“This is quintessential Trump,” said Kelly Conklin, a Data Engineering Manager based in Brooklyn. “He is here to protect himself and protect himself only.”

Since the onset of the pandemic, Trump has downplayed the severity of the virus and made contradictory claims against public health officials guidelines. Since the outbreak, virus deaths have surpassed 200,000 . 

Robert Hitchner, a moderate from Pennsylvania, said he believes Trump is holding indoor rallies likely at the request of his supporters and because we’re on the cusp of the presidential election. And while he believes indoor rallies are a bad idea, he doesn’t think we’re focusing our attention in the right place. 

“Are the protests that have sprung up around this country a good thing? No,” said Hitchner. “Somehow, the people who are protesting are accepted and admired. They are gathering in large groups, rioting, burning buildings, they’re destroying small businesses. And we’re worried about Trump getting together for a rally? I think we’re worried about the wrong things.”

Hitchner said he wasn’t shocked to hear Trump knew the virus was deadly because he felt it was obvious. He stocked up on groceries back in February when the numbers spiked in Italy. 

“I don’t think he was holding a great secret,” Hitchner said. “When he heard about it from China, Trump shut down travel to the country. And you don’t want to panic everyone, right? But you do want to take steps and try to make the right decisions. It’s a difficult situation.”

Dan Shorts, Director of Government Affairs for the National Confectioners Association, acknowledged how troubling Trump’s comments are as quoted in Woodward’s book, but questioned the amount of information available at the time Trump made his comments to Woodward.

 “They don’t make it completely clear how much the President knew about the virus in February,
said Shorts. “I think it’s premature to say there was enough information available at that time to President Trump (or anyone) to know precisely how deadly the virus was, let alone all of the drastic and sweeping measures necessary to combat the virus.” 

But Jaqueline Carey, a published novelist and self identified social media warrior of the Montclair Democrats, holds only disdain for Trump’s indoor rallies.

“I found it disgusting that Trump continued to hold indoor rallies when he was aware that COVID-19 was easily transmitted through the air,” said Carey. “I don’t find it surprising. Trump is a bundle of nerve ends, impulses, demons, and neediness.”

Carey said Trump rallies are driven by his ego.

“I suspect that rallies are the only time when Trump has felt alive through his whole political experience,” Carey said. “He wouldn’t make a distinction between indoor and outdoor. He wouldn’t care if all the attendees died. He has no sense that other people are real.”

Trump is widely known to hold a bold and fiery campaign style, one of which has increased during the COVID-19 pandemic. Shorts said his decision to hold indoor rallies could be an act of defiance against his critics. 

“I don’t believe it’s a coincidence that he replaced his campaign manager after turnout was less than expected at his last indoor rally in June, in Tulsa, Oklahoma,” Shorts said. “I think returning to the indoor format is an attempt to portray a resurgence in enthusiasm from his supporters that the optics of his Tulsa rally failed to translate.”

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“It’s possible there will be some [deaths],” he said in an interview with ABC News, while traveling for the first trip outside of Washington in almost two months, to visit a factory manufacturing masks in Arizona. “But at the same time we’re gonna practice social distancing, we’re gonna be washing hands, we’re gonna be doing a lot of the things that we’ve learned to do.”

The president said that that people are dying in other ways, from drug abuse to suicide.

“We have to get our country back,” he added.

His comments came as a response to a statement made yesterday by Dr. Anthony Fauci, Director of the The National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases and point man on the coronavirus taskforce, on the decision to reopen the country.

“It’s the balance of something that’s a very difficult choice: How many deaths and how much suffering are you willing to accept to get back to what you want to be,” he said. 

 Trump has ceased doing daily press conferences, instead holding meetings with a smaller number of reporters and in different settings. He said on Monday that the briefings will return, just not daily, adding that “everybody” enjoyed them.

But that hasn’t kept him from speaking out. And in an interview with the New York Post on Monday he showed his opposition to federal relief money being directed to so-called blue states, some of which have seen the biggest increases in coronavirus cases.

