The Will to Die

by Joe Pulizzi

  Less than an hour’s drive west of Cleveland, Sandusky was known for two things. First, Cedar Point, one of the greatest roller coaster parks ever created. At one point they boasted the most standing roller coasters in the world, but I think one of the Six Flags parks now holds that distinction. Second, Sandusky was the fictitious location for the movie Tommy Boy starring Chris Farley and David Spade. Callahan Auto Parts T-shirts are sold in most of the downtown stores. It’s a small town at heart. The kind of city where everyone knows everyone else. If it has twenty thousand residents, I’d be surprised.

  I had lived in Sandusky my entire life until going off to college. These days I get back just a few times a year, either to catch up with Denise or to stop at the funeral home to see my father, although the trips with my dad have been less frequent since my financial troubles. I got a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach when I realized this would be my last trip to see dad.

  Yesterday’s reminder of winter gave way to warmer winds and the kind of spring day people in northeast Ohio rave about. Rolling down the window, I could smell the scent of flowers blooming.

  Robby merged onto the interstate while I called Denise to get a full update. She answered from the hospital. I could tell she was mad about me putting her off this morning, but she quickly ran through the details. Dad was found around six thirty this morning. Janet, the funeral home’s longtime secretary, discovered him lying faceup next to his office desk during her morning rounds.

  Against Janet’s wishes, Dad was transported to Firelands Hospital a few miles away. She thought it was just “plain silly” that they were taking him to the hospital and would have to cart him right back to the funeral home to be embalmed. Apparently the EMTs who arrived on the scene were not prepared to determine the cause of death, even though heart attack or stroke was likely. Dad was well-known in Sandusky, and they probably wanted to put the pressure of determining how he died on the hospital pathologist.

  “Are they performing an autopsy?” I asked.

  “Yes, the pathologist has been in there with him for a while,” Denise said. “The nurse said that Ohio law requires an autopsy when the person dies alone. Anyway, he should be done any moment, and Jack will take him back to the funeral home.” Jack had been friends with Dad for over thirty years and has worked at the funeral home about that long. His presence at the hospital was not surprising.

  “Will?”

  “Yes, Denise.”

  “Hold on,” she said. I could hear her walking, down the hospital corridor most likely. The background noise went quiet. “Will ... I don’t think Dad died of natural causes.”

  “You mean as in he was killed? Or suicide?”

  She paused. “No ...well, maybe. I don’t know. It’s just a gut feeling. He was acting strange this past week. Strange more than normal I mean. And now this happens.”

  Denise was never one for drama growing up. Her instincts were usually right, so I immediately took her concerns seriously. But right now I didn’t know what to think. “I hear you. We’re less than forty-five minutes out. Hospital or funeral home?”

  “By then, we should be at the funeral home.”

  “Okay. See you in a few. Love you, sis.”

  As I ended the call, I realized that was the longest conversation I’d had with my sister in months. I made a mental note to rectify that in the future.

  “GET OFF THAT CASKET!”

  If my father told me once, he told me a thousand times.

  It was challenging as a six-year-old to keep occupied in a funeral home. The embalming room was strictly off limits. That was where I really wanted to play. Even though I was curious beyond belief, I knew better than to stick my nose into those parts. But the rest of the facility was my domain.

  The funeral home was an adapted two-family house built in the late eighteen hundreds. Its storage areas had storage areas. If I chose to hide somewhere, no one would find me.

  But on occasion, I liked to be around people—even dead people.

  Before a public visitation, the body would be moved from the embalming room into the purchased casket. Sometimes wood, mostly steel though. My favorite was copper. Copper was for rich people.

  My dad’s staff assisted in presenting the body just so once it was placed in the casket. Makeup? Check. Jewelry? Check. Hands folded properly? Check.

  Flowers were placed around the body, and it was ready to receive visitors ... including me.

