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Morgue Stories: Call #1

Valentines Day Suicide

By Sedwik DickensPublished 3 years ago 5 min read
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If Life has taught me anything, it is that it is unpredictable. That, and there is no sense in worrying about it; Kind of a “roll with the punches type thing.

What’s seemingly even more uncanny than Life’s unpredictability, is how it...idk, just seems to sweep us up, and take us to places that wrought the fortitude that sees us through the rest of the way. I suppose there comes a wisdom in giving up control, because let’s face it, ninety-five percent of life is learning how to properly react to everything we can’t control, right?

I picked up my first body in February of 2021. My first day as a Mortuary Transport Driver, and my first call had me asking myself a lot of questions: What did I get myself into? How did I get here? What could I possibly hope to learn from this?

She was young, my sons age, a suicide, and from the sounds of her family in the hallway, very, very loved. It was Valentine's Day, and it seemed ironic that so many hearts had been broken on a day meant for Love.

I know what it's like to feel sad. I know what it's like to feel alone with a pain that seems so big, that whoever you turn to, just...doesn’t quite get it. To feel hopeless; to stand naked in the dark and hope for nothing more than to be swallowed by it. It made break for the little girl lying at my feet and I could not help but wonder, what pain had pushed her past the edge of eternity? Why had she felt like there was no way out? Could anything else had been done?

As a parent, I felt angry, like somebody had ignored a giant wound on their child that had suppurated and festered into a disease that had consumed the very life that they had once created. At the same time, I felt scared: A good parent does everything they can to protect their child, to guide them, to be there for them, no one thinks that what they are doing is not going to be enough. I imagine what her parents are feeling, and it makes my fingers shake as I put a band around their daughter’s ankle.

We enshroud her in a protective covering, tenderly gathering her into our arms before we exit her bedroom. I notice a picture of her and a woman on her dresser: Why did she not feel loved? Was she scared, hurt...angry? There must be a reason...

…right?

Or maybe there isn’t. We live in a world of pressure; our faults compared and put on display. Maybe this...is just what happens?

We are in the hallway now. Gently we left her onto our gurney, and fasten her into place, with the tinking sound of the buckles breaking the silence that has fallen over the Family Room. I raise my head and find myself the focal point of the room. I analyze their faces. So much confusion. So much pain.

There are certain sounds that shake you. Make you...feel.

The sound of a body bag zipping closed is one of them. It’s hallowed, deep: amplified by the empty space created between the bag and the body.

"Where?! Where are you taking her? Why wont she wake up!?" a woman cries to me, before being ushered away by a Chaplin. I feel helpless, utterly helpless.

I step outside, to give her family some privacy before I depart. There's snow on the ground, and my disappearing breath makes me think on the fleetingness of this Life. Here and gone. Gone and here. Live and die, in one day. Live and die. In one day.

I am notified they are ready. I step back inside, and take my place at the head of the gurney. A little boy looks at me from the couch.

"Please. Make her get up..." his eyes plead with me.

"I can't. I'm sorry, truly I am..." I try and smile to him.

But, Why? I think. What's the use? This is life, right?

Can you feel it, kid?

The gurney cuts tracks through the snow as we push up the yard, and I can't help but feel like I am etching a reminder of the pain so fresh on the hearts of this girls' loved ones.

"She is 14..." a quivering voice behind me says. It is her father.

"Thank you for your care." He says to me.

I don't know what to say.

He offers his hand and I take it, and hope to God that he understands how much my heart is breaking for him.

I get in the van. Start it up, check my mirrors and pull away, and then shed a tear as I look back in time to see him fall to his knees and as he waves goodbye to his little girl.

----------------------------------------

I don't why God has placed me in some of the positions that he has in my life. This is definitely a new one for me, and I can't say that I am not at least a little intrigued to see what the purpose is, and what he has in store for me.

I have been in MT for a little over 3 months and have seen quite the array of cases already, each one providing me with insight and provoking me to think in ways I have not had to in the past.

I want to share some of these experiences with you and the thoughts I may or may not have had about them. Please feel free to ask questions, and I will answer them as best I can.

Thank you for the support.

Regards,

Matthew V.

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About the Creator

Sedwik Dickens

Once I was. Then I wasn't. Now, I am.

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