“It’s not fair to the Republicans because all the states that need help — they’re run by Democrats in every case,” he said. “Florida is doing phenomenal, Texas is doing phenomenal, the Midwest is, you know, fantastic — very little debt. You look at Illinois, you look at New York, look at California, you know, those three, there’s tremendous debt there, and many others.”

New York Governor Andrew Cuomo responded to Trump during his press briefing today.

“This is not a blue state issue. Every state has coronavirus cases,” he said. “It’s not just Democratic states that have an economic shortfall.”

Cuomo said that New York is dealing with a $13 billion  deficit and criticized the federal government for so far not having provided any aid to the state and local government, in order to fund police, healthcare and education. He also questioned the use of the term bailout. 

“I wasn’t asking for anything from the fed government before the coronavirus,” he said. “Because of the coronavirus, we need financial help in restarting the economy, and that’s what we’re asking for from the federal government. How do you call that a bailout? Which is such a loaded word. Such a rhetorical, hyperbolic word.”

Cuomo spent several minutes addressing Trump’s comments, going as far as pointing out that the state of New York has contributed more to the federal government than what it’s taken back “every year, for decades”.

On one thing, he and Trump seem to agree, that reopening the country is a balancing act between avoiding economic damage and saving human lives.

“There’s a cost to staying closed, no doubt. Economic cost, personal cost. There’s also a cost to reopening quickly. Either option has a cost,” Cuomo said. Although he added: “To me, I say, the cost of a human life – a human life is priceless, period. Our plan doesn’t have a trade-off. Our reopening says you monitor the data.”

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Menegatto, a retired nurse, knew how fatal the disease caused by the novel coronavirus can be, but the message she received on April 11 at 7:51 a.m. still came as a shock. What pains her the most is the thought of her aunt dying alone, away from family and surrounded by strangers. 

“She went to the hospital, and her daughter never saw her again,” Menegatto, 64, said in Spanish. “Dying alone in that environment, with people dressed all in white… It’s difficult, it’s absurd. It hurts.”

Pieropan started exhibiting symptoms around March 10, a few days after she left her house in the province of Vicenza to do some shopping. It started with a fever and what seemed like a cold. A doctor visited her home and prescribed antibiotics, but she didn’t get better.

On March 25, the doctor referred her to the hospital and she was tested for Covid-19. The result came back positive. Pieropan was admitted to San Bortolo Hospital, in Vicenza, that same day, and she was placed in an isolated area, where only patients and staff were allowed. 

“My friend told me the area was shielded,” said Menegatto, who contacted an old friend who works at the hospital to let her know her aunt was there. “If you die there, your family will never see you again.”

On March 31, Pieropan was transferred to the intensive care unit and intubated. Menegatto’s cousin told her Pieropan’s phone was taken away when she was transferred to the ICU. A doctor called every day to give updates, but the outlook was not good. Menegatto prayed with her cousin for Pieropan’s recovery, hoping the strong woman could defeat the virus.

But despite doctors’ efforts, Pieropan passed away almost two weeks later. 

“I cried for two days,” Menegatto said. “Everything happened so fast.”

Vicenza yesterday confirmed 160 coronavirus-related deaths since the beginning of the crisis. Italy has reported the third-highest number of Covid-19 in the world at 183,957 and the second-highest death toll at 24,648, only behind the United States, according to Johns Hopkins University. Italy saw the lowest daily number in coronavirus deaths in a week on Sunday. On Monday, the amount of people identified as infected with the virus dropped for the first time since the country’s outbreak started. 

More than 4,700 miles lie between San Juan, Puerto Rico’s capital, and Vicenza, in the northeastern Veneto region of Italy. The last time Menegatto, who moved to the island 36 years ago, traveled that distance and saw her aunt was in October. 

Menegatto described her aunt as a smart, kind and generous woman. She was an active member in her community, and neighbors knew her as a caring person who participated in local festivals. She used to enjoy going out into the woods to collect fungi as her pastime. 

