Today, for the second time in a week, I drove the company hearse to pick up another Navy Seal who was killed in Afghanistan while aboard the now-famous Chinook chopper incident. This time we picked up from the Naval Air Base. I drove onto the tarmac and waited for the charter jet to land while going over details with the Assistant who rode with me and the Patriot Guard, a group of motorcycle riding veterans who escort hearses on such occasions.
As we waited, the family of the soldier walked out of the building and dozens of other Navy Seals lined up in anticipation of the jet. Motorcycles lined up as well, then the Ceremonial Guard (six Navy personnel who carry caskets from the jet to the hearse) formed in front. There were many Navy officers on hand. When the jet landed and came to a stop some distance in front of the family, I was signaled to drive around the jet and park in front of it, back hatch facing the jet.
The veterans lined up between the jet and the hearse holding large flags in salute. Slowly, the pilots brought down the casket, then the Ceremonial Guard ceremoniously lifted the casket onto our church truck. Then they backed off, giving family time to come forward and touch the casket. The family declined the invitation. During all of this, the Asst. and I stood by our hearse, in our suits, watching.
The Ceremonial Guard then carried the casket into the hearse, stood back in salute as I drove behind the motorcycles up front. With the soldier's family right behind us, we were escorted by the Navy Police out of the Base. It's a big place, and soldiers we passed all saluted their fallen comrade as we drove by.
Once out onto civilian roads, many families lined the streets, waving flags and saluting the hearse. Police officers lined up at intersections, saluting as well. I felt so honored to be the one to drive this soldier. I felt like I was in a parade, but instead of looking and waving back at people I just looked straight ahead, as this was not about me, but about a brave young man who served his country and lost his life for it.
It was a very nice escort to the cemetery. We went through a rather ghetto part of town and there was some traffic on the freeway but overall it was smooth. Upon entering the cemetery, we broke away from the caravan and parked next to the chapel. Veterans in biker clothes came to unload the casket, and I handed out white gloves to them. The family walked past me to witness the unloading. I wonder how they feel, to get that phone call, to learn that their son won't be coming home alive.
After the veterans dispersed, I parked the hearse in the garage and told coworkers about the experience. I told the Asst. that I'd be happy to do this once a week. I think I should polish my shoes for next time, as every soldier we saw had brilliantly shined shoes. To those who serve in the armed forces--thank you.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Ticket to ride
8:30pm
On-call again tonight. Last week I was on-call every night. Last Monday I did my personal best 13 pick ups, ten of them with the Assistant. From 8 pm to 8 am I worked non-stop, stopping by drive-thrus twice to eat on the road. But the next night I was exhausted, but luckily I only missed a couple of calls. I saved some money on gas since my car was at work all week.
Last Wednesday night, every next of kin was highly emotional. There was one lady whose mother had passed, and she was very distraught. She was crying like a little girl and I found myself trying to console her, rubbing her shoulder. I wanted to hug her but I didn't, and looking back I should have. She was telling us how her large family came to say goodbye and that she hadn't had any time alone with her yet. I told her she can call us in the morning, or whenever she felt ready for us to pick up her mother, and she accepted. The next day, a transport company that my company has a contract with went for the pick up.
Last night I did nine, which is still very good. With so many done so quickly it's nearly impossible to remember details. Bang bang, in and out, and no looking back. Bring 'em in, tag 'em, then split, since time is money at night.
So far it's been quiet tonight, I may get a nap in for a bit.
Three weeks ago we went to the Emergency Room for a night pick-up. Walking in the room where an old man had passed, his daughter and I made eye contact for a good while. She asked finally, "Have we met before? I feel like I know you." I replied the same and when I told her about the nursing home I drove for it hit her: "Now I remember! You drove my father and I to a doctor's appointment once. Do you remember? You even let me sit in the front seat! How are you?"
Note: I usually never let anyone other than coworkers sit up front, as I saw patients and emotional family members as a potential threat to safety. Specifically, my safety.
