CONTENT WARNING: Grief and death.
An ambulance with its lights off pulls into a funeral home. Sounds like the start of a bad joke, doesn’t it? But it’s real, and happening. I see it make the smooth right turn as I cruise by the building in my little red Camry. Normally, Wednesdays at dusk are when I drive up and down Main Street for about an hour, listening to music and getting some free therapy. But today, the sight of this makes me flip a U-turn and head back to my apartment, a Laufey song murmuring over the speakers.
I can’t help but postulate why the ambulance pulled into the funeral home. Had the ambulance been turned away at the hospital, like some modern Mary and Joseph? I hypothesize it’s more morbid—perhaps there was someone in need, but by the time they got to the hospital, the sirens were proclaiming yesterday’s news. Nothing to be done.
But who was in that ambulance? All likelihoods point to someone’s grandmother or grandfather, who already had one foot in the grave and the other on a broken roller skate. I only hope they went peacefully, surrounded by family and friends.
My train of thought takes me to my grandparents. Both my grandmothers are still alive, but both are widows. My father’s father died nearly eight years ago of an unexpected heart attack. My father had been with him, helping him repair something in his house when my grandfather had just collapsed. By the time the ambulance got there, the paramedic had said there was no point in even taking him to the hospital.
“Not much you can do to help a corpse,” the paramedic had senselessly stated, so unlike a person in his field. My father had ridden with the husk of his father to the morgue. He says he doesn’t remember the drive. But I think he remembers it too well. Is it even possible to completely forget anything? In the midst of our grief, we were all grateful that my grandfather went quickly.
My mother’s father died in January. And he wasn’t as lucky. He fell victim to a stroke a few days after Christmas, losing all his sanity and functionality in one fell swoop. He spent weeks in the hospital attempting to end his own life by pulling out his feeding tubes. Whether that was him being a stubborn patient grasping at the fading wisps of his autonomy, or from having been rendered nearly inanimate and not understanding what would ultimately be his demise, I didn’t know. His final two weeks were lived out in a nursing home before my mother’s family finally mustered the spine to pull the plug on his life support. Although he and I had never been close, I had cried because I felt guilty that I didn’t feel anything when the news came. Hell, I didn’t even go to the funeral; I just FaceTimed in before I had to leave early for my night shift.
My mind twists down a road even darker than the dimly lit one I’m already driving on. Maybe the passenger of the forgotten ride is a parent, but with young children. Maybe somewhere in a decade or two, a teenager will walk across the graduation stage and stare out to the empty seat that would’ve been reserved for his mother. Or next week, a bride will walk down an aisle by herself, unaware of the ghost of her father by her side to give her away.
Or perhaps the passenger is the child in question. The dictator of this graying world, Life, is as giving as it is cruel, giving breath to children, only to snatch it back far too quickly. You’d think by now we’d all be so desensitized to the idea of children dying, but there’s something about the loss of an innocent being so soul-cleaving.
Most of the stories like that I’ve heard are through the news. There was the story of a little boy in my neighborhood who died in a boating accident that made it to national news, and that was one of the most tragic things I’d ever heard. But I’m curious if the lifeless body in the back of that ambulance is that of a child whose passing wasn’t anything “newsworthy.” Perhaps a baby born too early?
I remember my best friend telling me a year ago that she was pregnant. We excitedly planned for months for the new arrival, only for her to be rushed to the hospital in an ambulance early in her third trimester and be forced into labor that nearly killed her…and took her daughter from her. I had never even gotten to lay eyes on the little girl that would have shared my name as her middle name—Maeve Amelia Ransom.
No words can describe the anguish of a mother’s tears. And I pray to whatever God is listening that there’s not a child in that ambulance.
Shops and diners line the streets, illuminated by neon lights. As I pass by, some of them flicker off for the evening, out in an instant. As the lights go out, I speculate what my death will look like. I’ve always joked that I’d like to go out with some pizazz—anything from a public execution to a feat of danger to some freak accident. But I think I’d like to go peacefully, just as anyone else would. Sitting on my front porch and watching the sunset over rolling English hills with a glass of brandy in one hand and a coffee in the other. I wonder if I’d feel the end coming, like a sputtering engine, or if I’d just close my eyes and not see anymore.
I wonder who would find me, if my partner would go to kiss my forehead and realize the breath had gone from my body. If any children of my own would call an ambulance with some burly paramedic not even bothering to turn on his lights for me. Whatever happens, I just hope I’m not alone on the one ride I won’t remember.
Abbie Cochrane is an Utah-based actor of stage, screen, and voiceover known for her roles as Daria Bishop in “Dark Road Diaries,” Jez in “Witchpunk,” and Amelia in “Fox Teeth and Cosmic Blood.” She graduated from Southern Utah University in 2025 with a BFA in Musical Theater and a minor in Creative Writing. Her work can be found in publications such as the Kolob Canyon Review, Moss Puppy Magazine, and Yavanu Literary Journal. She has also assistant directed at the Tony Award-winning Utah Shakespeare Festival for their 2025 production of “Macbeth,” among other directorial escapades. When she’s not writing or performing stories, she’s experiencing them through playing DND, bringing characters to life through cosplay, or spoiling her sassy labradoodle named Lola. Follow along with her journey and side quests on Instagram @abbie__cadabi
Featured image by Why Kei on Unsplash.