Pieropan was a beautician by profession, but her passion was embroidery. She taught the art and took courses in her free time to perfect her process. She even traveled three hours on a train to Bologna to take a half-hour class to master a specific stitch. Menegatto recalled Pieropan used to read a crochet and knitting magazine called Mani Di Fata (Fairy Hands) since she was a teenager. 

“She always loved to crochet,” Menegatto said. “The magazine arrived at the house every month.”

Pieropan was 14 years old when her older sister, Menegatto’s mother, brought her to live with her to help raise Menegatto and her sister. She spoiled her niece, giving her money to go to the movie theater and cooking whatever she craved. 

“My mom was the serious one, the one that scolds,” Menegatto said. “My aunt was a person who smiled, who didn’t have to talk much because she told you everything with her eyes.”

Menegatto’s mother, who is 84 years old, traveled to Puerto Rico on March 5 and hasn’t been able to return to Italy because the airline has cancelled flights from the island to the European country. 

“Her instinct pushed her to come here, and she was saved,” Menegatto said. “She can’t believe what’s happening.”

On the day her aunt died, Menegatto’s mother told her to call Pieropan’s daughter: “I feel that my sister died.”

She was right.

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A debate over life and death is being waged in New York.

As of 2018, New York has been considered one of the top battleground states for the medical aid in dying debate, centering around the legalization of prescriptions for lethal drugs for patients at the end of their lives. In the two hearings held on the issue this year, many who testified shed tears while telling emotional tales of the end of a loved one’s life.

The New York State Assembly and New York State Senate introduced identical Medical Aid in Dying bills, but neither progressed to a vote. Following the midterm elections, supporters have higher hopes for 2019, but the fight for legislation continues to be slow-moving due to deep divisions within several key groups.

“I would say that there are obviously people on both sides of the issue with every segment of society,” said Diane Coleman, disabilities rights activist and founder of Not Dead Yet, an anti-medical aid in dying organization.

Current legislation under consideration in New York, called the Medical Aid in Dying Act, mirrors legislation in Oregon and other states where the practice is legal. Medical aid in dying prescriptions are only available to terminally ill patients with a six-month prognosis, who must complete two oral and written requests in addition to being approved by two doctors. They must be residents in the state and both mentally competent of making the decision and physically able to self-administer the medication.

According to a poll conducted by Quinnipiac University, 63 percent of New Yorkers support Medical Aid in Dying. At hearings for the New York bills in 2018, advocates and opponents alike testified with emotional, moving personal stories.

One of these stories was that of Amanda Cavanaugh and her partner of five years, New York State correctional officer Chrissy Connery. After being diagnosed only a year after meeting Cavanaugh, 26-year-old Connery fought for three years against her cancer, exhausting every option available to her.

“I took a special interest in [this issue] because my partner Chrissy was coming to the end of her journey with stage four adenocarcinoma cancer,” said Cavanaugh, who is also the  campaign organizer for Compassion & Choices in New York and New Jersey.

Connery and Cavanaugh’s tale is one that too many families have also lived. Around 111,000 New Yorkers each year are diagnosed with cancer, with more than 35,000 not surviving. In fact, some opponents of Medical Aid in Dying legislation have heart-wrenching stories just like Cavanaugh’s, despite ending up with opposite perspectives.

This is the case for Lynda Holler of Brewster, NY. Eight months after marrying in New York City, she and her husband Kenneth Holler received devastating news: he was diagnosed with oral cancer at 39 years old.

Over the next 21 years until he passed, the Hollers had two sons together and learned to adjust to a “new normal.” Kenneth Holler battled through 11 surgeries and eventually lost his ability to speak and eat, but despite the pain he refused to let the cancer dominate his life. He remained an involved father to his two sons, cheering them on at every game, and never once wishing for medical aid in dying.

Their journey was what inspired Lynda Holler to become a passionate opponent of such legislation in the state.