I vaguely remembered the day she talked about, but I replied, "Yes! How are you? (Dumb question under the circumstances) It's nice to see you again." She told me to look at her father's face and I did, and told her that yeah, I remember Mr. so-and-so. Now that I think about it, I remember having difficulty strapping him in the van because he was so tall and his legs were extended straight out from his wheelchair.
Today me and the newer driver went to go pick up an old lady. There was a police car out front and I said to my co-driver, "Uh oh, that's not a good sign." It turned out that the granddaughter of the woman was an EMT, in a similar uniform of her policeman friend who came by to pay his respects. They were waiting for a Catholic priest to arrive and asked if we can wait. The young EMT was so nice it was an easy decision for us to wait with her.
Emergency Medical Technicians save lives for peanuts. While not qualified to do fully what Paramedics do, EMTs are sometimes called upon to administer first aid at a scene. How they make less money than those who work at Starbucks is beyond me. She was emotional but held it together very well, I thought.
I still like everyone I work with, but there is one grumpy old embalmer that bothers me. He is old-school, meaning he is used to working alone in a mom and pop mortuary. He has had run-ins with just about everyone, including management. He is an old dog who can't adapt to working with others, and in my opinion, a passive-aggressive weasel who is quick to blame others to save his own ass. I have no respect for such people. I'm hoping he leaves on his own or gets canned, since no one can stand the old cranky bastard.
We have another veteran embalmer, a former pro baseball player and Highway Patrolman. He is awesome and as humble as can be. He tells us stories of his cop days, and of meeting Ty Cobb and Mickey Mantle. And absolutely no attitude or some sense of entitlement because he's been in the business for as long as he has.
Back to my job, there was another suicide case last week from the ME. A small caliber bullet through the temple and out the other side of the head that left a small exit wound. The cool old embalmer said that even a .22 can go through the head like that. I read the brief suicide note, and in essence he was getting back at his ex, while realizing there was something wrong with himself mentally. Our supervisor said to me, "I'm all for mentally ill people to commit suicide." That statement surprised me for a moment. Then she explained, "It's better they take themselves out before taking out someone else." Makes sense.
This past weekend I got stopped for speeding in my own car, trying to make it up north to see my friend's baby daughter's baptism. Then I almost touched fenders at speed with an inattentive driver who drove the same car as mine. Then I went to the wrong address. The best driver I know had a thick slice of humble pie. The ticket won't be cheap but I'm okay with it. I've gotten away with speeding more times than I can count so it was only a matter of time.
On-call again tonight. Last week I was on-call every night. Last Monday I did my personal best 13 pick ups, ten of them with the Assistant. From 8 pm to 8 am I worked non-stop, stopping by drive-thrus twice to eat on the road. But the next night I was exhausted, but luckily I only missed a couple of calls. I saved some money on gas since my car was at work all week.
Last Wednesday night, every next of kin was highly emotional. There was one lady whose mother had passed, and she was very distraught. She was crying like a little girl and I found myself trying to console her, rubbing her shoulder. I wanted to hug her but I didn't, and looking back I should have. She was telling us how her large family came to say goodbye and that she hadn't had any time alone with her yet. I told her she can call us in the morning, or whenever she felt ready for us to pick up her mother, and she accepted. The next day, a transport company that my company has a contract with went for the pick up.
Last night I did nine, which is still very good. With so many done so quickly it's nearly impossible to remember details. Bang bang, in and out, and no looking back. Bring 'em in, tag 'em, then split, since time is money at night.
So far it's been quiet tonight, I may get a nap in for a bit.
Three weeks ago we went to the Emergency Room for a night pick-up. Walking in the room where an old man had passed, his daughter and I made eye contact for a good while. She asked finally, "Have we met before? I feel like I know you." I replied the same and when I told her about the nursing home I drove for it hit her: "Now I remember! You drove my father and I to a doctor's appointment once. Do you remember? You even let me sit in the front seat! How are you?"
Note: I usually never let anyone other than coworkers sit up front, as I saw patients and emotional family members as a potential threat to safety. Specifically, my safety.
I vaguely remembered the day she talked about, but I replied, "Yes! How are you? (Dumb question under the circumstances) It's nice to see you again." She told me to look at her father's face and I did, and told her that yeah, I remember Mr. so-and-so. Now that I think about it, I remember having difficulty strapping him in the van because he was so tall and his legs were extended straight out from his wheelchair.
