Wall of Death
Growing up in a funeral home, there was a sense of death that lingered and lurked around every corner. There was the “death phone” that rang in the middle of night to alert my father that someone had just died, the “death smell” of my dad’s hands after an embalming, the scent of grief and cigarette smoke wafting through the house during a visitation, the grave marker station in the basement, the selection room full of caskets, and last but not least, there was the “Wall of Death.”
