People die. It’s just a fact of life. Most people are scared of death though. I guess it is something about the decaying process and the thought of bugs crawling in and out of your ears. The interesting thing is I’ve never been freaked out about death but more I was always fascinated in and really wanted to study it. My Grandpa had a different idea for me. He always told me that my place in the world was with the living not the dead. Funny thing is, that was one of the very last thing he told before he died. He always wanted me to be a nurse, and so I shall be. I mean you can’t really deny an old man is dying wish to you, even if dead people talk less.

My interest in gross commodities and bodily fluids started when I was very young like four or five. I was always helping someone vomit, bandaging an open wound, or bringing someone a blanket when they weren't feeling well. My Grandpa was one of my most frequent patients always cutting himself on nothing. He had paper thin skin as you tend to get at that age. I would wash and clean the small lacerations, all while everyone else would just sit in the other room grossed out. That’s when my family started calling me Dr. Jaime.

My interest in death didn’t come until later when I went through my rebellious phase that all us teenagers do. I grew to love zombies, halloween, and thinking about my funeral and uncanny ways to die. I spent hours sitting on my black bedspread staring up at my Night Of The Living Dead poster thinking about decomposition and decay. When I found out that you could make weighing and playing with people’s intestines your career I was there. I started to research and even found all the best colleges to fit the career of an medical examiner (M.E.). I even found a collage with an on site body farm. Thats where they have people who donated themselves to science sit in clear coffin type things and students watch them decay. I was so ready. All I wanted was to be elbow deep in people's guts as I would often say. Then my Grandpa found out one day.

For the next two years he would talk to me at least twice a week if not more about how that was the wrong career for me. He would say things like “What are you thinking!” and “Your place is with people who breath not with formaldehyde and decay!” I would try to justify myself explaining my interest but he wouldn't budge. He just kept pushing and pushing even up to that last time we talked.

On his deathbed as I sat by his side and just for five minutes he was awake. He would come in and out of consciousness but that was happening less and less. So, I sat by his side and I saw his eyes open. He says to me “Jamie, you're such a smart young lady. You always know how to handle yourself under pressure and can take anything. You need to be with the living it’s your calling in life. You can’t deal with the dead you have a gift and all I want is for you to use it. I love you.” And then he fell back asleep. We never talked again. He died 3 days later and that was the last time I got to see him. Those words really impacted me. I ended up thinking about a career in nursing. So one day I hope my Grandpa can look down on me and see all the lives I will touch just like he always wanted me to.