Any time you find yourself flipping through television channels and landing on a crime show, you are bound to encounter The Coroner. You know him: he’s gaunt, pale, and creepy. You may think: I’ve never met a coroner, but if I had, this would surely be the guy! So, when my palliative care ethics professor introduced our guest lecturer as the province’s own “Chief Coroner,” I felt a shiver run up my spine. Did it just get colder in here? I could imagine a bony finger pulling aside the curtain and revealing the apparition of a decaying man whose medical career peaked as a body butcher. But no: the Chief Coroner debuted with a casual “What’s up?” And ever since that fateful day in my sophomore year, I’ve been super into dead things (sorry, Mom).
The motto of the Office of the Chief Coroner (OCC) is: “We speak for the dead to protect the living.” If you remain sold on the picture of “Dr. Death,” this motto might invite the image of a vampire slayer or zombie hunter. I would argue that it parallels what we may recognize as principlism. Justice, because the bereaved deserve respite. Beneficence, because death teaches us good lessons. Non-maleficence, because applying these lessons protects others from preventable harm. And autonomy, because death is either the final infringement upon one’s free will or an affirmation thereof.
Perhaps surprisingly, what I’ve found working around death has been a lasting (however unusual) warmth. Two years with the OCC led to two years with the Connecticut State Medical Examiner, and now, I’m at Yale, thinking about the digital afterlife. Having the courage to face the “final enemy” has driven my appetite for answers—some of which I expect I’ll never find. There are as many intellectual mysteries about dying as there are ways to die. And trust me, there are a lot of ways to die.
If you are still unconvinced by this sunshiny Dr. Death, I get it. I don’t blame anyone for wanting to detach from this experience; grief is hard and heavy. And if you’re not grieving, you probably don’t feel the need to think about death as an intellectual pursuit. But, somehow, studying death has helped me find some semblance of meaning. While my search for the “altar of truth” (read: “mausoleum of truth,” in my case) has rendered more questions than answers, I am increasingly at peace with uncertainty. My purpose, now, is the endless search. Maybe the dead cannot speak, but I hope my pursuit of truth can give them a voice.
This is slightly irreverent considering how wonderfully written this piece is…. but have you played Dumb Ways to Die?