  I grew up in that funeral home, so generally no one paid any attention to what I was doing. I could walk from room to room without a “Hi, Will,” or “How was your day, William?” A ghost in a funeral home, you could say.

  There was always a kneeler next to the casket for people who wanted to say a few prayers. Before the rush of visitors, I would push a folding chair against the kneeler, giving me enough leverage to crawl up and sit on the unopened side of the casket without disturbing anything. I would look at the body and wonder what they were doing now. Maybe she would be looking down at her funeral from heaven. Maybe he was so preoccupied hanging out with Jesus that he didn’t even realize he’d passed away. Or maybe they were in the other place. I tried not to think about that.

  It always amazed me that just a day or two before, this body was alive. It had blood flowing through it. The body could talk and move around and communicate with others. Now, it was a makeup commercial. The older the person, the more makeup was caked on. If the person smoked or was really old, it would take an entire tub of face-colored pancake just to rub out a few of the creases.

  But I took my job seriously. I was the first visitor for nearly every dead body that passed through Pollitt Funeral Home.

  I don’t even think my father cared that much. Heck, he spent his entire life looking and talking to dead bodies—he must have appreciated his son’s curiosity about his work. But if someone saw me sitting on their loved one’s casket, the words full refund could enter the conversation. My dad was an entrepreneur first, a funeral director second, so business relationships took precedence over his son’s quirks.

  “Will? You okay?” Robby said, his voice bringing me back to reality.

  Robby stopped the car below the overhang leading into the funeral home. We sat there for a bit. I could hear the air conditioning kick on in the car. ELO was playing in the background.

  “I’ll follow up with PopC and see about next steps,” Robby said. “Just take care of yourself and your family. I can come back and get you anytime.”

  “Thanks,” I said. I grabbed my duffel bag and suit from the back seat, closed the door, and headed for the front doors of the funeral home, slinging the bag over my shoulder.

  The realization hit me that over the forty years visiting this place, I had entered through the front only a handful of times. The oversized doors were protected by two tired white pillars, one on each side. The paint at the bottom of the right door was chipping, showing part rust and part red, presumably the previous color showing through. The black rug leading into the home was gray in the middle, where far too many people over the decades had wiped off their dirt before entering.

  Inside was a waiting committee. As I walked in, Jack Miller was on my left. Outside of my father, Jack taught me the rest of the funeral business. Jack was tall, about six foot four. He’d always been a large man, but over the years he’d lost some weight, and now his size forty-eight jacket was one size too big.

  I remembered the first time he showed me how to deliver flowers to a gravesite. Before processioning from the funeral home to the cemetery for burial, the family paid their final respects. This was generally the time when the spouse and the children let down their guards and emotions flowed. It was my least favorite part.

  Once the family retreated to their cars, the rings, necklaces, and any other family heirlooms were removed from the deceased and placed in a box or bag for the family. The body was lowered through a series of cranks inside the casket, the casket was closed, and then more cranks sealed it from the outsid
e elements. The casket was then moved to a rolling cart and pushed out to the hearse.

  Then the race began. Back inside the funeral home, every flower basket and floral presentation was quickly removed and taken out to a back-seat-stripped Ford Econoline at the side entrance. I lost my breath the first time moving the flowers to the van with Jack.

  “Why are we in such a hurry?” I remembered asking him.

  “My boy,” Jack said. “These flowers need to be present at the gravesite before the family arrives. If we don’t beat the procession there and have these flowers positioned just so, there’ll be hell to pay from your pop.”

  Once the flowers were in the van, Jack sped off, with me riding shotgun. The first time, I distinctly remember him blowing through three red lights on our way to the cemetery. Arriving at the gravesite, Jack and I placed the flowers around the funeral tent, which covered an open hole surrounded by what looked like AstroTurf. Jack seemed to be a tad more careful with flower placement compared to how quickly he’d thrown them into the back of the van, so I was equally as careful.

