Feature by Andrea Laurita Nobody can remember the year Mr. and Mrs. Cary were married, least of all Mr. Cary.

Back to Table of Contents | Back to Main Index Previous Features | Send mail to The Voice Man undertakes caring for departed Mrs. Cary's resting place was to be this coffin before her family decided to cremate her remains. -Tess Chierici, photo Monday, February 10, 2003: This is a good day for business at Chambers Memorial Funeral Home* in Vancouver. Four new arrivals are resting silently in a crowded refrigerator just beyond a door marked "Employees Only." The funeral home's four employees are preparing for a busy day ahead. One of them, Isaac Marger*, a 37-year-old former youth pastor, has been working as a mortician for three years. He carries his 6-foot-4-inch 240-pound frame dressed in a sharp black suit and worn brown shoes. Sucking on a peppermint, he sits down in his office to review the file on Janet Cary*. Mrs. Cary died Saturday morning; she was 65 years old. Her family has a 10:30 a.m. appointment to discuss arrangements for her remains and obligatory service. Meanwhile, classical music of stringed instruments begins to float throughout the funeral home. It is now ready for guests. At 11:05 a.m., Marger calls Mrs. Cary's husband, Dennis*, to make sure he hasn't forgotten their appointment. "Are you going to have a viewing?" Marger asks. "Bring clothing, even underclothing and a recent color photo. Yes, you can bring her favorite fingernail polish." He ends the conversation and decides that he can be working on Mrs. Cary until her family arrives. Pushing past the "employees only" door, he removes his suit jacket and recruits another employee for help. The two men slap on latex gloves and huddle around the refrigerator as Marger swings the door open. Four bodies wrapped in white plastic, heavy-duty garbage bags lie feet first in the 6-and-a-half-foot deep cooler. The middle shelf is being shared, and the woman on the bottom shelf has an appointment with the crematory this morning. The bags have been tagged with names in permanent black marker to identify who's inside. "Oh, she's on the top shelf," the other employee says. The men wheel out an adjustable metal table and hoist it to the top shelf of the cooler. Marger grips the plastic bag with Mrs. Cary's name and begins to pull. "She's kind of a big woman, isn't she?" he says. He begins to hum a song as together they yank Mrs. Cary out headfirst onto the metal *Names changed to protect identity table. Thump. They wheel her into a cold, avocado-painted preparation room. Marger opens the bag, gently takes Mrs. Cary's cold, limp arthritic hand in his and begins to stretch out her fingers. "She's a cute little old lady," he says. "She'll be easy to embalm." He notices that her fingernails are well-polished. "This is a woman who will be expected to look good. Her family was probably used to seeing her dolled up," he says. Mrs. Cary looks anything but all dolled up. Her lips are a light blue tint. Her carnation pink-and-white checkered night robe is mostly unbuttoned, exposing a highway of tubes snaking across her abdomen and leading to medical pouches still connected to her body. Marger slips the IV needle from her right arm and discards it in the waste bin. With both hands, he places her head on a support block. Next the men remove their gloves. Janet Cary needs some time to thaw out. Mr. Cary is now over an hour late. Marger returns to his office and makes a few phone calls. A man from the crematory comes to make a pick-up. He's a regular around the funeral home. Marger helps him retrieve the woman from the bottom shelf of the cooler. A co-worker strolls into the room and announces that the Cary family has arrived. Marger takes his time putting his jacket back on. He pats his breast pocket once, double checking his nametag before stepping into the lobby where the tired Cary family is sitting nervously. Mr. Cary is accompanied by his three adult children: Robert*, Lisa* and Wayne*. Lisa is suffering from jet lag; she arrived in town last night. Marger introduces himself, making sure to shake everyone's hand before ushering the family into his office. He offers them coffee as well as his condolences. The family quickly fills in Marger on the details of Mrs. Cary's death and wishes. Mr. Cary says, "She wants it simple and basic. One rose." Quietness briefly hovers over the room; the Cary family is waiting for Marger to lead the conversation. He tries to be as helpful as possible while walking the family through some questions about the service. Lisa's cell phone disturbs the process; she apologetically shuts it off. Marger makes the most of the interruption by closing the blinds, relieving Mr. Cary from having to squint his eyes. With every decision, the Cary family checks for approval from one another. Lisa wants to view her mother's body. Wayne has a flight scheduled to leave on Wednesday afternoon. Mrs. Cary was opposed to being buried underground and had recently decided that instead of cremation she wanted to be placed in a