First call removals have never been my favorite thing to do. I’m grateful that I don’t have to do them very often anymore, but will if I’m needed. I never minded going into nursing homes, but I always hated going into people’s actual houses. Something about it has always felt invasive. Hospitals were my favorite. Everything was cut and dry, and you’re almost always working solely with hospital staff, so things are far less emotional, rendering them far more efficient. 

You park around the back, grab your gurney and security usually lets you in and escorts you to the morgue. It’s truly a one person job, for the most part. Quick, quiet, and before you know it, you’re on your way. 

It’s different now. Hospitals have become war zones. The current pandemic has completely shaken the foundation of the healthcare system. 

There are just too many people, and not enough beds. 

Even in the best case scenario, where you did get a bed, you would be alone. Waiting for the next round of meds, but with no human interaction. Knowing that if a family member was allowed to contact you, it’s probably because you were dying. 

I began to imagine what it would be like to not be able to breathe. 

I imagined how my family would feel, not only being separated while I was dying, but then being told they couldn’t hold a funeral.

They couldn’t say goodbye. 

These days, that’s pretty much exactly what we’re telling you. 

And then, I began to think about Eric Garner. He couldn’t breathe. Those were his last words. 

“I. CAN’T. BREATHE.”

His family? They couldn’t say goodbye. 

It’s interesting where your mind goes during times of crisis. An incurable virus is choking our people by the thousands, and there are so many people still being reckless. Hundreds of people are pouring into hospitals daily with the same cry. "I can’t breathe."

This is not a game. Stay inside if you can.  Give our healthcare workers time to catch their breath. They’re running out of time. 

And your local death care workers are already gearing up for battle.