Sending People to Heaven: The Undertaker

By David John Cook

Sending People To Heaven – The Undertaker pulls back the curtain on the extraordinary life of John, a licensed mortician working within the unseen world of caring for the dead… and the living.

Go behind the scenes and experience the profoundly serious and, at times, amusing interactions John has with his staff as they unite in handling the preparation of the dead, and serving the grieving families left behind.

John's journey reveals the touching and very delicate nature of his profession, unfolding the challenges, frustrations and pain that often haunt him as he strives to balance a demanding career with his personal life.

Woven within the chapters are tender stories of tragic grief and loss, often heart-wrenching and shocking as families face the raw reality of death.

Sending People To Heaven – The Undertaker will take you on a journey of life and death, shock and denial, anger and guilt, bargaining and acceptance… and finally, remembering.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Dec 21, 2022
• ISBN: 9781667882345

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

THE DREAM

All that we see or seem, is but a dream within a dream.

— EDGAR ALLAN POE

Friday, August 28th

If anything is to be learned of the following events, it is this—one may steal away death’s leftovers, but one may never cheat death of its final prize—our souls. There are countless people who have tried untold remedies, natural or unnatural, traveled to any place at any cost for a potion or a fountain of youth, or healing that would cure them of their illness or approaching death. Alas, death always has its day as it stretches out its hand and apprehends those desperately trying to run in the opposite direction, hiding from its grasp. But what of the crumbling remains of the dead?

As I reflect on these last three days, I can’t help but marvel at the disconnect human beings have with death, their own mortality, and even the bodies so inconveniently left behind by the dearly departed. The battles that ensue even before a loved one’s remains have dropped to room temperature is at times unfathomable. As a mortician, I have been eyewitness to countless arguments over inheritances, even prior to the burial or incineration of a family member. Deciding what to do with a human’s remains suddenly becomes an inconvenience for many, causing division in families. I have seen love, tenderness, and tears, but on countless occasions, anger reared its ugly head. Guilt and jealousy erupts in families, or yes, even fraud—scheming fraud. It is the latter human motivation that I wish to address here in the privacy of my journal. The events leading up to a great deception involving a loved one’s remains, and a dream in the night.

John

The solid bronze urn sat shimmering in the hot sun, displayed on a black velvet covered table on the cemetery grounds. It was a blistering ninety-eight degrees outside with eighty-five percent humidity—a typical summer day in Iowa. A green canopy stood stoically over a small, opened grave waiting for those in attendance to take their seats for the graveside service. Everyone was gathering to celebrate the life of a mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother. The surviving daughters of the deceased fidgeted within their tight dresses that stuck to their torsos from the heat. A few attempted to cool themselves with hand fans provided by the funeral home. It was a hopeless task. The great-grandchildren ran around the graveyard playing hide and seek behind large granite gravestones with little or no discipline from their parents. Veronica, the eldest daughter, in her early sixties, sat under the canopy sipping a cold bottle of water with her clearly artificially plumped up lips, looking over her long, painted nails, and periodically checking her makeup in a small mirror from her purse. The three other sisters kept their distance. In fact, they all sat to the side throughout the funeral arrangements. It was another disjointed family putting up with each other because they had to, at least for the moment.

Upon arriving at the cemetery, Veronica’s daughter Jasmine approached John, who was standing by a podium helping new arrivals sign the register book.

Where is my mother, John, where is she? She was inpatient and quite insistent. Those waiting in line to sign the book moved out of her way as John pointed toward the canopy.

She’s over there I believe, unless… Jasmine didn’t wait to hear anything else, but briskly walked over to the tent where she sat down by her mother with her black-gloved hand covering her mouth. She whispered to Veronica, clearly agitated. Jasmine was a younger version of her mother in every sense of the word, and no one approached her. Like mother, like daughter.

After a brief huddle, Jasmine walked over to the urn and stroked it. It was hot to the touch and she quickly pulled her hand back.

We’ve already burned her up once. What’s wrong with you people? she said staring over at John, and then Paulette, the cemetery representative. Would you move her under the tent, or whatever it is? Now! She looked around the graveside. This is all just hideous.

John and Paulette quickly placed the table and the urn under the tent, hoping the sun wouldn’t move until the service was over. Jasmine walked over to the open hole. Is that going to be deep enough? She spied worms crawling around inside. Disgusting. Mother, this is simply disgusting, she said loud enough for everyone to hear. Veronica patted the seat next to her, signaling Jasmine to join her. Jasmine was becoming an unwanted spectacle. She slowly strutted over to take her seat. Paulette gave John a quizzical look.

