Who is David H.?

David’s Story

I met David at the McAvoy O’Hara Funeral Home, where I was working as an apprentice funeral director and he was employed as a student worker. As I trained him in the company’s operations, we became close. I tend to be somewhat reserved; David, who was gay, was very outgoing—flip, funny and often dramatic. He was full of far out ideas and know-it-all tales. I was never quite sure how much or how little of them to believe, but I truly admired his energy, enthusiasm and sense of bravado. We immediately clicked, and I grew to adore him. Over time we become so close that it felt like we were brother and sister.

David and I also worked well together. Often we traveled in the company vehicle to private residences and nursing homes to perform a body removal, or the retrieval of the deceased right after a person has died. One time we’d been called in the middle of the night to do a pickup in an area along the coast. We were so used to making trips at all hours that we didn’t realize what time it was. Suddenly we noticed a streak of light in the sky. It was dawn. There we were, with a dead guy in the back of our Cadavermobile, yet all we could think about was the new day and how gorgeous it was to see the sun coming up over the ocean.

I’d had dinner with David at his house the week before he died. It never occurred to me that he was living his last days on earth. We were on the porch, looking out over the city, when he remarked that people don’t appreciate what they have until it’s gone. I thought, because he had been toying with the idea of moving, that he was referring to living in a city as fantastic as San Francisco.

Until the day he died, David and I were the best of friends. We spent long hours dreaming and discussing how together we might change the concept of traditional funerals to offer more cremation and burial options. We talked about taking over the family funeral home where we worked and turning it into a modern facility that offered alternative death care. He wanted to create real change in the funeral industry. On May 10, 2003, however, our dreams together ended. David was gone. It still isn’t clear whether it was suicide or if his death was accidental.

The service was planned by his boyfriend and me with the help of his many friends. I couldn’t fathom anyone but me handling David’s body—not just because I was professionally qualified but because I was legally responsible. David had given me Durable Power of Attorney just a few weeks before his death. I alone had the ability to sign and authorize documentation, and to make sure that his wishes were carried out.

I called David’s family to notify them of his death. I signed the paperwork authorizing the release of his body from the city coroner’s office. When the death certificate was issued, it was my name that was typed as the informant/Durable Power of Attorney. I delivered it to the health department, obtained a permit for his cremation, and arranged for services through the Neptune Society. I hand delivered his obituary to the San Francisco Chronicle.

Most importantly, I listened to friends’ stories about David and their suggestions how to honor him in death. With his boyfriend I planned and prepared for his memorial service, which I organized with the minister of the church he occasionally attended. I took on the job of graphic artist and designed the program. On Tuesday I transported David’s body from the coroner’s office to the crematory; on Friday I drove him back in an urn.

All the while that I was seeing to the funeral preparations, I grieved. The loss of my friend cut deeply. The irony that I was creating for David what he was to have done with me for others was never for a moment lost on me.