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Trigger/content warning: This article contains descriptions of the embalming process and the handling of deceased bodies. Readers who may be sensitive to topics related to death, grief, or vivid imagery of corpses may find this content distressing. Please proceed with caution.
Jonathan Tumulak looks at this lifeless form lying gently on the cold, tiled embalming table before him. It is impossibly small, lying still beneath the sterile lights.
At that moment, the weight of the world bore down on him.
Over the years, Tumulak, who works an embalmer in Cebu City, had prepared himself for countless dead bodies.
But on August 15, 2024, things felt achingly different.
“Patay na siya (he’s dead),” the haunting voice of his wife echoed the room through a video call, her cries crashing like jagged rocks on his heart. She lay in a hospital bed, her words heavy with grief.
Jonathan Tumulak at this workplace as an embalmer in Cebu City. CDN Digital photo | Gerard Jamora
He traced the tiny body on the table with shaking hands. The lashes were barely there, the brow faintly curved, and the mouth—oh, that mouth—seemed poised to cry out. One tear fell, then two, and a sob escaped his lips, raw and unrestrained. It mingled with his wife’s cries on the other end of the line.
They were two souls shattered.
With trembling hands, he donned the gloves, the familiar gesture now feeling foreign and grotesque as he prepared the syringe filled with chemicals, ready to begin the process that felt like a betrayal.
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With each passing second, as he started embalming, the weight of grief pressed heavier on his chest, a pain more piercing than anything he had ever experienced.
This was his own son. This was the child he had longed for, the child he had waited for but never held in life.
“Ang pinaka-sakit nga nahitabo sa akong kinabuhi nga bisan asa siguro ko muabot sa kalibutan, mao gyuy pinaka-sakit kay wala ko ga-expect. Wala gyud na mahitabo sa akong hunahuna nga muabot sa point nga ako ang mag-embalm og lubong sa akong kaugalingon nga anak,” said the 28-year-old Jonathan Tumulak.
(It is the most painful thing that happened in my life that even if I get to wherever I go in this world, it will still be very painful because I didn’t expect this. I never thought that it would reach a point that I would embalm and bury my own child.)
Jonathan Tumulak, a 28-year-old embalmer, has spent years tending to lifeless bodies. He navigates the haunting silence of the memorial home, where shadows dance and whispers of the past linger in the air. CDN Digital photo | Christian Gerard Jamora
Jonathan would have to do this twice as he lost his prematurely born twins. The first passed away on August 15. The twin died days later on August 19.
“Akoy nagtrabaho jud ba. Mao’y pinakasakit kay while ga-trabaho ko, gasige ko og hilak,” he said.
(I worked on them. It was very painful thing because while I was working, I was always crying.)
Jonathan has worked as an embalmer for nearly 12 years. Throughout his career, he has handled dead bodies of all shapes and sizes, from those who died of natural causes to those who were killed in accidents. He has witnessed a wide range of emotions from grieving families—heartbreak, relief, and sometimes even peace—as they say their final goodbyes.
But all this started not because he was handed down an obligation from family, like what people usually see on television; Jonathan’s journey to embalming was actually born out of curiosity, which eventually became a passion.
It all began in 2008 when his father took over as the manager of a small funeral home in Cebu City.
At 12, Jonathan, like other kids, always enjoyed tagging along with his father, especially when he would go to work at the funeral home. A ride in the hearse (purlon in Bisaya), which frequently traveled from one town to another to retrieve a dead body, strangely excited him.
“Magkuyog-kuyog ra gyud ko permiro kay lage bata ta atong mga time. Ganahan ka magkuyog-kuyog kay malingaw ka. Kay naay usahay man gud mo-biyahe og layo kay ang patay taga probinsya. Malingaw ko magkuyog-kuyog sa byahe,” he shared.
(I was able to go because, again, we were kids at that time. I wanted to just tag along because it amused me. There are sometimes the trip would be far because the dead would be from a town in the province. I really enjoyed tagging along in those trips.)
Jonathan didn’t mind the eerie feeling in the hearse with a dead body or the cold stillness of the morgue. In fact, he found himself drawn to it all. He became curious about every part—from driving a funeral vehicle to the delicate process of embalming.
One might say he was always meant for this line of work, but what most people don’t know is that he hadn’t planned it this way. Jonathan enrolled in a private university in Cebu City to take up criminology.
The dream was to become a police officer.
“Wala gyud ni misulod sa ako hunahuna nga mao ni ako trabaho. Kay nagskwela ko sa una, akong degree program kay Criminology… Mag-pulis gyud unta ko,” he said.
(It really didn’t cross my mind that I’d end up with this job. Because I took up Criminology. I really wanted to ba a police officer.)
The embalming tools create a precise ensemble, each instrument meticulously crafted for its specific role in the delicate art of preservation. From gleaming scalpels that promise accuracy to slender arterial needles poised for their vital task, every tool is ready to honor the deceased. | CDN Digital photo | Christian Gerard Jamora
But what began as an innocent and fun way to accompany the hearse drivers turned into a deep curiosity that fueled determination.