John whispered, It’s been a circus from the start, believe me. The arguing and fighting. The other three sisters walked out of the arrangements. Veronica slapped her youngest sister, Katherine, for wanting to spend a little more time with her mother’s remains before the cremation. It would only have cost a little bit more to prepare the body for a viewing. They watched Veronica and Jasmine as they looked ahead at the urn, as if they were both hypnotized. There was little emotion, but there was a sense of nervousness. Perhaps that was to be expected.

They both drove up in a new Mercedes Benz. Couldn’t they give just a bit for Katherine? Paulette asked.

Absolutely not, John whispered back as he surveyed more people gathering at the grave. Those two ‘prizes’ up there ran the entire arrangement, and clearly hold the purse strings to their mother’s estate. Why their mother entrusted them with that I’ll never know.

Paulette shook her head and walked off. She saw the minister arriving in a new BMW. What is wrong with this picture? she thought. It was Pastor Engels from the large Pentecostal church in town. She’d seen him on television on Sunday mornings hollering at his viewers to repent and send in more contributions to help them build the kingdom of God. She looked at his BMW again, More like make the payment on that ridiculously expensive car, she thought.

Pastor Engels stepped out of the car, dressed in a dark, slim-tailored Stuart Hughes Diamond Edition suit. John looked over as Paulette walked him over to the grave and introduced him.

John, this is Pastor Engels from…

John quickly jumped in, Yes, of course. We’ve met before on other services, but then I wouldn’t expect you to remember me.

Pastor Engels looked John up and down taking in his suit he assumed came from JC Penny or some other bargain shop. Perhaps, he said slowly. Perhaps. He hesitated a moment, then cocked his head to the right, staring at John. John knew by instinct this was the signal to hand over the five hundred-dollar honorarium check. John reached into his left suit coat pocket as the pastor lowered his hand waist level so the exchange wouldn’t be too obvious. Tucking the check into his suit pants, Pastor Engels looked past John and over at Veronica and Jasmine. They were both members of his congregation. Excuse me, won’t you? he said as he walked over and kissed them both on their cheeks. Veronica, Jasmine, my beautiful children. They both gazed up into his bright blue eyes and smiled with their shimmering white veneers. You both look exquisite, he said. Your mother would be so pleased, I’m sure. He glanced back at the rest of the family and simply nodded, offering little recognition, with a halfhearted smile. Both Veronica and Jasmine swooned over the pastor as they reviewed the service outline with him.

You’d think they just met the Messiah, John said quietly to Paulette.

Or Elvis, she responded. They laughed almost silently and moved away from the canopy, waiting for the service to begin.

Katherine and her other two sisters, Georgette and Marilyn, sat in their chairs like obedient little children. Any movement by them and Veronica turned toward them with a piercing glare, one that seemed to immobilize them. Their older sister held some odd power over them that was quite awkward and uncompromising. John assumed it had been this way as they grew up together. Veronica called the shots. Period.

Pastor Engels cleared his throat as he walked to the front of the tent where he placed his hands on the now much cooler urn. In an instant, he looked up and spoke in a way only a televangelist can. My dear brothers and sisters in Christ. I am the Most Reverend Dr. Pastor Andrew Engels of The King’s Capital Christian Church. But I’m sure you know that. He laughed, but it fell flat except for Veronica and Jasmine, who giggled like high school cheerleaders. I welcome you on behalf of this dear family to this graveside service for our dearly departed sister. He opened with a prayer and then spoke about the deceased as if he had known her his whole life. In fact, he had never even met her. Not once. He drew the sermon from a few generic tidbits Veronica had provided him and weaved them together into a theatrical performance worthy of a Tony Award. John and Paulette walked further away toward the shade of a nearby tree so they could visit while the service continued. They could see the Pastor’s arms flailing about in the air as his voice echoed across the cemetery. After twenty minutes, John knew the service was coming to an end. The Pastor slowly calmed himself and sprinkled a handful of dirt onto the urn. He turned and waved John and Paulette over to his side. The family wanted to see the urn placed into the grave. The Pastor was suddenly very friendly to John.

"My friends, our dear servant John is now going to place our beloved sister’s urn into her final resting place. Let us all rise and sing I’ll Fly Away, shall we?" The group under the tent attempted to sing a hymn of which they had never heard. Veronica and Jasmine pretended to know the words and simply moved their lips to keep up their appearance of being faithful.

