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Embalming is a very clinical process, Ann says.
It takes less time than you might think—she explains. The actual embalming only takes between forty-five minutes and an hour. But dressing the body and the application of makeup…well, depending on the circumstance, that can take a lot longer. They take as much care as possible, Ann says. It’s important to make sure the body is respected. It’s important to ensure that decomposition is slowed down as much as possible, and that the body is returned to its most lifelike and natural state. A relaxed, natural-looking body is much less traumatic for loved ones, especially where the deceased died in a traumatic way.
Darryl’s death was very traumatic.
As we near the casket—it’s the respectful thing to do, Ann assures me—she points to his chest. Touch it, she says. I don’t. It doesn’t stop her.
“You see?” she whispers. “They use paper to puff up his chest.”
“Really?”
“Yeah—for one, his ribs were crushed when he fell. But also, they removed most of his organs.”
It doesn’t feel like an appropriate time to inquire about how she knows all of this. She just does, and apparently, she wants to make sure I know too. This is why she goes on. “Once your body is filled with embalming fluid, it’s nearly impossible to make any adjustments. So, they have to set your facial features first.”
Someone walks up to the casket and stands shoulder to shoulder with us. Ann stops talking. Her expression turns somber.
“Rest in peace,” the woman says to Darryl. She leans down and kisses his forehead. She moves on.
“They use photos to make sure they get as close to a natural looks as possible,” Ann says, peering into the casket. “Did you ever meet Darryl?”
I shake my head. She knows this.
“That’s too bad. I assure you they did a good job.”
Ann touches my arm, and I think finally she’s ready to move along. “His eyes are kept closed by small pieces of cotton. Can you imagine?”
I can’t. I hate cotton.
“You see there…” she motions. “His jaw is wired shut. They even stitch your lips together. Although, they use glue more and more these days. Less work, that way.”
Later after we’re seated, Ann tells me about the moisturizer that is applied to prevent drying, to ensure a lifelike, relaxed appearance. “I bet they don’t use the cheap stuff, either,” she sighs. “What a waste,” she says. “All of this for the living.”
Eventually, the elevator music stops and people begin taking their seats. As the room fills up, Ann reaches over and intertwines her fingers with mine. She squeezes my hand. “I’m so glad you came, Sadie. You have no idea how much I need you.”
“No problem,” I manage to say, willing her with the power of my mind to move her hand away. Her touch is electrifying and being needed is terrifying. I remember what happened the last time I felt this way, and it didn’t end well. Only Ann doesn’t move her hand. In fact, unless I’m imagining things, she shifts in her seat so that she is closer, so that her thigh rests against mine.
My chest tightens like all of the little air pockets closing up, and it’s all I can do to hang on for the ride. I don’t want to breathe. I don’t want to move. I know this feeling. This feeling makes me do very stupid things. Like open my mouth when I really, really shouldn’t. “She doesn’t seem that sad does she?” I whisper to Ann forcing the air from my lungs. “Darryl’s wife.”
“She had a hefty life insurance policy. She’ll be fine.”
I ask her how she knows this.
“People talk, Sadie,” she answers and then she looks over at me. She leans closer until I can practically feel her lips move against my ear. “Sometimes,” she explains. “The only way out of a bad marriage is till death actually does do you part.”
I shift in my seat. “He was only forty something…”
“You can’t be sad about everyone who dies. None of us are meant to live forever.”
Her thumb strokes mine. I scan the room and pray this is over soon.
“Divorce,” she tells me, “is so expensive. And no one wins, in the end.”
I think of Ethan. “I don’t like funerals.”
“Oh Sadie,” she chides. “For heaven’s sake. Don’t be such a baby.”
“I’m not being anything.”
