Morgues and funeral homes struggling with influx of bodies
Refrigerated trailers sit conspicuously in hospital parking lots across the city. Nurses, doctors and patients pass, usually without a sideways glance.
The trailers, some of which normally carry produce or other goods, are ubiquitous at several Montreal hospitals and are also parked outside some seniors’ residences. Filled with bodies, they are grim reminders of the coronavirus’s heavy toll.
The trailers show how COVID -19 has overwhelmed systems that manage the dead. In little more than a month, the disease has killed 1,041 people in Quebec, hastening funeral arrangements, filling some morgues to bursting and pushing those who handle human remains to their limits.
Between the time of death and the moment of burial or cremation, several people will work to transport, store and bury those killed by COVID-19.
First, when someone dies because of the coronavirus, officials identify their body as potentially infectious.
Viral particles can cling to the faces of the dead, the health ministry says. As the body lies in a hospital or long-term care home, workers are supposed to gather the deceased’s personal effects, wash them and keep the items isolated for seven days before returning them to the family.
Soon, specialized workers come to collect the body. Wearing goggles, face masks and gloves, they zip the corpse into a special, sealed shroud, disinfect it and label it “COVID -19.”
Under normal circumstances, the job is strenuous and taxing. Paul Rejean Sanscartier, who has collected and transported the dead for 35 years, called it “heavy.”
Deaths are usually less frequent in spring, he explained. But these days Sanscartier transports three times the number of bodies he normally would, commuting between funeral homes, temporary morgues outside hospitals — which he has never seen before — and seniors’ residences overrun with COVID -19.
Decades of experience and a large stock of personal protective equipment prepared him for some aspects of the pandemic, he said. But the things he has seen inside long-term care homes have shaken him.
“Every night when I get home, I cry,” he said. “Those people didn’t have to die in those horrible conditions. It’s very hard right now — it’s very hard for everyone.”
Too often, Sanscartier explained, transporters like him are taken for granted. As acquaintances lost their jobs or were furloughed, they made jokes: “At least you have work; your business is making money,” he recalled them saying.
“I’m sorry, but I’d rather stay at home, watching TV in my living room like most people, than go day and night, 19 hours a day, picking up the dead, especially when everybody we transport could be infected,” he said. “Do you think I seriously want to be making this type of money? No, not at all.
“Do I have a choice? No, I don’t have a choice. I offer a service. It’s not a choice to do it. If I don’t do it, who will?”
Sanscartier not only picks up the bodies, he often identifies them. Because COVID-19 is so infectious, families get no opportunity to see their relatives one last time. Some provide him with a picture, so he can confirm the remains belonged to their mother, father or spouse.
“Imagine, your father died and it’s been three weeks, one month since you’ve seen him, and then he’s going to be buried or he’s going to be incinerated without you seeing him.”
Sanscartier takes precautions during transport, and when he gets to a funeral home the potentially infected bodies must be stored in a separate space. But he often notices a backlog. Many morgues are now full, he said, and at least one is overflowing — partly as a consequence of families choosing to postpone burials, waiting for a time when they can grieve without fear of spreading the virus.
But once they arrive, the bodies can’t stay in storage long, says Jean-charles Cardinal, whose family owns and operates J.J. Cardinal funeral homes on the West Island.
A wave of COVID-19 corpses from seniors’ residences have ended up at his funeral homes. “It’s important to move swiftly,” he said, so the morgue doesn’t fill.
As so many die, it is particularly cruel that the virus has robbed the bereaved of parts of the grieving process. Virtual rituals and small, contactless gatherings provide some comfort, Cardinal said, but physical contact — crucial to filling the vacuum left by a lost loved one — is impossible.
“People need the warmth of the human touch, which is totally missing at this point.”
Every night when I get home, I cry. Those people didn’t have to die in those horrible conditions.