Post by tierney fenella damara lears on Mar 3, 2020 17:07:55 GMT -5
No one could say they enjoyed death. Tierney had heard plenty of mourning families say they wanted a funeral to be a celebration of the deceased life, but there were always tears. Loss wasn’t an easy thing for anyone. The Irish blonde was certain she had seen all the stages of grief through her line of work, along with a few sights that had left her seriously convinced that nothing in this world could shock her now. Once you’ve seen someone try to climb into their loved one’s casket or had the mistress and the wife meet at the funeral, you were just about ready to say you’ve seen everything. Tierney wasn’t big, but she had carted drunk men out before they did something that would only upset everyone they loved. Yeah, funerals were interesting, but very few people wanted to say that most of their week was comprised of fresh corpses and grieving relatives. And then there was Tierney, who found it all immensely fascinating. She didn’t think there was another job out there she would be suited to.
Someone had to do this. There needed to be one person who looked after the deceased and made sure families could say their final goodbyes. In certain cases, it was about making sure that the horrors of death were disguised; that whoever had passed on just looked like they were sleeping. Tierney wasn’t the best with people outside of these scenarios. She could comfortably talk about death, help people pick urns and arrange payment plans if they didn’t have insurance. She could talk softly, reassuringly...or she was screaming over a nightclub’s music, laughing and sweating like she wasn’t going to be dressed in black and moving a coffin the next day. She knew that – by most standards – her life was weird. However, it did come in useful when a pushy guy was trying to hit on her in a bar. No one really wanted to hook up with the Grim Reaper’s employee, even if she was dressed in sequins and sipping a cocktail. Sadly, that extended to the nice guys too. The ones Tierney wanted to give her cell phone number to.
Today’s funeral was one of the ones Tierney found the most uncomfortable. The death had been sudden, tragic, and likely it wasn’t an easy passing. Her funeral home had seen two from the same fire come through this week. The first had been buried on Wednesday and Friday was, hopefully, the last. Tierney was used to death, but she found illnesses and quick, likely painless passings easier to stomach. Her boss has said the day she could shrug off everything they saw was the day she needed to find something else to do. Those who worked with the dead needed their empathy; they needed to remember that none of this was supposed to be easy. Tierney decided to focus on who the man had been, what he had been through, instead of how his life had ended. People always shared the best stories at funerals, tales others never knew about and that made them laugh through their tears. In her humble, unvoiced opinion, there was more love at a funeral than at a wedding – and Tierney was a romantic girl!
She stood at the back of the room, near the door, while the mourners paid their respects to the family and said their goodbyes to the deceased. She offered small, reassuring smiles when someone looked her way. She was no psychologist, but she could help someone through this tough time. Tierney hadn’t been in the job long, but she had held children’s hands as she talked them through death, explaining that pops wasn’t going to be a zombie, taking their fears and hopefully making things easier on the equally as lost parents. She had quoted prose to help someone identify their feelings, told someone that everyone responded differently and that not crying didn’t mean a lack of love or pain. Tierney was happy to be a comfort to someone if she could. The mourners began to file out of the room, into the tea and coffee set up that was customary after the formal portion of the service.
“Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore so do our minutes hasten to their end.” Tierney said quietly as she walked towards the closed coffin. She wasn’t the biggest fan of The Bard, but his sonnets had always made this job - and her life – a little easier to swallow. The typical procedure at the funeral home when a body was being cremated included moving the coffin shortly afterwards so that those who had said their goodbyes wouldn’t be enticed to return to the room and prolong the grief. They could spend as much time as they wanted in the room next door, but the policy encouraged the family to say their final words and move out of the service room; it was supposed to make it easier.
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TAGGED! Trenton Timothy Padget
WORDS! 830!
LYRICS! Another Red Light - - - David Hodges
NOTES! <3