“He made such an enormous impact on people and people are living their lives better because they saw how Kenny lived,” said Lynda Holler. “So, I really realized I needed to be involved in this movement because we have to treasure life, and we have to appreciate that there’s still value that comes out of suffering.”

Like Cavanaugh, Lynda Holler’s personal story drove her to get involved with the medical aid in dying debate. For people on both sides, medical aid in dying is a deeply personal issue.

Doctors remain on both sides of the issue

There is not a clear divide on this issue even within affiliated groups. The medical community remains one of the most divided. Though the majority of physician groups used to be opposed, several have recently switched their stance to neutral, including the American Academy of Family Physicians. Others, such as the New York State Academy of Family Physicians, have announced their direct support.

“I don’t think the medical community is monolithic,” said Katharine Deiss, a practicing physician in medical pediatrics at the University of Rochester Medical Center. “I think they have a split view like everybody else does.”

David Kim, an attending physician in Staten Island, is worried about the ethical burden it would place on physicians themselves, forcing them to be the “judge, jury, and executioner.” Other concerns he voiced include risks to the doctor-patient relationship and violations of some medical codes of ethics, in addition to fears that this would a “cop out” to fixing current care inadequacies.

“Assisted suicide really risks, and probably does, erode trust in the doctor-patient relationship,” said Kim. “We’re talking about death or suicide as a medical treatment to be prescribed by the physician, in order to alleviate suffering or pain by the patient, and that has never been a part of any mainstream code of ethics than any physicians follow.”

While Kim is one of many physicians who firmly believe in literal definition of “do no harm,” other doctors believe that medical aid in dying would in fact help them uphold that oath to patients. Regardless, under the proposed legislation, doctors who do not believe in the practice can opt out.

Concern from marginalized communities

Another group in the discussion is the disabled community. For them, there is fear about how the legislation might put unequal pressure to utilize medical aid in dying. An able-bodied person might define quality of life in a completely different way than someone who is disabled and some in the community fear that such legislation would target or discriminate against disabled New Yorkers.

“If you look at the reasons that people give, that doctors are writing down for why people want assisted suicide, the top five reasons are not related to being terminal — they’re related to being disabled,” said Coleman, who has been disabled for most of her life, which was her motivation for starting Not Dead Yet.

Oregon was the first state to legalize the practice, with seven other states and Washington D.C. following suit. According to data from Oregon in 2017, the top five reasons were decreasing ability to participate in activities, loss of autonomy, loss of dignity, burden on caregivers, and losing control of bodily functions. These traits are felt by both the disabled community and the terminally ill. In Oregon, most patients who used medical aid in dying in 2017 had cancer, followed by ALS, and heart/circulatory disease.

In Oregon, 94.4 percent of patients who used this option in 2017 were white, and most were described as “well-educated.”. Only 5.6 percent of patients in the state who utilized medical aid in dying did so partly due to the financial burdens.

“From these data, and in the absence of verified reports of coercion or exploitation of people with disabilities or other vulnerable groups, analysis has concluded that there is simply no evidence of coercion of people with disabilities or other vulnerable groups, despite predictions to the contrary,” said Alicia Ouellette in her Barriers to Physician Aid in Dying for People with Disabilities paper.

Also preventing any hints of coercion is legislation stating that doctors and insurance companies are not supposed to offer this as an option. Rather, patients must be the ones to ask for it and seek it out, and still over one third of people opt not to use their prescriptions in the end.

“I don’t know, you know you never know, if someone is going to use it or not,” said Cavanaugh. “People sometimes don’t, but knowing that the option is available is a huge, huge benefit. And so, I think if [Chrissy] had the control should she want it, it would’ve helped her live longer.”

Supporters look to renew their push for legislation in 2019

Hearings for the proposed New York bills lasted more than 14 hours combined. Despite neither bill making it to vote in 2018, proponents viewed the year as an overall success. Cavanaugh spoke of 2018 as a “foundation-building year,” and was happy with how far the movement had come since she first got involved. Supporters are hopeful since the democrats gained control of the New York State senate.

