Abstract

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:"I'd Love to go Off the Grid and Never Come Back"AlishaDisclaimers. The author has chosen to disclose only her first name. All other names have been changed to protect the privacy of the individuals mentioned.I have been a nurse for 18 years. I have dealt with death. I have performed CPR, closed eyes, called families, and bagged bodies. I have taken decedents to the morgue. I knew what I signed up for when I became a nurse, but nothing prepared me for the 2020–2022 pandemic years, and the havoc wreaked on my mental, emotional, spiritual, and physical health. I was then in a managerial position. Patients' accounts of tragedy and families' sorrow, confusion, denial, anger, regret, and fear came across my desk daily at the hospital, nightly to my phone, and over the weekend while at home. In March of 2020, I took responsibility for managing the hospital's morgue, an experience that proved to me that death is no respecter of man.The morgue had the capacity to hold five decedents. It was my responsibility to ensure that we had space for the decedents that were coming in droves. Though our hospital was hit disproportionally by COVID-19, we were unable to secure a refrigerated truck for the overages. Instead, we had to transfer our overflow across town to another hospital no matter the time of day or night. The funeral homes were overwhelmed and could not meet the mass demands, which caused major delays in picking up decedents from the hospital. Most funeral homes took them in body bags straight to the crematory or the cemetery for burial. Many would not open the bags to confirm identities. Instead, they trusted the information I wrote on the [End Page 77] bag in black marker and information on the ID tag attached to the zipper.As the deaths increased and more transfers were made, my social work supervisor Audi and I could barely keep track of the decedents—let alone which families we had reached. We created a process and checklist that had to be signed off before any transfers were made. My director, who supported us, encouraged me to train others to help. However, I felt an intense duty to own this process because of how easy it could be to misidentify someone. Families were losing loved ones daily. They could not be by their side as they took their last breath. The next contact the family had was picking up the decedent's ashes or burying a closed casket. I refused to be responsible for causing additional suffering by losing a loved one's remains. When I made the decision to control the process, I never dreamed I would do this job for three years, nor did I realize the trauma it would cause.One day, a lady named Pam asked us if she could see her mother in the morgue. "Of course not!" I thought. We were not opening body bags for any reason. When I spoke with Pam, she explained that her son had been shot and killed and that her mother witnessed his death. Pam's mother suffered a fatal heart attack after witnessing her grandson's murder."Ma'am, give me a moment," I said. I reviewed the decedent's chart to verify the information and considered what to do. After discussing Pam's request with Audi and my director, we decided to make an exception for this extenuating circumstance and allow Pam to see her mother. Audi and I viewed the decedent to ensure she was presentable. I closed her eyes and cleaned her. When I closed her eyes, a little fluid came out. When we brought Pam in, she noticed and wiped away her mother's "tears," lovingly looking at her. When walking Pam to the front door, she told us about her other son, who had also passed away recently. Remember, we were not supposed to touch anyone at that time "out of an abundance of caution," but with her heart-wrenching situation, we hugged Pam anyway.By the end of April 2020, Audi and I had monitored nearly 100 deaths, coordinating with funeral homes to...