I was fifteen when I decided what I was going to do with the rest of my life. Amidst a minor video game addiction, cosplay to combat gender dysphoria, and a pile Kpop photocards, it came to me like I had suddenly found God. I had never felt so strongly about something in my life, and at seventeen years old, I still feel the remnants of that spark. Somehow, I had suddenly gone from magical girls and shoujo manga to things that scare even the creepiest of men away from my direct messages. The last thing they expect to hear from a man in a frilly dress is about the workings of a centrifugal pump.

I wanted to be an embalmer, and I still do.

I won’t lie, it was a very interesting experience. Personally, I thought I was having a manic episode. After I realized that going through mortuary school was a feasible option, I was happy all the time. It was like someone gave a five-tier cake to a four year old at their birthday party. I can only assume that this was what many would refer to as “a calling,” but I should’ve hung up halfway through. As great as it was, I never want to do that again. 

I told my family only last year that I wanted to go into funeral services. My father expected nothing less, and my stepfather pointed me towards his friends working at the Medical Examiner’s office. My mother is more worried about me catching the coronavirus in five years, as if that will be my biggest threat when I start working. My grandmother was overly proud of me, as both she and my great-grandmother wished to take that career path as well. The only thing that stopped them was my grandmother’s one-year-old son and my great-grandmother’s alcoholism. My friends were much less enthusiastic about my decision.

I swear, it was like I came out as trans again. Never in my life have I been asked “Are you sure?” more than after I told my best friend. They started throwing scholarships at me thinking that money was the issue. Sure, the 5k a semester was definitely an incentive, but I wouldn’t say that it made my decision final. It did remind me that I needed to start looking for a job. 

I got turned down from every place you could think of. Walmart wouldn’t even look at my resume. Months of searching is what led me to the last place I could possibly think to go. The local funeral home. Of course, they turned me down as well. I was too young to work in the building, possible formaldehyde exposure prevented them from hiring me. They did, however, send me off with a gift I will forever be thankful for. A textbook. It was slightly outdated, from 2012, but it held the beginning of my future. 

Much has happened since then. I am more aware of the risks and challenges that I face in the next few years, but I feel no less driven to mortuary school. There’s a lot of paperwork, math, and vaccinations to come, but at least I knew how to protect myself from infectious diseases before the pandemic happened.