief once we pass as our suffering has ended. They’ll remind each other that we’re now in a better place.

Such was the case with my father-in-law, may he rest in peace. We all knew it was coming. When he was admitted into the hospital, the doctor told us, “This is it.” It was convenient. My father-in-law even had the good sense to let it happen on a Friday. All of his children and their families had plenty of time to make the trek to Montemorelos, NL Mexico. In my case, a 4-hour ride in my brother-in-law’s truck.

Everyone had the opportunity to say goodbye. Sad, yes but comforting. He passed away that night. Everyone also had the opportunity to bring what money they could, but one doesn’t bring up such questions immediately, so I was left wondering about my share of the expense for what resulted to be a short time. It was decided, everyone being in attendance – and many needing to return to work on Monday – that my father-in-law would be buried as quickly as possible.

To our good fortune, it turns out that 1) the youngest son is a well-known newspaper reporter/photographer for the local paper. And 2) the mayor happened to know that my father-in-law had contributed free time and effort to the town’s most well-known landmark: a stone statue of President Morelos set on a hill that overlooks the town. The statue has President Morelos holding up a broken piece of chain that had shackled the common man to poverty. My father-in-law made the chain.

Thus the mayor was kind enough to let us have free use of the municipal (federal?) funeral home along with free digging-of-the-hole. Our only expense would be the casket. All this I learned the very night he passed away.

So from the hospital, the youngest son, the brother-in-law with the truck and I head to the municipal funeral home to choose and pay for the casket. It was already late when we left, and as we were leaving, the truck-brother-in-law tells those remaining to, “Get Dad ready.”

I had seen my father-in-law before the ride to the funeral home, so I didn’t envy those with the task of getting him ready. He was dressed only in a hospital gown. His eyes, as well as his mouth, were wide open. There had been no rolling back of the eyes, and his eyelids were determined to stay open, no matter what one might have seen at the movies.

I almost dozed off on the way to the funeral home. I seem to recall the two brothers discussing notification of friends or soccer or other such unrelated topics I had no interest in. Me personally: I’m thinking about Popeye the father-in-law and his wide open mouth and… wait-a-minute… does the funeral home come with a mortician? Has anyone asked? (Boy, am I sleepy) I’ll ask the casket salesman.

We arrive at the funeral home and are taken immediately to the casket selection room. It was obvious from his dress that the salesman had come straight from bed and that he had no plans on staying very long. Once the casket was chosen I asked about the preparation of the body. We were told where the mortician lived, but being it was now Saturday, he may not be available.

I took the initiative and asked about the open eyes and mouth.

“Superglue.”

“Superglue?”

“Suuure… that’s what they use (the morticians) when the eyes won’t shut. Superglue.”

“Really? Thanks.”

We head back to the hospital. The subject of discussion on the return trip was not your normal pleasant conversation but laser-focused on what we were all thinking: Who’s going to dress the old man and get him ready? My thoughts go to my own father, and I know in my heart that I would not be able to ‘get him ready.’ I’d freak. So… I wonder: who’s going to step up? I get a sinking feeling in my gut. I know these people.

We arrive back at the hospital and much to none of our surprise: the body hasn’t been touched. My father-in-law is still upstairs in the room, still in the hospital gown, eyes still wide open. No one has so much as driven home to fetch some clothes. Before someone does, the family has to decide who will do what to, “Get Dad ready.”

As I mentioned earlier, I know these people. As I’m looking around the room, I’m thinking, “Wuss. Wuss. Wuss. Not-strong-enough. Wuss. Not-nearly-strong-enough. Wuss.” Words go from heated to harsh to downright ugly in no time. It doesn’t take long… someone disses my wife.

Shit. Someone pushed my oh-no-you-didn’t button.

Normally, I’d get very unpleasant when someone pushes that button. But why be just another unpleasant person in the room? There were already enough people being unpleasant.

I must step up, and I do. I tell my wife, who went to fetch the clothes, to bring my shaving kit and some superglue.

“Superglue?”

“Yep – superglue”

My father-in-law was a huge man. He was a welder his entire life. He had a crushing handshake well into his late 70’s. Huge Popeye forearms. Feet bigger than mine. Mexican wrestler shaped. A monster.

(I know – again with the Popeye? Don’t ask me)

The clothes arrive and I head upstairs to deal with the experience of handling a dead body. By the way, we all hear ghosts in the corridors crying and banging doors every now and again, as clear as if there were awake, live people around.

Handling a dead body is a lot like handling the world’s largest marionette, without the strings. You grab a limb, move it in order to slide clothing over it, and you sense the slight vibrations in the bones resulting from the nearest creaking joint – be it knee or elbow. Then it dawns on you how much arthritis must really suck.

I clothed the cadaver at the hospital, then we headed over to the funeral home. We lay my father-in-law in a room adjacent to the chapel area, and then I went to work with my shaving kit. I started with the nose hair, eyebrows, and mustache – the comb and scissor work. Then I go for the shave.

My father, like most, only taught me how to shave my own face. It didn’t take long for me to discover the necessity of the Barber-hold-the-face-taut move. It works so well. I was careful and diligent. I’m confident that I gave my father-in-law one of the 5 best shaves of his life.

One must realize that nothing felt real at this point. A dream had started some while ago – before the ghosts, probably the moment I raised my hand to offer my cadaver-handling services. It wasn’t until after I had finished when I went outside to have a cigarette that I started shaking uncontrollably for about 5 minutes.

Now you’d think that being the one who dressed, shaved and groomed the body would get me a free pass on the body viewing. Nope. I still had to go up, kneel and view the body. He didn’t look too bad – not bad at all. Folks were even commenting that he looked good. Truth be told my wife and sister-in-law had added some make-up after the shave.

But the superglue keeping his mouth shut had started to fail. The glue on his lips was doing its job, but I could tell that the glue I’d added to what few teeth he had left had given out. Popeye was ready to open up and blow us all a kiss.

I looked at my wife and told her, “Time to go.” We loaded up my father-in-law and immediately took him to the family grave. All told, it couldn't have been more than 9 hours from the time he'd passed away to the burial.