  Two minutes after we were finished placing the flowers, the first limousine showed up with the family.

  Now, as I approached Jack, he reached out his hand to me. We shook and he placed his other hand on top. I could feel his concern for me, with his thoughtful eyes and his caring Texan smile. We held the grip for five seconds, but Jack said nothing. He didn’t need to. Even though he was close to seventy and looked every bit of those years, Jack was all there. Both the expression and the three-piece suit told me he was, even now, in work mode.

  To my right sat Denise and my Uncle Dan, in two chairs facing the front doors. Dan rose, shook my hand, and pulled me in for a tight hug.

  “I’m sorry, son,” Dan said. “Abe was a truly great man. And a great friend.”

  Dan McGinty was my father’s best friend for some forty-plus years. They first met while serving in Vietnam, and were assigned to the same Army unit. I always thought it odd that they both came from Sandusky, my father on the west side and Dan on the east side, and met for the first time while serving in battle. My father loved Dan like a brother. Only one time did they ever have a falling-out, and that was over a woman. What I cobbled together from all the stories was that both Abe and Dan met my mother, Laura, at the same time, and both fell for her. Laura, better known as Linnie, chose Abe, and after that, the boys didn’t talk for about six months or so. I heard punches were thrown at one point, but none landed.

  Dan was sixty-five, looking like fifty-five. He had always looked younger than my father. The only difference from the last time I saw Dan was a little gray hair showed through his full head of dark-brown hair.

  “Thanks, Dan,” I said.

  I moved over to Denise and crouched in front of her. Her eyes were red and swollen. Her left hand was shaking and held a few used tissues. I pulled her head into my shoulder, and she let out a horrible sound of grief.

  “I’m here,” I said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be here sooner.”

  “It’s fine,” Denise said in between breaths. “It’s going to be a tough couple days.” She paused and murmured, “Too young. Too young.”

  Denise and I had always been close, but even more so after my mom died in a car accident about two years ago. While Denise was older than I by a few years, I’d generally taken the role of eldest child.

  “He’s with Mom now,” I said. We paused for what seemed like minutes. “I take it Dad’s here, since Jack is here.”

  “Yes,” she said. “Sam has him in prep.”

  “All right,” I said. “I’m going down to see him. I’ll be right back.”

  “You want me to go with you?” Denise said.

  “No. I’m good.”

  “Go easy on Sam,” she said.

  I just stared back at her. A look we’d shared a thousand times. She knew me too well.

  THE EMBALMING ROOM was in the basement. On my way to the stairs I passed two visitation rooms, the office, and the lounge where visitors and family get coffee and snacks while they mourn and greet friends and family. I was surprised to see the Keurig machine sitting on the counter next to the sink. Dad loved his old percolator. I couldn’t believe he gave it up.

  The stairway was protected by a large hundred-year-old door with a sign that said No Admittance. It was one of those signs you can buy at any office supply store, but from 1960. As I opened the door, the smell of embalming solution was overwhelming. Ventilation is key in an embalming room, and Dad never spent the money on better indoor air quality.

  The dark stairs led to a long hallway of halogen lights, which pointed to the meat locker. I started calling it the meat locker when I was about eight years old, after taking a tour of a butcher shop. Clearly different purposes, but both shops used the exact same four-inch stainless-steel door with a spring-loaded latch handle. But then again, why not? Both kept meat from going bad.

  I couldn’t see Sam yet, but I knew she was there. As strong as the smells of embalming fluid and death were, they were no match for Sam’s perfume. I picked up the scent as soon as I entered the room.

  Her back was turned to me, and I could see that she was looking down at my father. Sam was never skinny or overweight, always just right in my opinion, but she’d clearly lost weight. Her hair was definitely darker and a little shorter.

  “Hi, Sam,” I said.

  She gasped as if I’d surprised her. Sam was the kind of person who was never frightened or surprised, so she must have been in deep thought. Sam learned everything she knew about the funeral business from my father, and I forgot how much of a blow this was to her as well.