Compassion & Choices  supporters sport the organization’s t-shirt at the April hearing before the New York State Legislature in Albany. Photo courtesy of Compassion and Care.

“The bill that was in the assembly now has even more co-sponsors, legislators who have now signed onto it,” said Bonnie Edelstein, founder of Death with Dignity Albany. “It’s been adjusted and redrafted, somewhat, for this next legislative session, to include even more safeguards and to allay fears of some people who are in opposition.”

On Nov. 14, New York State Senator democrat Neil Breslin held a fireside chat in conjunction with Death with Dignity Albany. Though he expressed mixed support, Senator Breslin seemed unsure of whether or not the bill would progress in 2019.

“With 15 new democrats — and really there’s only about eight or 10 long-term serving democrats, I’m not sure — it certainly will be much better than under the Republicans,” said Senator Breslin. “There’s, to me, a lot of discussion it still needs.”

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Inside this wooden container sits the flag that covered Johnny Kihm's casket when his body arrived at Dover Air Force base. Photo by Chris Palmer.

NORTHEAST PHILADELPHIA, Pa. – Cecelia Kihm’s life changed the day that two strangers knocked on her front door.

It was April 19, 2011. Kihm, 51, a freckled, sandy-haired pre-school teacher, was at home in her green-carpeted living room watching the television show “Ellen.”

She opened the door to two Army soldiers, standing in uniform on the concrete steps in front of her brick rowhome in the Castor Gardens section of Philadelphia.

“When I looked at them, heat just went down my body,” she said.

Her baby-faced 19-year old son, Johnny, had deployed to Afghanistan a month earlier. Several members of his unit had died already, including three that week.

She invited the soldiers in. After taking a few seconds to collect her thoughts, she asked them to deliver the news.

Her son was dead, they said. Killed in combat.

During sleepless nights since Johnny had enlisted, Kihm told herself that if this day ever came, she wouldn’t react like characters do in movies. No violent crying, no denial, no hitting the messenger.

But she was overridden with grief. She kept saying, “It’s too soon. It’s too soon.”

She went upstairs to tell her oldest daughter, Marybeth, who was 24 at the time.

“I didn’t even know how to say it,” Kihm said.

Her husband John, just returning from work, collapsed in agony when he saw the two men in his living room. He cried on the adjacent dining room floor.

And Kihm’s middle child, daughter Meghan, who was then 21, threw up after she was told.

“It was horrible,” Kihm said.

This scene – a family torn apart by news of a young soldier’s untimely death – is not uncommon. As of April 28, 2012, nearly 6,500 American soldiers have been killed in Iraq or Afghanistan since the Afghan War began in 2001. Thousands more have died in non-hostile situations, through circumstances like training exercises, illness, or by suicide.

But all military families who lose a loved one have to deal with a variety of unique challenges, according to Ami Neiberger-Miller, a public affairs officer with the Tragedy Assistance Program for Survivors (TAPS).

“The experience of military loss is so unique,” she said.

According to TAPS research, more than 80 percent of military deaths are traumatic and unexpected, catching family members by surprise. Military families are often thrust into the spotlight after the death, forced to take up the role of spokespeople to the media and strangers who want to honor the family and the fallen soldier. And some military family members suffer from insomnia, depression or post-traumatic stress disorder.

“There’s no rulebook to guide families and help them,” Neiberger-Miller said. “It’s a long journey.”

For the Kihms, just over a year after Johnny’s passing, the sadness that comes from being one of those families, shrunken by war, never ends.

“I always feel like I’m stuck in that two week period, from when we found out until when we buried him,” Kihm said. “It doesn’t feel like we just had a year. It doesn’t feel like it at all.”

Marybeth, now 25, put it more succinctly.

“It sucks,” she said.

“If you’re going to be in it, you’re going to be in it.”