Today me and the newer driver went to go pick up an old lady. There was a police car out front and I said to my co-driver, "Uh oh, that's not a good sign." It turned out that the granddaughter of the woman was an EMT, in a similar uniform of her policeman friend who came by to pay his respects. They were waiting for a Catholic priest to arrive and asked if we can wait. The young EMT was so nice it was an easy decision for us to wait with her.
Emergency Medical Technicians save lives for peanuts. While not qualified to do fully what Paramedics do, EMTs are sometimes called upon to administer first aid at a scene. How they make less money than those who work at Starbucks is beyond me. She was emotional but held it together very well, I thought.
I still like everyone I work with, but there is one grumpy old embalmer that bothers me. He is old-school, meaning he is used to working alone in a mom and pop mortuary. He has had run-ins with just about everyone, including management. He is an old dog who can't adapt to working with others, and in my opinion, a passive-aggressive weasel who is quick to blame others to save his own ass. I have no respect for such people. I'm hoping he leaves on his own or gets canned, since no one can stand the old cranky bastard.
We have another veteran embalmer, a former pro baseball player and Highway Patrolman. He is awesome and as humble as can be. He tells us stories of his cop days, and of meeting Ty Cobb and Mickey Mantle. And absolutely no attitude or some sense of entitlement because he's been in the business for as long as he has.
Back to my job, there was another suicide case last week from the ME. A small caliber bullet through the temple and out the other side of the head that left a small exit wound. The cool old embalmer said that even a .22 can go through the head like that. I read the brief suicide note, and in essence he was getting back at his ex, while realizing there was something wrong with himself mentally. Our supervisor said to me, "I'm all for mentally ill people to commit suicide." That statement surprised me for a moment. Then she explained, "It's better they take themselves out before taking out someone else." Makes sense.
This past weekend I got stopped for speeding in my own car, trying to make it up north to see my friend's baby daughter's baptism. Then I almost touched fenders at speed with an inattentive driver who drove the same car as mine. Then I went to the wrong address. The best driver I know had a thick slice of humble pie. The ticket won't be cheap but I'm okay with it. I've gotten away with speeding more times than I can count so it was only a matter of time.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Soon to die near you...
I apologize for not posting recently. Ironically, I've been working a lot and I've been too tired to type out all the things I've seen. I promise though--I will post some new shit soon.
Or, as in this past week, I saw two women in the cooler whom I knew from the nursing home I worked at. One was old, a woman with dementia and a scooter with incredible hand strength and a great sense of humor. A little old lady who told me I was an excellent driver. I used to tell her all the time, "Hey granny! Slow down or you'll run over somebody!"
The other, a fairly young woman whom I knew had problems and was extremely lonely. I felt sad for the latter. She was a kind soul who--in my opinion--lost her family and just wanted to be loved and accepted.
Isn't that what we all want? I was sad to see her cold, lifeless face after I decided to confirm whether it was really her or not after seeing her name in the log book. I really hope she found peace in her last moments.
That makes six old people I knew who came in. I'll write about #4 soon.
In the meantime, here's another tune I would like to be heard in case I die. Sounds macabre? One of my favorites from JSB:
Or, as in this past week, I saw two women in the cooler whom I knew from the nursing home I worked at. One was old, a woman with dementia and a scooter with incredible hand strength and a great sense of humor. A little old lady who told me I was an excellent driver. I used to tell her all the time, "Hey granny! Slow down or you'll run over somebody!"
The other, a fairly young woman whom I knew had problems and was extremely lonely. I felt sad for the latter. She was a kind soul who--in my opinion--lost her family and just wanted to be loved and accepted.
Isn't that what we all want? I was sad to see her cold, lifeless face after I decided to confirm whether it was really her or not after seeing her name in the log book. I really hope she found peace in her last moments.
That makes six old people I knew who came in. I'll write about #4 soon.
In the meantime, here's another tune I would like to be heard in case I die. Sounds macabre? One of my favorites from JSB:
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