Lack of the Dead

I really miss embalming. I miss the chemicals, the art, the dead. I want to feel a trocar in my hand and make a gorgeous tight whip stich. I want to obsess over closing the eyes and finding the artery. I need to be surrounsded by death. When you spend your day elbow deep in someone's thorasic cavity there is no where left to go but up. God forbid you spend the day laboring over the care of a baby that was to perfect for this world. Its a sick, heatbreaking and morbidly fascinating all at once. No matter how your day goes with a dead baby there is nothing as sweet as walking in the door and hefting a large and healthy brown eyed little boy in the air. Its the ultimate balance. The ultimate testament to loving what you have while you have it.
Now I have endless days and nights of these lovely little monsters stuck in a house. Four white walls pushing in while the looming threat of school is making them push back. I want a babysitter and 5 or 6 hours in a cold quiet prep room with nothnig but me and the dead. I don't care if theyre 97 and their artery's are so afflcited by atherosclerosis that I have to hype their entire bed sore covered body. I just want the dead.