At Cardinal Dougherty High School, Johnny ran cross-country and wrestled. But he was especially drawn to the Marines “Delayed Entry Program,” which gives individuals under the age of 18 a chance to work with soldiers to prepare for enlistment at a later date.

Once a week, he trained with the Marines, and throughout high school he dreamed of enlisting after graduation.

In March of his senior year, though, he changed his mind. After high school, he spent a semester at the Abington campus of Pennsylvania State University.

But his interest in the military wouldn’t stay suppressed for long. After his first semester of college, Johnny returned home for Christmas break and told his parents he had made up his mind: he wanted to enlist.

Kihm wasn’t exactly thrilled, but she had told her son when he was in high school that she would support him if he decided to join.

“I knew that’s what he wanted,” she said.

Johnny and his parents considered both the Marines and the Army, and eventually decided that the Army would be a better fit. He enlisted, and on March 1, 2010, deployed to basic training at Fort Benning, in Georgia.

“I really thought he was going to be alright.”

Johnny Kihm in his Army gear. Photo provided by the Kihm family.

In June 2010, after completing basic training, Johnny moved to Fort Drum, N.Y., with the 10th Mountain Division infantry unit. He was supposed to stay there until May 2011, when the unit would be deployed to Afghanistan. But the deployment date was moved up two months. They shipped out on March 17, 2011.

Kihm had two phone conversations and four Facebook chat sessions with Johnny while he was overseas. She kept a record of all the interactions in a datebook.

“I would sit by the computer and just look for that little dot to appear,” she said, waiting for him to sign on to Facebook.

Her last phone call with him was on April 15, 2011. The conversation was brief, but he said they would talk more later.

He died four days after the call.

Before Johnny’s death, the possibility of losing her son never felt real, Kihm said. But now, the reality is inescapable.

“Some days it’s more like day one than day two,” she said.

“All this wouldn’t have happened if that wouldn’t have happened.”

While the Kihms grapple with Johnny’s death on a daily basis, they have also found various ways to dedicate themselves to new causes in his memory.

John, Johnny’s father, has taken up volunteering at the Philadelphia Veterans Comfort House, a shelter for homeless veterans.

Cecelia sends boxes of supplies – cigarettes, magazines, Red Bulls – to Johnny’s unit (a pack of cigarettes is accompanied by a note, telling the soldier on the receiving end that they have to promise to quit smoking).

One of her more recent efforts was to style pillowcases for the unit members.

And after finding out that the soldiers don’t have anything to put into the pillowcases, she decided that her next goal is to figure out a way to send the troops pillows.

Together, the Kihms established a foundation – the Pfc. Johnny Kihm Memorial Fund – that, among other activities, is raising money through events and t-shirt sales to refurbish a United Service Organizations lounge for military members at the Syracuse airport, near Fort Drum (the Kihms declined to say how much money they’ve raised so far).

And they’ve received countless gifts, tokens of support and donations in Johnny’s name – occasionally from complete strangers – which they in turn donate to the foundation, or use to buy supplies for the care packages.

Ingrid Seunarine, a bereavement counselor in New York City who directs grief counseling programs for Catholic Charities of Brooklyn and Queens, said that it’s common for people to donate time and energy to various causes after the death of a loved one. Doing so, she said, can help individuals cope with the loss, while also honoring the memory of the deceased.

“You have to keep that connection in your heart,” she said.

“It never stops.”

In the year since Johnny’s death, the Kihms have been visited by scores of wounded warriors and other supporters, wishing to pay their respects to the fallen soldier’s family.

Kihm said she has a deep sense of gratitude for the gestures and the soldiers who go out of their way to support them, especially those in the 10th Mountain Division.

“I feel like they’re mine,” she said.

But she also said that at times, unexpected visits, combined with the milestones that pass without her son – Memorial Day, 9/11, his unit’s first extended period of leave – can make it feel “like the viewing day never stops.”

