Suicide Cleanup and Death Notes

 

Narrative

Modern languages like English used the words "self-murder" and "suicide" in the 17th century. The French accepted the word only in the 18th century. Today, the word "suicide" is easily and routinely used in art, philosophy, social affairs, and describing individual acts of self-destruction.

Thomas Moore used "regulated self killing" in his utopia. For those people who suffered from incurable diseases that were accompanied by continuous pain, words by priest and magistrates to endure their suffering. Suicide was a dishonorable act in the eyes that the priest and magistrates. Only with their approval could one commit suicide and not raise score upon their self. In fact, the suicide victim died worthy of a decent burial. The suicide victim's body was unburied and placed into a ditch.

In 1994 most mainstream Protestant churches and Holland said that self killing cannot be called sinful without qualification. They noted that the sixth Commandment says, quote out shalt not kill." So for them, the question of self killing becomes, no killings?

Suicide cleanup notes could be about almost anything. At least these days, suicide cleanup notes could apply to the whole of the human species. For sure, we live in the Anthropocene, a time in which humanity controls the destiny of the earth. Anyone doubting this comment would do well to do their homework. A visit to killeroceans.com would help cure their skepticism. 

There is a history of suicide; it's place among the human species, and its role in helping to begin research into the social sciences as a place. More though, I can spend some time on my suicide cleanup notes from the past. It's been a long, strange adventure. The experience is sometimes bewildering. 

Calls for suicide cleanup over the last 17 years and some not so many adventures I can hardly remember them. Some suicide cleanup tasks become horrific. Some more forensic and beyond belief. When my strangest suicide cleanup called arrived after receiving a mass homicide call for Washington DC. 

The Washington DC maths homicide, mass murder call came in the early morning hours. A property manager for welfare housing units in Washington DC, six Street, required cleaning after the murder of four children. A mother high on some crack had butchered her four daughters. For two months, the school district tried to get to the children could not. Finally, the school district arrived at the murder scene front door, and when the door open, the local police knew right away that cadavers resided indoors. 

Another too much relapse before the murder scene could be cleaned up. At that time, I was called and given a date to report for cleaning. 

I began my journey in my white van and traveled the southern route. Time was not an issue. As I pass through Phoenix, Arizona, I received seven telephone calls within 30 minutes. One of these calls was for suicide cleanup in Nebraska. Another was for blood cleanup in Colorado for two police cars and a blood cleanup task for which have forgotten the city and police department name. I received a Detroit, Michigan call for an unattended death cleanup on a toileth. This unattended death cleanup needed the biohazard cleanup company over $7000. I received three other calls and referred them to other cleaners in California. No, nobody ever reciprocated this kindness; let alone say, "thank you."

I will skip the police car cleanup work other than to say, it was my first outdoor blood cleanup job, and I learned that the alcohol I used froze soon after pouring it onto the police car seats.

A Nebraska Suicide Cleanup Call

I want to write about an unusual suicide cleanup that came to be by way of the Catholic Church in Nebraska. One of the church leaders and called me and asked if I would do a suicide cleanup. When he said, the church would pay for the suicide cleanup, I was more than happy to take on the chore. And skipping ahead, the priest or whoever he was, made good on the payment. I believe I charge $900 for that cleanup. It just happened that had a suicide job was my line of sight as it was. I was on my way to Washington, DC.

I enjoy the ride across the country, even though a suicide cleanup awaits me. I should have retired long ago, but people need me, I believe. Traveling interstate to do suicide cleanup gives me a sense of purpose. I enjoy taking my time, and I enjoy taking even more time on my return trip. On this particular Nebraska suicide cleanup call, I enjoyed watching the trains hauling coal in the early hours. They traveled hundreds of miles each day as I traveled. The buffalo roaming the planes added to the adventure.

Now here's the odd part about this suicide cleanup trip. When I reach my destination, I cannot help but reflect on the nature of the home surrounding the suicide the same. The suicide victim resided in and brand-new urban housing project. His home had only recently joined the new development. It rose within shouting distance to the houses under construction. There was so much construction going on that the port-a-potties stood nearby.

When I first found the home, I was in disbelief — when I witnessed made no sense. Brand-new home in a brand-new neighborhood, and it already had a suicide. No one answered the suicide scene door. As I stood facing the door, I heard a shot in the distance. I turned and saw for young women slowly walked in my direction.

As it turned out, they were calling to me, and we met halfway; the oldest and tallest of the group became a spokesperson. She asked me about my business, and I responded that I was there to clean. The suicide victim's front lawn, a "sizable piece of real estate," I could say, impressed me. I responded that I was there to "clean." We talked briefly, and then she pointed to a young, petite, woman who stood to the back of the group. She stood smiling and giddy-like, balancing from her left foot to her right back to her left while looking so much like a young teen.

The group led me to the home Emmy-winning doors. The suicide victim's wife led me through the house and into the basement where the suicide occurred. The husband had killed himself on a sofa. That is where she found him after he came home from work unannounced put a bullet through his head. The same was rather light is a sort of suicide cleanup goes.

The basement was cold and very large, which reduced the blood and death odors. Games for children abounded, and I learned that the family consisted of young boys ages of roughly 4 to 7. Such a young woman can have so many young boys so quickly remain beyond my imagination. The suicide got me off guard two. I would learn that the young man had an engineering degree and a pharmacy degree. He worked for the federal government as an engineer.

As suicide cleanup goes, I lucked out. Cleaning this suicide scene took a few hours in a pleasant environment, and I had to ask myself, "what's it all about?". After all, here's a guy with a new house, a robust education for finding work, a young wife, and three young boys. I would think that he had everything to live for, but not. Leaving this death scene, I could only wonder if he had done something despicable, something so disgusting that not even his Catholic peers to forgive. Some pain, a chain of guilt, or something else chased him to pull a Richard Cory suicide. Crazy. When he lived with a handgun. He did not need it, judging by his neighborhood? We would never know why this type of suicide occurs? 

I traveled many hours following that suicide clean up because I just wanted to drive. I drove into the night and figured that I was lost because I saw too few road signs. Becoming frantic with the need for sleep, I pulled off the highway at the next offramp. There I found a "stop and rob" store. I slept parked behind the gas station. And I continued my journey to Washington DC soon after sunrise. I wish I could say that I enjoyed my trip to this point, but no way. The suicide cleanup the previous day had cost me more than time and effort.

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I say "meandering" above to get the idea that my thoughts are just kind of a stream of consciousness. Here I need to save it this page would be a blog page except that I won't return to it for a long time. I noticed yesterday that I returned to a suicide cleanup page that I have not seen for five years. That is a strange feeling to run across the suicide cleanup page and recognize it for what it was, a piece of electron bouncing about the Internet for five years.

 

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