When you think of someone dying and going to a funeral home, you probably think of grandmas, grandpas, and unfortunate souls who were taken too soon.

You probably don’t think of active shooters, cartel members, felons, or the elderly Nazi who passed away in hospice. 

You probably don’t think of their family members who call to make arrangements and feel entirely awkward and shitty.

I didn’t either. Now I can’t seem to stop. I’ve seen the rise and fall of humanity within 200 square feet of cooler space. Good, bad, loved, despised – all within arms’ reach. It feels like looking through the eyes of God.

It’s human nature to want to figure them out. To try to assess what went wrong in their lives by studying their expressions for clues. A FURROWED BROW? FORESHADOWING!

On more than one occasion, loved ones have asked if someone who did bad things looked evil. Nah, girl. They just look dead. And you know something? It feels healing to care for them. 

I like looking after an unsavory character, because it feels like love is winning in some small way. Cleaning the face of a hateful man is what we’re all supposed to be doing, right? Metaphorically for y’all, literally for me.