After a few hours of talking about Johnny, with the smell of a home-cooked meal wafting through her living room, the pain in Kihm’s heart surfaced. With her eyes welling up, she recalled a moment that happened at Johnny’s funeral.

During the ceremony, she said, she reached out and touched her son’s closed casket.
Then she put her hand on her husband. Marybeth had her arm around him as well.

Kihm then whispered to Meghan, telling her to reach over and touch Marybeth.

And they formed a chain, linking Meghan, to Marybeth, to John, to Cecelia, to Johnny.

“We were all holding each other,” she said, her voice quivering.

Later that day, the Kihms would bury Johnny at the Holy Sepulchre Cemetery in Northeast Philadelphia.

But at that moment, they sat together as a family for the last time.

“It was beautiful,” said Kihm, fighting off tears.

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Homicide in Detroit from Amanda Plasencia on Vimeo.

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Morticians who work for the Bronx medical examiner's office say they cope with the stress of their jobs by maintaining a good sense of humor. Photo by Meredith Bennet-Smith

When Gwen Coffiel gets behind at her job in the Bronx, her supervisor reminds her she’s “not sewing pants, the stitches don’t have to be perfect.”

Coffiel works in the medical examiner’s office, and her supervisor is certainly right about the pants – part of Coffiel’s job is working in the morgue, sewing up bodies after they’ve been autopsied.

It is this sort of gallows humor that helps keep the tight-knit bunch of mortician technicians sane in their workplace, the gray, eight-story Bronx morgue building, located on the outskirts of the sprawling Jacobi Medical Center in the East Bronx. Theirs is a sense of humor that can make a decapitated head rolling over your foot sound like a punch line, or compare an autopsy examination to a sewing workshop.

But there is a central theme. When you work everyday with remains, many of which would not be out of place on a slasher film set, they stop being people and become more like objects – objects to be examined and and toe-tagged before being sent on the next leg of their journey.

The Office of the Medical Examiner autopsies about 5,000 bodies each year across its five borough branches. The number of bodies per day varies, with as few as zero or as many as 20 needing attention. The medical examiner does not examine all deaths, however – only those that are unusual, unexpected or suspicious, said Ellen Borakove, an OCME spokesperson. If it is determined the death was caused in some way by another person, it is classified a homicide and the findings are handed over to the authorities. Police then make the decision whether to open a murder investigation.

Contrary to popular public perception, a homicide and a murder are not the same thing.

“A homicide means the actions of one person caused the death of another person,” Borakove said. “Did they (mean) to do it, or was it an accident? That’s something for the courts to decide. We don’t make judgments.”

But often cases are far from black and white.

Renay Schleretch had flaming auburn hair and a penchant for horror movies when she joined the OCME out of high school. One day, a boy came in with a hatchet stuck in his skull. The father claimed he had been trying to scare his son, to teach him a lesson, and the blade had just slipped.

The blade was embedded so deeply in the boy’s skull, however, that Scheleretch said she had to use all of her strength to pry it out.

“I’m strong, but it took a couple of minutes (to remove),” she said.

The sound the metal made as it was wrenched from the bone  stuck with her for days, she said.

The City of New York offers counseling services for employees emotionally traumatized in the workplace. But Schleretech said she has never utilized them, preferring her own brand of release – her mortician’s sense of humor mixed with some very important alone time.

“Some guys will go bowling, go to bars,” Schleretch said. “I just go home, crack a beer and sit real quiet.”

Like many offices, the staff in the Bronx loves a good co-worker prank. A favorite form of veteran-rookie teasing is to wait until a new tech goes into the freezer, where all the bodies are kept, and then turn the lights off.

Eventually, you either find a way to cope or you find a different line of work, workers said.

Coffiel, who tried her hand as a former funeral director and preschool teacher before joining the OCME, said she thought about quitting on several occasions. And she’s blunt about what keeps her pulling on her scrubs again each morning – it’s a job.

During her first week with the OCME, Coffiel said she vomited every day. She and a co-worker took turns examining the body and running for the sink.