John knelt on the dirt, soiling his suit pants and lowered the urn into the grave. The heat beat down upon him as he awaited his next command. With the hymn and benediction concluded, the family stood around the grave. Some threw a flower into the open hole, others walked slowly past, careful not to get too close as they peered down into the grave. Veronica took a few pictures with her cell phone and asked Jasmine to take a few of her and Pastor Engels standing under a statue of an angel in the cemetery, arms and wings outstretched. Pastor Engels seemed to pull Veronica in much closer for the photographs. He was a little too close with his flock, John thought.

Now, Veronica announced, I simply cannot leave until I see our dear, dear mother buried, don’t you agree, Jasmine?

Jasmine smiled at her mother. But of course, Mummy, of course you are right. It simply wouldn’t be proper if we left her all alone like this.

Katherine, Georgette and Marilyn looked at each other, surprised that Veronica would want to witness the burial. She had abhorred such things in the past—most recently with their father who was now six feet under Veronica’s feet. She had scolded everyone at his service for wanting to watch the lowering of the casket, finding it morbid, unnecessary, even uncouth. The family watched as two cemetery workers approached and slowly filled the grave to the brim, patting the dirt down for good measure. The two men walked off as each ogled Jasmine’s tan legs, adorned in black fishnet stockings. She rolled her eyes that men of such low caliber would take notice of her. She smiled at Pastor Engels, who winked at her.

Veronica quickly walked between them both and announced, Thank you for coming, my dear friends. We would simply love it if you would join us at the country club for a champagne lunch! We won’t take no for an answer! In mere minutes, they were all gone. The service was over, and the party had begun at the country club. John thanked Paulette for her assistance and drove back to the funeral home. He had gotten through the troublesome arrangements and the theatrics of the service. Now he could file the case folder away as completed, or so he thought.

As the Bible story goes, on the third day after his death on the cross, Jesus Christ’s body could not be found in the tomb. It was missing. People were sad, confused, frustrated and angry. Everywhere, accusations were made as rumors spread far and wide, and payoffs provided to keep certain mouths shut. It was a public relations nightmare for the disciples left behind. Veronica’s family was no different. On the third day following the burial of their mother’s ashes, John answered the phone at the funeral home. It soon became clear that all was not well, and there were certainly no angelic beings anywhere to be found—quite the opposite.

This is John, how can I help you? he asked in his deeper, more professional voice.

Well, I should hope so, John. This is Veronica. My mother is gone, John, disappeared! Someone has got to do something!

John sat stunned at his desk. When you say, ‘gone,’ just what do you mean, Veronica? You and I were both at the graveside service. You saw me place the urn in the grave, remember? He waited for her to respond. The family had been a challenge from the start, but this accusation had never entered his head as one of their possible plays on the company, or him.

My dear, sweet Jasmine never lies. She woke up this morning and immediately called me on the phone. She was terribly upset! She told me my dear mother was missing. Dead of course, but actually missing from her grave! This is simply unfathomable! As if on cue, she began to hyperventilate.

John could hear someone in the background. It sounded like they were giving her instructions, coaching her along. He heard someone whisper, Cry, for heaven’s sake! and I would have been much better, Mother!

Oh, my dear mother. Whatever shall we do? How can we possibly heal from such a tragedy? Losing her twice?

John sat back in his chair, not overreacting, clearly seeing through the façade of lies. The company he worked for was known for their success, and very deep pockets.

Veronica, how can we truly know the urn is missing? Have you been to the cemetery? Did the guys at the cemetery open the grave? How could you… he was cut off sharply by Veronica.

Jasmine had a dream last night, John. She does have a gift when it comes to these things you know. A dream, John, a dream, don’t you understand? My mother’s ashes are gone, I know it!

This was turning into a soap opera. John’s legal antennas stood at full attention. He was just waiting for the ball to drop.

So, what can we do to assist you now, after this, this dream? he asked reluctantly.

He heard whispering in the background on Veronica’s phone line. We should, NO, WE MUST insist that the grave be opened back up, for all of our sakes, don’t you think? I think that would be the most prudent way to assure us all—my family and your company. At least I would think, don’t you?

The ball now dropped. There was no other way to prove the urn was still in the grave. It was an impossible position. The grave would have to be re-opened and the urn disinterred. John was uneasy about the entire situation.

I tell you what, Veronica. May I suggest I go over to the cemetery and take a look at the plot? You know, just to see if anything looks out of order. Perhaps I should call the police?