  She turned, took three quick steps forward, and hugged me. In that moment, I lost control, and the tears came. The combination of standing next to my dead father and feeling my ex-wife in my arms was simply too much to handle.

  We held each other for what seemed like hours but was just a few seconds. I hadn’t held her like that since a year before we were divorced. Before she found out about my gambling problem. And before all my lies to cover it up. That she was willing to hug me—let alone touch me—was a surprise. She backed away and looked into my eyes. “I’m so sorry, Will.”

  “I’m glad you’re here. More than anything else, he would have wanted you to handle his death.”

  “I’ll give you a moment alone with him.”

  “No, please stay here. But I’d like to have a look.”

  A white sheet was pulled over his naked body, only exposing the top of his chest, shoulders, and head. Dad, half-Sicilian and half-Irish, was lucky to reach five foot eight, but he looked like a child on the embalming table. I’d seen hundreds, maybe thousands, of dead bodies before, and every one of them looked dead to me ... except for today. He looked like he did when he used to fall asleep on the couch in front of the television. The only thing I wanted to do at this moment was wake him up and tell him there was a new Law & Order on the tube.

  After a moment of silence, Sam interrupted my thoughts. “He came in about twenty minutes ago, and I started prep on him immediately.” She pulled down the sheet to just below his navel. The chest had been cut open and sealed back up, looking like a large letter Y moving from the shoulder blades to his belly button. “I’m sure you heard the news about the autopsy. I almost forgot about the autopsy rule and dying alone until Denise prepared me for it.”

  “Did they give you any results on cause of death?”

  She shook her head. “No, and I wouldn’t expect anything for a couple of days. Jim McGinty is the coroner, but you probably knew that. Uncle Dan’s brother’s kid. Anyway, I chatted with him on the phone this morning, and he said they had a policeman shot and killed last night and that’s taking most of their resources. And with your dad probably dying of natural causes, I wouldn’t expect anything quickly. We didn’t get the call to handle the policeman by the way. Traynor got it.”

  Dad competed with Traynor Funeral Home his entire life. It was the small-town version of
Coke versus Pepsi. Pollitt was the largest funeral home in town until a few years ago.

  I bent down to take a look at the autopsy incision. “It looks like they did half the work for you. I take it the major organs are gone?”

  Sam nodded. “There are a few bits of organ in the abdomen I’ll need to take care of, and of course I’ll need to switch out the blood with the embalming solution.” Sam paused. “Would you like me to wait to do the procedure?”

  “No,” I said. “Don’t wait. I don’t want to get in your way. Just give me a heads-up before you do the hair and makeup will you?”

  Sam said nothing. She didn’t have to. Out of anyone in the world, she knew best that I liked to be overinformed in matters like these.

  I pulled up the sheet to just below his chin and took one long look at him. “I’ll see you later, Pop,” I said touching the side of his head. “I’m sorry I wasn’t around more.”

  As I walked away, I paused, then turned around a few paces before the doorway. I wanted desperately to take Sam in my arms and hold her. There were so many things I wanted to tell her, but the words didn’t come. So many regrets. So many mistakes to atone for.

  I turned back and was about to head upstairs when she called, “Will, wait a second.”

  I turned around. “Yes?”

  “This is going to be a rough couple of days. I’m here for you and for Jess. And I have some of my own issues to work out since I loved your father like my own, but this doesn’t change anything between us. I’ve made some progress rebuilding my life without you, so let’s get through this the best we can and then move on. I’m here to support the family through this situation, but that’s it.” She paused. “I just wanted to make that clear.”

  I never wanted the divorce. Sam pushed for it and I acquiesced. I honestly didn’t have much of a choice.

  I nodded and went to turn away. Then after a few seconds, she said, “Make sure you talk to Jess. I was going to call her, but this is something you should do.”