“It is, but apparently the mom is not ready to let her son go.” Tom grimaced. “She went after the nurse.”
“I’ll handle it,” Bosco said briskly. Despite his sharp tone, Tom knew he’d meant the comment to be reassuring.
It wasn’t common, but sometimes families could become violent during a removal. Grief was an awful thing, and there was no telling what they might run into. Tom had experienced everything from being pushed or shoved to having a beer bottle thrown at his head.
He hoped this wouldn’t be one of those times, but it was impossible to predict. Knowing the mother was so upset put him on edge. It was already hard enough knowing they were picking up someone so young.
Of all the terrible things Tom saw in his line of work, children and infants were always the worst. It didn’t matter how they died; they were all sad. It seemed like such a waste, and it was always the young ones that followed him home long after he’d left work.
He’d forgotten most of their names, but he could still see many of their faces. Too few years on this planet to wind up on his embalming table, he’d think to himself. They’d barely had a chance to even live.
Like this young man they were going to pick up—had he ever been drunk? Had his first kiss? Fallen in love?
Not that any of those specific things were necessary for a quality life but to be denied the opportunity…
“Get out of your head,” Bosco said abruptly.
“Sorry.” Tom must have looked as depressed as his thoughts had been.
“We’re here.”
The residence was a small ranch house with three steps leading up to the front door. There were several cars already in the driveway, including a police cruiser.
“No stairs, huh?” Bosco noted with a grimace.
“At least there’s only three?” Tom tried to smile.
“Let’s go.” Bosco’s grimace deepened. He got out of the car, paperwork in hand. He waited for Tom to join him before approaching the front door.
The steps were brick, and both Bosco and Tom casually tested the edges to make sure none of them were loose as they walked up.
Stairs of any kind could be quite tricky and very dangerous. Even the smallest cot by itself weighed about eighty pounds, and with the added bulk of the decedent, any trip or fall could be very harmful—not to mention the horror of potentially dropping a decedent in front of the family.
A middle-aged man opened the door, tired and red-eyed, greeting them both. “Hi. You must be from the funeral home?”
“Yessir,” Bosco replied, shaking the man’s hand with a gentle smile. “I’m Bosco Lark, and this is Thomas Hill. Please accept our condolences.”
“Thank you,” the man tearfully replied. “I’m Howard Dresser, Brady’s dad. His father. Right. Uh, my wife isn’t taking this too well.”
“It’s all right, Mr. Dresser,” Bosco soothed. “We’re not in any hurry. Did you and your wife need more time with your son?”
“No, no, we need… he needs to go. We’re ready.”
“I have a little bit of paperwork to go over with you if that’s okay.”
“Sure, sure. Come on in.”
Tom always marveled at how in control and compassionate Bosco was in these situations. He never heard Bosco talk as much as he did with families, and he had a gift for putting people at ease. It felt so natural and sincere, and Tom wished he had that sort of charm or whatever it was.
He felt fake when he told families that he was sorry for their loss. He really was sorry someone had died because it was always sad, but was he really sorry that specific person had passed? He hadn’t known them, so how could he be?
Tom argued with himself inside of his head that this was exactly why he didn’t wait on families. They would see right through his anxiety and out him for being some kind of phony saying what they wanted to hear. His skills were better utilized in the prep room and not risking making a jackass out of himself in an arrangement conference.
Following Bosco inside the home, he carefully closed the door behind them. He saw the young man bundled up in a hospital bed right away, set up in the middle of the living room in front of a large television. Two officers were hanging out close by, chatting amongst themselves. They nodded at Tom and went back to talking.
Tom stood fast at the door while Bosco took Mr. Dresser over to a small breakfast nook to sit down and review the paperwork.
These preliminary documents were simple: verifying the spelling of the decedent’s name, birthdate, and everything else they’d taken over the phone. It would include checking that same information on a plastic identification bracelet that they would place on the decedent’s ankle and taking an inventory of any items they’d be taking back with them to the funeral home, such as clothing and jewelry.