No, no, no police will be necessary, but you mustn’t do anything without me there, and perhaps even our family attorney. Yes, I think that would be wise.

John saw the drama clearly unfolding before his eyes. Fine, whatever you want. Although we do have a right to see the grave. I may run over there.

Veronica was getting flustered, That’s fine, but don’t you dare touch that grave, or my mother. You understand?

John agreed. So, when would you like to meet over at the cemetery to reopen the grave? John asked. The sooner the better, he thought.

Today at four o’clock. That’s the best time for our attorney and videographer. Veronica blurted out.

A voice in the background spoke up, That’s enough! Hang up, Mother!

Veronica attempted to keep her second-rate acting abilities flowing despite the commercial break. Very well then, we will see you at four o’clock today. And do remember, no disturbing my mother’s resting place. She hung up just as another argument broke out on the other end.

Mother, this isn’t for an Academy Award for heaven’s sake!

The phone went dead, as John paused for a moment, then hung up. After calling company headquarters, specifically the legal department, to bring them into the picture, John called Paulette at the cemetery, then jumped in his car and drove over to the spot. Paulette was already there, walking around the section of the cemetery, looking for any signs of a resurrection, or in this case, the dream come true. As John approached her, she looked up and shook her head back and forth.

Someone’s been here since the service, John. Look at the grave.

He crouched down at the end of the grave. The sod had clearly been moved away and then placed haphazardly back on the plot. There was dirt strewn about, including on other gravestones that had been there for years and years. Someone had indeed tampered with the grave, and more than likely the contents therein.

Let’s set a tent up around this plot, Paulette, please? This is so close to the street. I don’t want any passersby to see the spectacle when we open this thing up.

Paulette agreed, and walked back to the cemetery office to give instructions. In John’s mind, it was clear. This family was looking for a payoff. He had seen these types of shenanigans before, with much better plotting and planning, and theatrical abilities.

The appointed hour arrived. The tent once again enveloped the grave, like a prop in a play. Veronica, Jasmine, and their attorney sat on the first row of chairs, which John made sure were available. Veronica’s sisters stood afar off, never once looking John in the face, or at Veronica and Jasmine. Kathleen was all but falling apart in tears. Perhaps tears of remorse, John thought. The videographer was front and center, already taping the event for what was sure to be a legal battle ahead. The sound of cars whisked quickly by, as commuters drove home for the night. It was all unsettling for John and Paulette, but that was the intent of the disinterment. The attorney gave John permission for the two-cemetery workers to begin digging the grave. Veronica wiped pretended tears from her eyes, as Jasmine laid her head on her mother’s shoulder. Before long, a shovel hit the urn vault, which was meant to encapsulate the urn underground. The cameraman pulled in closer. As the cemetery workers lifted the lid from off the vault, Veronica stood up quickly and cowered over the grave as her eyes pierced into an empty grave. There was nothing but the vault. As if on cue, Veronica enacted a feigned faint into the arms of her attorney, who just happened to stand up at the exact moment of Veronica’s encore. He helped her back to her chair while Jasmine pulled a bottle of water from her purse and handed it to her mother.

John and Paulette glanced at each other and walked to the side of the tent. What do you think? John asked her.

What do I think? They came and dug up the urn last night—simple as that, she said.

John whole-heartedly agreed. But we have no proof. The cemetery has no cameras, nothing, he replied.

They all knew there was no way out of this predicament—including the family’s attorney, who smiled and walked over to where they stood. I suppose we shall be talking again, soon?

John looked him in the eyes, Yes, I suppose we will. I’ll talk to my boss in the morning.

The attorney smiled like the Grinch who had just stolen Christmas. Very well, he said. Veronica, Jasmine, ladies, he announced as he looked over at the other three daughters, who obediently followed his instructions.

John walked everyone over to Veronica’s car and opened the car doors for them. Katherine had brought her own camping chair to sit on, just in case. Veronica popped the trunk as Katherine placed it inside. John assisted her and spied a large shovel wrapped inside clear plastic. There was dirt scattered about the otherwise well-kept car. Katherine, with a panicked look on her face peered over at John and quickly shut the trunk.

The attorney, realizing something was amiss, took John by the arm and walked him away from the car. So, until tomorrow? he asked.

Yes, of course, John replied. I’ll call you as soon as I can to discuss the ‘Case of the missing urn.’

The attorney looked over at John with a scorching sneer, not appreciating his humor.

