October 1, 2026

A few days ago during our most recent session, my therapist recommended writing down my thoughts to help me process my emotions.

Today, a man was found dead in his own home. He was morbidly obese and had been decomposing for several days. The best guess had his time of death coincide with that therapy appointment. Regardless, it was determined that my presence was needed on the scene even though I had nothing I needed to do. I spent perhaps half an hour waiting and watching as police officers and firefighters did the actual work.

The first and last time I saw the deceased was when he was a five hundred pound oblong shape wrapped in black tarp. They evidently had no body bag large enough. Ten people strained to carry him out of his front door and onto a stretcher that they then loaded into the back of an SUV. I gave them all a wide berth during the few minutes this took. A sickly-sweet and rancid smell drifted from the open door, and even though I was standing across the street I knew it was the residue of death. I had encountered the same smell at times earlier in my life, but never from another human.

Once the actual responders left with the body, it was politely suggested that it might be a good idea for me to inspect the inside of the building in case there were perishable items that would spoil once the utilities were cut. I had already been instructed that I didn’t actually have to do anything other than show up but I felt as though I needed to perform due diligence in some form, so I suppose the subsequent events were self-inflicted.

I suited up in full-body PPE and stepped through the door that had already been kicked down. The air was now saturated with the stench that was perceptible from afar. Within about three seconds it was obvious that identifying anything in particular to discard, much less removing it from the premises, would not be possible for me. The entire space was taken up by a jumble of packages, appliances, furniture, garbage, and so on, piled up to the extent that the rooms were impassable. The mass extended from wall to wall and nearly reached the ceiling in places. Rodent droppings blanketed what little of the floor was still visible.

I saw a towel and a pillow laid on the floor of what might have been the living room, and realized that based on what the responders had told me this is where the man laid down to die half a week ago. It occurred to me that if I had entered earlier I might have been able to put a face to the man that just minutes ago had left this home for the last time, but what would that have accomplished? It was bad enough that I had seen his deathbed; it was little more than a shallow burrow dug into the layers of junk.

After exiting the house, I quickly removed my coveralls, mask, gloves, and shoe covers, and disposed of them in a trash bin offered by a neighbor. I used disinfectant wipes from my car on my flashlight and hands. When I returned to the office, I washed my hands, asked the nearest coworker if I smelled off (apparently not), and brushed my teeth to get rid of the lingering sensation of foulness clinging to me.

I thought about someone, whose face I’ve never seen and whose voice I’ve never heard, living, dying, and rotting alone in squalor.