mausoleum. She also believed a spirit takes 72 hours after death to completely leave a body; the embalming process will have to be postponed another 29 hours. The family agrees to Wednesday morning as the best time for Mrs. Cary's service. Robert jokes that anytime is good for him as long as it doesn't interfere with his television show. No one acknowledges him. Marger calls the chaplain to make sure he's available Wednesday. Mr. Cary sits, softly sipping his cup of black coffee. His neatly combed hair needs a trim. His strong workman's hands seem helpless and fragile. He stares at the table, listening intently to the conversation. Marger coaches the family through the death certificate. Like a game of Charades, he asks questions and the family members throw guesses at one another as they scramble for answers. They cannot remember Mrs. Cary's father's last name; she was adopted. Finally they are all satisfied with "Johnson"*. Nobody can remember the year Mr. and Mrs. Cary were married, least of all Mr. Cary. Robert's cell phone rings. He answers it, rudely barking at the person on the other line that this is a bad time to call. He hangs up and shoves the phone back into his pocket. Marger is calm. He needs to be. With a slow breath, he leads the conversation onward. "We need to discuss caskets," he says. Everyone rises, and Marger leads the family through the back door of his office into the casket room. Ceiling lights shine on the rectangular room lined with various open caskets of metal and wood. Marger stands at the door as the family moves in a pack counterclockwise around the room. "I love pine," Mr. Cary says, rubbing the lid of a simple pine casket; the casket must be metal for the mausoleum. "What would mom like?" Cary's son, Wayne, asks. "I think she'd like the pine one," Mr. Cary says. They each nominate a casket. Classical music follows them around as they debate the options. They decide that a rose would look best upon a white casket, and the matter is settled. Flocking back into the office, everyone gets refills on coffee and sits again. The time has come for Mr. Cary to sign permission for his wife to be embalmed. He pulls out his pen and sets it down on the paper, not ready to sign. He informs Marger that they remembered a dress, lipstick and nail polish. "She was kind of a free spirit; there's no underwear of shoes," he says. Pulling Mrs. Cary's driver's license out of his breast pocket, he adds, "Simple make-up, but the hair is very important; she wants it curly." Then he signs the paper. Marger produces price lists. Robert leans across the table as Marger points with his pen to package options on the paper Mr. Cary is now holding with both hands. Suddenly, Robert and Mr. Cary stand up and step outside to talk. Lisa and Wayne talk about the casket. "I'm glad we didn't choose the blue interior," Lisa says. "We would've been haunted for the rest of our lives." Mr. Cary returns. He expresses Robert's reservations about having Mrs. Cary embalmed. Lisa and Robert are surprised, and Marger begins to explain the embalming process to reassure Mr. Cary. Everyone takes comfort when he mentions that he, personally, will be doing the embalming. Five minutes later Robert returns, a cloud of cigarette smoke hanging all over him. He says that he isn't comfortable with the embalming process, but he does not want to make a scene. Marger excuses himself from the room to print the contract. Most consultations with families do not take this long, but he does not want to rush the process. While Marger is out of the room, the family talks about him. "He's a real person; I think Mom would really like him," Mr. Cary says. "He's kind of beat-up looking," he adds with a grin exposing his tobacco-stained teeth. "I think he's brilliant," Wayne says, "to step into a situation like this a handle it the way he has. Mom would want him to do the embalming." Marger returns with the printed contract in hand. As Mr. Cary scans the three-page contract totaling $4,600 he swallows with a sigh. He asks Robert if he's able to offer financial help. Robert can't. They take up Marger on his previously extended offer to leave them alone. Marger steps out of his office again. The Cary family keeps the door closed for 20 minutes. They have changed their minds by the time Marger returns. There is to be no embalming Mrs. Cary will now be cremated. Her remains are to be left in California instead of Washington. Lisa is willing to view her mother today. The only previous decision that still stands is the service on Wednesday at 10 a.m. However, Mrs. Cary's remains will not be available at that time because her 72-hour waiting period won't be complete until after working hours on Tuesday. The family steps back into the casket room and heads for the urn display. One again, they discuss until they select the best urn. Marger prints up the new contract. The cost now totals $2,300. Relief is evident around the office table as the Cary family jokes about what they will do with another when the time comes for each to die. "I want to be