John cleared his throat. Strange, don’t you think? I mean, who would ever want the ashes of a dead person? Seems rather odd to me. There’s certainly no financial gain in stealing ashes or even getting a hold of a used urn. I wonder what a person’s motives could possibly be? With a withering glance at the attorney, he bid him good night.

You want to do what? John said abruptly into the phone the next day. It was the company’s legal department. I know I’m no attorney, but settle with them? No investigation, nothing? Let me at least try to work on this a little more! You did hear me when I told you there was a shovel AND dirt in the back of the family’s car? I’m telling you, that daughter Veronica may have everyone else under her spell, but not me! John opened the front door of the funeral home and began pacing back and forth in the parking lot. That woman wouldn’t get dirt under her fancy manicure to save her life! She had help, I’m telling you!

He was silent as he listened to the explicit instructions he was told to carry out. The check was to be made out into an already agreed upon sum of $400,000 to the estate of the deceased. The family would not object to signing a non-disclosure agreement and their signatures on the check and the other legal paperwork would legally conclude the matter. The legal department hung up. The corporate attorney and Veronica’s so-called attorney had already worked out a deal earlier that morning. Settle—nothing more, nothing less. The corporate gurus wanted this public relations nightmare to go away as quickly and quietly as possible.

The urn had indeed gone away. Veronica, and most of her family, had been complicit in robbing the grave of their mother’s remains. This mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother belonged to the ages now. She had vanished into the world of dreams, dreams that collided with deception. The vacant grave would serve as a reminder of what humankind is capable. John would not forget.

CHAPTER 2

LIVING WITH DEATH

‘Death is the last intimate thing we ever do."

— LAURELL K. HAMILTON

The alarm clock went off. It’s 7:00 AM on a very cool Tuesday morning here in Waterloo. Our five-day weather forecast calls for high winds, rain, and more rain, so bundle up and grab those umbrellas! Good morning, Hawkeyes. The radio announcer continued with the morning news.

Darlene rolled over next to John, Sounds like fall has officially arrived, sweetie. She leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek. John moaned and threw a pillow over his head. After thirty-five years living in the Midwest he still loathed the cold and the rain, especially the snow which would soon be on its way. The leaves on the tall trees that surrounded their modest three-bedroom duplex had begun to turn brilliant shades of reds, oranges, and yellows. The festive colors radiated the welcoming of autumn, yet all too soon the leaves would fall, leaving the trees barren, awaiting the ice and snow to adorn their many branches. It was the cycle of life in Iowa.

John reached over and hit the snooze button. Darlene snuggled up next to him, knowing their quiet moment together wouldn’t last long. Soon their three children would come scampering down the hallway, having been awakened by the unwelcomed alarm. Ashton, their oldest at six years old, would barrel his way down the hallway towards his parents’ bedroom, leaving his younger siblings, Jordan, four years of age, and Sidney, only two, trying desperately to keep up. As if on cue, their little feet could be heard making a dash toward their parents’ room. Ashton easily hopped onto the bed and began jumping up and down as if it were a trampoline. Please stop jumping, Ashton, Darlene mumbled, still half asleep. He continued hopping up and down as Jordan crawled in. Ashton, you’re going to need to stop or someone’s going to get hurt. She could feel Sidney’s small hands reaching up to the mattress, trying unsuccessfully to climb up onto the bed. Darlene reached over and lifted her up, cuddling her close so the boy’s antics wouldn’t hurt her. Darlene had been up several times during the night, as Sidney was teething, so both mother and daughter were exhausted, but there would be no turning back now. Morning had arrived.

John, it’s time to get up,’’ Darlene shook him as Ashton fell on his back, wanting to play. John hid deeper under his pillow trying to protect himself from Ashton and block out the sun that was now streaming through the window. Okay, okay you guys, Darlene said as she cleared her throat, Mommy’s getting up, AND so is Dad,’’ she said, making it clear this was going to be a joint effort. John grumbled, knowing any further hope of sleep had now vanished.

The radio announcer droned on as Darlene walked over and turned the clock radio off. She grabbed Ashton from the bed just as he was about to perform a belly flop on John’s torso. John, it’s time. You’re going to be late if you don’t get up. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, and crawled out of bed. He moved his feet around to where his slippers normally sat on the floor. They were gone. He looked toward the kitchen and could hear that Ashton had already found them and was sliding back and forth on the kitchen floor.

Darlene called out to the children as she started preparing breakfast, Ashton, Jordan, Sidney, let’s eat and get ready for the day. She decided to give them some motivation, Remember, it’s park day! The children cheered with delight. They loved going to the park. This normally meant Darlene