Hello everyone. I hope you're well. ASK promise there's a new premium episode
of My Funeral Home Stories available today at my Funeral home stories dot com or
by clicking the link in the description of this episode. It's called The Man
Who Killed Himself Twice. It's forty five minutes, and it tackles everything from
ideal versus less than ideal deaths, procrastination, and most importantly, a very
brutal and upsetting suicide of a family friend. I don't want to spoil the
episode with an extended previews, so I'll just give you a few minutes from
the middle and a little bit before that. Please consider going to my Funeral
Home Stories dot com or tapping the link in the description to buy this episode.
I wrote nearly fifty pages on this one, and I'm very very happy
with it. It's a four dollars one time fee and it's all done through
supercasts, so it's nice and easy. I literally just tested it out and
it couldn't be simpler. Just go to my Funerhomestories dot com, tap the
new episodes artwork, and it will take you right where you need to go
and give you a few simple steps to add the episode to your podcast app
of choice anyway, without further ado, here's the preview. There's a knock
on my bedroom door, startling Carter awake, come in. The door swings
open, the knob hits the stopper on the wall next to the doorframe.
It's my dad and he's wearing a black suit. Hey, bud, get
dressed. We got a call. Carter jumps off the bed and rushes over
to my dad, his tail banging against my dresser. My dad leans down
to pet Carter, but keeps a safe distance to avoid getting any yellow lab
for on his slacks. Confused by my dad's sudden need for me, I
point to my laptop and say, Dad, I've got homework and I'm not
on call. My Dad's facial expression changes. I'm not asking grant. You've
got five minutes get dressed. He leaves my bedroom with Carter and toe,
shutting the door behind him. Geez, he went from zero to Annoyd pretty
quick there. I wonder what his deal is, Why does he need me
to go with him? Well, I guess this paper is going to have
to wait, I say to myself, closing my laptop and turning off my
desk lamp. By the time I'm dressed, ties high and shoes are on.
My Dad's already waiting in his car in the driveway. I leave the
house and press the button, closing the garage door behind me and walking to
the car. It's snowing now, big wet flakes. The grass and road
are slowly being covered. Hopefully we get dumped on enough tonight that school's canceled
tomorrow, buying me at least an extra twenty four hours on this paper.
But I shouldn't bet on it. I haven't had a snow day since eighth
grade. I open the door and sit down in the passenger seat. The
dome light turns on while the door is open. My Dad and I make
eye contact and smile at each other in a professional manner. I shut my
door and fasten my seatbelt. The dome light turns off. Glad you can
make it, my dad says, as he puts the car in reverse,
before abruptly and firmly pressing down on the brake. At the end of the
driveway. He turns on the dome light and looks at me with disapproval.
What I say, You didn't shave, he says, Dad, you gave
me five minutes to get ready, and he told me to get dressed.
You said nothing about shaving. He rolls his eyes and takes his foot off
the brake. I'm not even supposed to be working right now. I've got
a very important paper do tomorrow, I say, in an argumentative teenage fashion.
Well, you should have shaved, and if your paper's due tomorrow,
it should be done by now. You can't procrastinate, grant, the work
is never as good and you never know when something else is going to come
up. Hey that's pretty good, I think to myself, Maybe I'll use
that in my paper. My dad kills the dome light and puts the car
in drive. Annoyed but mostly curious, I asked my dad, why do
you need me for the call tonite? And actually, why are you going
out? Where's Lindsay or Steve? With his eyes fixated on the road,
my dad asks, you know Peter Evans? Right? My dad asks this
question knowing full well then I know exactly who Peter Evans is. I've known
him since I was a kid. In fact, my dad was the one
who introduced us. He's the head florist at Arrangements, the high end flower
shop on fifth that handles most of our casket sprays and other odds and ends.
When a fan, he doesn't have a specific choice in florist. He
and his wife throw lavish Christmas parties that I go to with my folks every
year. They really go all out, decorating every nook and cranny of their
house in the most immaculate fashion. I look forward to their party every year.
