Olivia: The people we pay to handle death—embalmers, gravediggers, even executioners—we assume they must be hardened, maybe even a little morbid. Jackson: Oh, definitely. You picture someone grim, stoic, completely detached. It seems like a job that would just grind your soul down to a fine powder. Olivia: But what if that’s completely wrong? What if they're the only ones left who truly understand what it means to be alive? What if their work, behind the curtain, is actually an act of profound love? Jackson: Whoa. That is a total reframing. The idea that the people closest to death are the most life-affirming… that’s a paradox I could chew on all day. Olivia: It’s the central question in a book that completely captivated me, The Edge of Mortality by Caitlin Doughty. Jackson: Caitlin Doughty... hold on, isn't she the mortician with that huge YouTube channel, 'Ask a Mortician'? The one who's all about death positivity and making it less scary? Olivia: Exactly. She's a funeral director and a leading voice in the death-positive movement. And in this book, she goes on this incredible journalistic quest, almost like a pilgrimage, to meet the other people who work on the front lines of death, seeking these unvarnished truths. Jackson: I love that. So she’s not just talking about her own experience, she’s pulling back the curtain on the entire hidden industry. So where does a quest like that even begin? What makes someone want to dive headfirst into something the rest of us run screaming from?

Olivia: Well, for her, it started in a very unusual childhood. In the 80s, her father was a comic book artist working on 'From Hell,' the famous graphic novel about Jack the Ripper. Jackson: Okay, that’s already a pretty intense starting point for a kid. Olivia: It gets more intense. He would pin his research to his drawing board. And this research included actual crime scene photos and autopsy photographs of the Ripper's victims. So as a little girl, she would just stand there and study them. Jackson: Wow. That is… not a normal childhood. My parents would hide a dead bird in the yard from me. She’s looking at Victorian autopsy photos? What did that do to her? Olivia: Here’s the fascinating part. It didn't traumatize her. It made her curious. She says, "I didn’t fear death, I was captivated by it." She even started her own felt-tip pen compendium of violent deaths, drawing scenes she saw in movies or on TV. Her dad was so proud he’d show these gruesome drawings to horrified guests. Jackson: That’s amazing. So for her, death wasn't this big, scary, abstract monster under the bed; it was just… there. A fact of life, as real as a drawing on the wall. Olivia: Precisely. The book makes the case that our fear isn't innate; it's taught. She contrasts her experience with what she learned in Catholic school. She once did her homework on the back of a photocopy of one of her dad's drawings—a dead prostitute. The teacher was appalled, called her parents, said it was 'inappropriate.' Jackson: Ah, so that's the clash. Her real, raw, factual understanding of death smacking right into society's 'appropriate,' sanitized version. The version that tells you to be afraid, to look away, to not talk about it. Olivia: Exactly. The school would talk about Jesus's crucifixion in this very holy, abstract way, but a realistic drawing of a dead body was taboo. It was a ready-made conceptual framework designed to replace her direct understanding with a more fearful one. Jackson: It’s like society hands us this neat little package labeled 'DEATH: DO NOT OPEN.' And she’s saying, no, I’m going to open it. Olivia: And she finds others who have opened it. She meets a funeral director in London named Poppy Mardall, who has this incredible philosophy. Poppy says, and this is a quote that just stopped me in my tracks: "The first dead body you see should not be someone you love." Jackson: Oh, man. That is such a powerful idea. It completely reframes the experience. The shock of seeing death for the first time shouldn't be tangled up with the shock of grief. It makes so much sense. So did the author… take her up on that?

Olivia: She did. Poppy invited her to the mortuary. And this is where the book moves from the idea of confronting death to the physical, tangible reality of it. The author helps Poppy's team prepare the body of a man named Adam for cremation. Jackson: I’m bracing myself here. What was that like? Olivia: It’s described with such care. The mortuary isn't some gothic, scary basement. It's a converted chapel, bright with sunlight. And the process itself is so… human. They have to remove Adam's t-shirt, and the author holds his hands while they do it. She helps dress him in his own clothes that his family brought. Jackson: That's incredible. It's so intimate. You imagine a mortuary as this cold, sterile, industrial place, but you're describing an act of… care. Of service. Olivia: It is. She talks about the smell of death for the first time, this undeniable, biological reality. But overwhelming that is the sense of ritual. They place a daffodil on his chest, along with a family photograph. It’s a final, gentle act of tending to someone. Jackson: What did that do to the author? Was it terrifying? Or was it something else? Olivia: She said she felt privileged. Honored to be part of this man's final ritual. It wasn't about gore; it was about dignity. And this idea of 'unseen labor' is a thread that runs through the whole book. She finds it again when she visits a hospital mortuary and meets the Anatomical Pathology Technologists, or APTs. Jackson: What do they do, exactly? Olivia: They're the ones who assist the pathologist during an autopsy. They do the physical work of taking a body apart for investigation and then, crucially, putting it back together. The author watches an APT named Lara-Rose Iredale, who she calls a 'corpse servant' in the most respectful way. Jackson: A corpse servant. That’s a stark title. Olivia: But it fits. Lara's work is this combination of incredible technical skill and deep, quiet empathy. The most moving part is when the author witnesses the autopsy of a two-week-old baby. Jackson: Oh, that’s tough. I can’t even imagine. Olivia: It’s heartbreaking. But what’s truly profound is watching the APTs afterwards. A young trainee is struggling to reconstruct the baby's face, to make him look peaceful for his parents. The incision from the autopsy has made his lip hang loose. And Lara comes over, calmly, and with a tube of Fixodent and gentle guidance, helps the trainee restore his expression. Jackson: With Fixodent? Like for dentures? Olivia: Yes. A simple, practical tool used in an act of immense compassion. Then they wash the baby, not with a hose, but in a small blue plastic tub, just like any parent would. They dress him and put a little knitted bonnet on his head to cover the incision. Jackson: Wow. So this is the 'unseen labor' you're talking about. It's not just a technical job. It's about restoring a person's humanity at the very end. Giving them back to their family in a state of peace, even after something as invasive and clinical as an autopsy. Olivia: That’s it exactly. It’s a final act of care that most of us never see, performed by people we never think about. They are literally mending what is broken, not for the dead, but for the living who are left behind.

Jackson: It feels like the whole book is an argument against outsourcing our humanity. We've outsourced death to these professionals, and in doing so, we've outsourced the grief, the reality, and maybe even some of the most profound moments of care we're capable of. Olivia: Exactly. Doughty shows that when we look away, we don't just miss the 'horror,' we miss the incredible dignity and love that happens in those spaces. The people doing this work aren't ghouls; they are shouldering an emotional and spiritual burden for the rest of us. Jackson: And they're doing it with such grace. I’m thinking about Lara, the APT, and what she said her work taught her. It wasn't some grand, philosophical statement. It was simple. Olivia: I remember. She said, "I don’t want to be one of the people who lie dead in a flat for months. I want to be missed. I want someone to notice." Jackson: That’s what this is all about, isn't it? Noticing. Noticing the reality of death so we can better notice the value of life, and notice the people around us while they're still here. Olivia: It really is. It makes you wonder, what are we losing by being so 'protected' from death? What wisdom, what compassion, what part of our own humanity are we missing out on? Jackson: That's a heavy question to sit with. And a really important one. We'd love to know what you all think. Does our fear of death hold us back? Find us on our socials and share your thoughts. We’re always curious to hear your perspectives. Olivia: This is Aibrary, signing off.