“I was like, I’m never going to eat again,” she said. “But then I got hungry.”

For former technician Hector Sotomayor, the job ultimately wasn’t enough. Sotomayor now works at a Jacobi Medical Center loading dock, within view of his old building. He said he transferred departments after waking up one day and realizing that “psyching himself out” everyday wasn’t working anymore. The OCME is not for everyone.

“You see a lot of depressing stuff,” Sotomayor said. “One time I had this kid who looked exactly like my son. I couldn’t handle it; I just started crying. (Another time) I had to assist on someone I knew. So I took wet tissue paper and put it on his face.”

On a recent afternoon, Coffiel and Schleretch sat in the medical examiner’s parking lot, swapping Marlboros and war stories. A driver casually pushing two gurneys passed not six feet from the joking pair, who never even looked up. The man loaded his maroon-swaddled charges into the back of a shabby hearse, pushed a black suitcase in after the corpses, slammed his doors and drove away.

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Billy Morales holds a candle in memory of his son, Iman Morales. Family and friends held a vigil this week for Morales, who died after he was Tased by a police officer in 2008. Photo by Jasmine Brown

Iman Morales stood naked on the ledge of a storefront awning. Through tears and amidst screams of terror, his mother, Olga Negron, watched as he was Tased and fell head-first onto the concrete below.

Two years later, Negron returned to the location where her son died for a Sept. 24 candlelight vigil to commemorate his life.

She was joined by family, friends and community members who shared memories of Morales, who was mentally ill, and pleaded for justice to be served against the officer they say caused his death.

On Sept. 24, 2008, police officers responded to a disturbance on Tompkins Avenue. Morales, 35, stood naked on the fire escape outside his Brooklyn apartment.

Officers on the scene ordered Morales down. He did not comply, and instead moved over to the ledge of a storefront awning, where he began waving a long, fluorescent light bulb.

Lt. Michael Pigott, of the New York Police Department, then ordered Sgt. Nicholas Marchesona to Tase Morales. The order violated an NYPD mandate stating that a Taser should not be used against a subject who “may fall from an elevated surface.”

Morales, immobilized by the shock, fell head-first onto the ground 10 feet below.

“They could have done something to break his fall, and I begged them, and I told them, ‘Please, he has a big mattress, just throw the mattress out.’ ” Negron said.

Morales was taken to Kings County Hospital Center, where he was pronounced dead.

Two years later, Marchesona has not been prosecuted, even though he violated an NYPD mandate, Morales’ family said.

“He was my son, and he didn’t deserve to die the way he did,”  Negron said as she wiped a tear from her face. “Right here above us, he was standing. He wasn’t a threat to anybody, except for a light bulb, and they weren’t prepared to take it away from him and put a mat on the floor to break his fall. Why?”

After the incident, Pigott was placed on modified assignment without his badge and gun, and Marchesona was put on administrative duty pending further investigation. Despite requests from Morales’ family, the Brooklyn District Attorney’s Office never opened a criminal probe.

Days after the incident, Pigott committed suicide.

Marchesona was promoted to detective six weeks later, according to Morales’ family.

A civil suit against the city is moving forward slowly, and the family is working to press criminal charges against Marchesona for violating NYPD protocol, which they say led to Morales’ death.

Negron also wants the NYPD to better educate officers on how to handle the mentally ill.

“I just want them to realize that people are sick,” she said. “There are a lot of people that need mental help, and these officers have to be prepared to work with our children, or to work with anybody so that they can stop Tasing them the way they do.”

Martha Laureno, one of the leaders of the Justice Committee, a Latino-led organization that works to stop police brutality in the city, said this is another stain on the NYPD.

“Iman’s death once again highlights the blatant misconduct exhibited by the police when responding to mental health crisis calls,” she said at the vigil.

The family has never recovered from Morales’ death, Negron said.

“It has been really hard for me, and I miss him so much, and I haven’t been the same, and his brothers haven’t been the same,” Negron said. “No one has been the same.”

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