They always have good food, and it's easy for me, a teenager,
to sneak drinks from the bar, which rules. Pete and his wife
really do the holidays, right, That's kind of what they're known for.
Yeah, Dad, of course I know. Peter. Did his mom or
dad finally die? I asked, knowing that both of his parents have been
battling cancer for the last several years. No, he did, my dad
says, matter of factly. What are you serious, He's only like fifty
something. Was it a heart attack? I ask? My dad shakes his
head, looking out the window, checking for cross traffic before pulling out of
our neighborhood. No, he killed himself, he says, in the most
blaise fashion possible. He killed himself. What the fuck? I mutter out
loud. My dad slaps my arm and says, hey language, Sorry,
I say, half sarcastically. Minutes later, my dad and I arrive at
the funeral home and are loading the cotton to the van, double checking it
for clean sheets and gloves in the front pouch. We're good now that we're
on our way. I see my burnt CD copy of Tools lateralis tucked under
the visor on the passenger side. Oh damn, I've been looking for this
CD for months. I must have left it in here over the summer when
I went out with Lindsay. Always enthusiastic to expose my dad to new music
I've discovered. I slide the CD in the slot, turning the stereo on
automatically. The first notes of the Grudge ring out through the van and startle
my dad, making him jump before the counter on the digital dial even reads
seven seconds. My Dad, without expression, turns off the radio and ejects
a CD, placing it in between the visor and roof above his head.
Well, I guess we won't be listening to any music this evening. I
can sense my dad's anxious about this call as we get closer to Peter's house.
He's normally not very chatty, but he's never really this quiet. We've
been on calls together before, and there's a ways been some level of father
son's small talk. You know how so and so, and do you like
your teachers this year? That sort of thing. His silence doesn't go by
unnoticed, making me slightly uneasy. We make the left hand turn into Peter's
neighborhood and I expect to pull up to a home lit by a thousand small
twinkling lights, with wreaths and garland everywhere, as this is the only way
I've ever seen Peter's house, But instead of the Christmas cheer I expected,
were greeted by darkness, no floodlights, no inside lights, nothing. The
house would appear completely abandoned if it wasn't for the police car sitting in the
driveway, presumably with a police officer inside, waiting for our arrival. Before
my dad pulls into the driveway, he slows to a stop in front of
the house, looks at me and says, this is probably going to be
a lot. The answering service relayed that things are pretty grizzly in there.
Can you handle this? Perplexed by the concern in my dad's voice, I
think about it for a second and say, yeah, I'll be fine.
Okay, he says, pulling the van into the driveway next to the police
car. That feeling of unease I was picking up on earlier is now turned
into almost full blown panic. What the hell are we walking into? My
dad has never been this concerned about my capacity to make a removal. What
does he know and why isn't he telling me anything. Peter never seemed like
the suicidal type. He was so outgoing and gregorious. Plus he was also
a major clean and neat freak. Everything about him his hair, his car,
his house, all of it spotless. If he told me Pete was
going to commit suicide, I would imagine him hanging himself or taking pills to
avoid making a mess and ruining he and his wife's things. Apparently this isn't
the case tonight. My dad and I get out of the car and walk
to the back of the van to unload the cot. It stopped snowing.
Now, well, so much for a snow day, I think to myself
as the officer greets us at the van. Hey Bill, the officer says
to my dad, Oh, that's weird. My dad knows this guy Hey,
frank As you're not going it's interesting, he says, pointing at the
pavement directly in front of the garage door, highlighting a large pool of blood
that's coming from the other side of the closed door. Jesus, what did
Pete do? All right? So that's the preview. I can assure you
this episode is full of all kinds of twists and turns. I think you'll
really dig it. So go to my funeral homestories dot com or tap the
link in the description of this episode and get it today. The next episode
of My Funeral Home Stories will drop in December. Details to follow. As
always, thank you for listening, See you soon.