scattered in the Snake River and float back into the ocean," Mr. Cary says. Lisa politely thanks him for informing her. Taking the dress and driver's license from Mr. Cary, Marger asks the family to wait in his office for 15 minutes as he prepares Mrs. Cary for viewing. In the prep room, Marger quickly removes his jacket, grabs a baby blue, full-sleeve apron and goes to work. Mrs. Cary is waiting for her quick makeover, but not exactly as he left her. The artery Marger pulled an IV needle from hours earlier has been bleeding heavily. Mrs. Cary now lies in a plastic bag pooled with blood. Marger takes a white towel and begins to mop up the mess. Then he reaches into a drawer and grabs a roll of clear plastic wrap. After elevating her arm and giving it a quick scrub, he wraps her elbow tightly and generously, sealing it with packing tape. Walking around the table, he removes the IV needle from her left arm and hurriedly repeats the wrapping. Mrs. Cary looks as if she's asleep, with both arms hanging taped over the edge of a metal table. Marger quickly strips her naked, throwing her blood-soaked nightgown and the medical tubes into a garbage bin. He pulls a stiff, yet more comfortable-looking table alongside Mrs. Cary. Squirting liberally, he coats her body and the metal table for lubrication. He and another employee brace themselves to shift the body. He cradles her head and grits his teeth. This is no simple task. The dress Mr. Cary brought is elegant, a full-length deep bark color with a velvet texture. Marger holds it out, examining the side with buttons and flipping it around, trying to determine the front from the back. Almost 15 minutes have passed and the Cary family is waiting. Marger makes up his mind and hands half of the dress to his co-worker. They hold it out like beds sheet while he uses a small pair of scissors to cut down the back of the dress. Laying it over her body, they gently slip one of her arms into the long, lacy sleeves. They tuck the cut cress under her body and return the support block to brace her head. "Grab be the hairspray and the brown brush with funky bristles," Marger says. The other employee scrounges through a container of brushes and combs. Marger sprays her hair and caresses it down, combing out the tangles and smoothing it. The other employee brings a large, white, hand-made afghan, which he folds in half before covering Mrs. Cary's torso and legs. Her elbows are carefully bent and placed to rest atop her abdomen. Marger removes his apron and gloves and puts his jacket back on. Mrs. Cary is wheeled into a small room with a more comfortable temperature and flattering pink-tinted lights. Here, Marger applies a small amount of super glue to Mrs. Cary's inner lip, top and bottom. "We buy this stiff in bulk," he says, holding her jaw so that her lips will press together while the glue dries. Slipping the tube of glue into his pocket, Marger pauses at the door and takes a deep breath before pushing past it. He escorts the Cary family to where Mrs. Cary is waiting with straight hair and uncolored lips. He shuts the door after them and returns to his office to do paperwork. "Stress is the details. You only get one shot to do it right," Marger says. "Sometimes it's like putting a wedding together in just a couple days." In fewer than five minutes, the Cary family somberly walks away from the viewing room. Robert is holding Lisa's hand; her eyes are red. Mr. Cary shakes Marger's hand. "She looks good," he says, "but she's really cold." "Thanks. Go get some food," Marger says, holding the front door open for them. The time is 2:45 p.m. and Marger is hungry. He briefly discusses the financial disappointment of this sale with his manager, but neither man is in this business for profit. He wheels Mrs. Cary back into the prep room and announces that he's going to the drive-through at McDonalds if anybody has an order. He inhales his lunch in the funeral home's employee lounge. "I wanted to be a mortician because it's the closest thing to being a pastor without dealing with church politics," Marger says, leaning back in a desk chair. "I like the reaction I get from people, but most importantly, sometimes I'm able to pray with families and share my faith. I don't know how anybody could work in this job without some sort of faith. I deal with eternity every day." After lunch, he tears a new plastic bag from the roll. Another employee helps Marger lift and pull Mrs. Cary's body until she is ready to be sealed in the bag with packing tape; then they lift her back into the cooler. It's less crowded than it was this morning. She'll be left to rest until her appointment with the crematory on Wednesday morning. * Names have been changed The sanctuary temporarily falls silent as Marger and his co-workers work behind-the-scenes. A funeral was scheduled here for 4 p.m. -Tess Chierici, photo Back to Table of Contents | Back to Main Index Previous Features | Top Of Page Send mail to The Voice| Journalism department website © 2003 The Voice. 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