At Home

Amazing how things can change in a year. Economy tanked. I moved back to West Chester. Freelance work is coming in and creativity is high. I am looking for a 'day' job, but my resume seems to be written in Mandarin Chinese, because no one even acknowledges it (this, after 13+ years of not even needing a resume to work). I would love to travel, but the farthest I go these days is whatever is in a 50 mile radius. That includes one of my new assignments: Forensic Artist.

Philadelphia is 55 miles from me, but I have no problem, even in heavy traffic, with being excited about my destination: a local city morgue. Yes, while others are out at movies or restaurants, I am with the non-living. The projects are either facial reconstructions from skeletal remains (when there is only a skull or the face is totally unintelligible) or postmortem drawings (when the face is intact).

At first, I thought I would be seriously creeped out. I was at the Broward County M.E. for a drawing previously and the smell about knocked me out. And that appointment was in the morning. On this first assignment in Philadelphia, however, I had to go down there at night. All the zombie movies I had ever watched came back to me. But, as I entered the place and noticed the smell was minimal, I realized I could work for the hours I needed to in the autopsy room where they put me.

With my back to the wide expanse of the room (the room was about 50 by 75 feet, fading into the blackness of another autopsy area), I heard noises behind me (at least I could swear I did), and turned to look, but, alas, there was nothing there. So, enough of the drama...I completed my first facial reconstruction on a skull found in the city in about 13 hours. I was able to eat in the break room (even when they brought a decomp into the next room), and I drove home that night pretty excited about the work.

Choosing to have the radio off and letting the cool Philadelphia breeze in through the window, I sobered and my heart started hurting. It wasn't the hurt from the depression I've been fighting since March of this year--and possibly for longer; it was a hurt for these people lying in a cold refrigerator who would never get to do anything else. I wondered how many had a relationship with God and how many didn't. I could expound on this, but there's nothing to say. It was like a pain in my heart, a thought, and then a resolution to do better; not to be deceived by the temporal feeling of depression due to circumstances or not enough money or being single or missing my friends in Florida or any of the other things for which a spoiled American child like me may want, real or perceived.

I can't say I've succeeded at it, but while I try, I'm going to be putting faces and, hopefully, identities on people who can no longer speak for themselves. Maybe if and when a family member or friend comes forward, they will think of what comes after. Maybe they will appreciate everything they have and will know that while quantities of money, friends, possessions and experiences fluctuate, time always disappears quickly. Hopefully they will learn to love God and hold His hand as they step forward into things they formerly feared but now will embrace, good or bad.