The undertaker turned the light on, it revealed a corpse on the floor with black fingers and pale skin. I stood still a little while longer, the husband gingerly hovered his hand over his deceased wife’s, then he struggled to his feet. It was a pathetic sight, he tried in vain to get her wrist to sit on her chest, but it just would not stay and instead would fall back to the carpetÂ defiantly. I clutched at my own fingers, which were dry and pasty. 6 Days of earlys have taken their toll.
I’ve resigned myself, there isn’t apathy in the job, just voluntaryÂ ignoranceÂ that acts as a shield against the constant stream of anti police shit slinging. Whatever, I left that house safe in the knowledge that the deceased’s family were thoroughly taken care of, their impression of me will last beyond the negative headlines that plague my profession. They will remember the compassion my crewmate and I displayed when attending in their hour of need,Â
Sudden deaths are part of my job, a lot of people meet me through death, and each death stays with me as I travel through to the next. I never forget the faces and the families, the same look of surprise and disbelief, the same sayings and phrases they all utter through their fingers.
“I never got to say goodbye”Â
Death is never sweet, it is never at ourÂ convenienceÂ and it is never welcome. I tell the families the same thing: ‘there’s never a good time to say goodbye’Â
I sigh and go 02