After school, he would rush to the funeral home, eager to help. He then learned to drive and eventually became a hearse driver himself.
Every night after school and on weekends, he would take service whenever there was a call to pick up a corpse or assist with embalming.
The embalming table is a solemn altar for lifeless bodies, whether they succumbed to natural causes or the harshness of the streets. Its cold, sterile surface cradles the deceased, awaiting the embalmer to restore dignity and peace. CDN Digital photo | Christian Gerard Jamora
“Mao lage ang willingness gyud bitaw nga wala nako nabantayi nga naka-focus na akong attention sa punerarya,” Jonathan said.
(The willingness was all of a sudden there and I didn’t notice that my attention was already focused on the funeral home.)
His determination to work at the funeral home grew stronger each day, and before he realized it, his interests had shifted completely. So much that Jonathan decided to put his final year and graduation plans on hold to focus on preparing for and taking the embalming examination.
The choice was difficult, as one might expect because it meant stepping away from his lifelong dream.
But for Jonathan, it didn’t feel like a sacrifice. It felt like a calling. His parents, though confused at first, eventually came to support his decision.
“Ingana siguro ko ka-passionate kay wala nako kabantay nga naa nakoy na sacrifice,” he said.
(I must have been very passionate because I didn’t notice anymore that there were things I sacrificed.)
He vividly recalled the first corpse he embalmed: a man in his mid-fifties, a street dweller who had died of natural causes. These cadavers are often labeled as “Mister X” because, all too frequently, no family or relatives claim their bodies, leading to their burial in mass graves after six months.
The wooden headrest is a sturdy support that elevates the neck to provide a stable foundation during the embalming process. Its faded hue and rough texture speak of time. CDN Digital photo | Christian Gerard Jamora
The first time he handled a dead body, Jonathan was caught with intense fear and awe. Rigor mortis—the stiffness that settles into the body—felt almost surreal. The pungent odor of blood mingled with the sharp scent of formalin filled the air. And before him lay a cold, slightly bruised body.
The pajamas worn by the deceased, with traces of their final day, are silent witnesses to the transition from life to memory. | Photo from Christian Gerard Jamora
“Grabe gyud ako satisfaction ato kay dako kaayo to nga achievement para nako. Proud kaayo ko nga first time nako mo-embalm unya walay problema,” he shared.
(I really felt the satisfaction because for me that was a huge achievement. I was so proud that for the first time, I was able to embalm a body without any problem.)
Although Jonathan’s first embalming experience went well, he couldn’t shake the feeling of unease. He recalled his scary thoughts during that time, wondering if the deceased might suddenly wake up or might grab him. But his determination to learn outweighed the fear.
“Pinaka dili gyud nako ganahan sa una kay kanang magembalsamar og gabie to kadlawon unya ako helper mugawas, unya mabilin ko. Dili ko ganahan sa feeling. Mahadlok ka ba. Ganahan ka mudagan. Mahadlok gyud ka. Impossible kaayo nga dili ka mahadlok unya naay mga patay sa imo palibot,” he said.
What I really didn’t like is when I embalmed at night or at dawn and my helper would leave me alone. I didn’t like that feeling. I get scared. I want to run. You’d really get scared. It’s impossible not to feel scared when there are dead bodies around you.
But he was committed to mastering the craft because he knew he needed to understand what he was doing.
The most challenging experience for Jonathan came when he had to restore a person’s facial features. He vividly remembered the security guard who had been struck by a hook from a construction site boom.
The guard was from Barili, and by the time Jonathan saw him, only skin remained on his face—his skull was severely crushed. It was like a dead body with no head, he said.
“Paghatod diri, wala nato siyay ulo, panit nalang gyud gabitay. Mao to’y pinaka-challenging,” he said.
(When he got here, it was like he had no head. It was just skin hanging. That was the most challenging.)
Jonathan tried to restore his appearance and it was tough; he couldn’t achieve 100-percent restoration, but he managed to bring back about 85 percent of his original look.
He recalled how he had to improvise: a balloon served as a mold for shaping the head, while a simple photograph guided his hands. These small details were his way of honoring each life he prepared, even when resources were scarce.
Years passed, and in 2015, Jonathan’s family built their funeral home on C. Padilla Street in Cebu City. Today, he serves as the manager while still embalming at times.
But this year, he faced the most difficult time of his life.
“Bag-o lang, pag-August karon na tuig, namatay akong anak. Pre-term twins,” he said.
(It was just recent, in August this year, my son died. Pre-term twins.)
The tragic days unfolded as Jonathan found himself alone in the morgue, embalming his own prematurely born twins. One child died on August 15. The twin passed on August 19.
He had never anticipated the kind of pain that could shatter even the smallest joys. Losing someone is one thing, but losing his children felt like a wound too deep to heal.
“Mao to’y pinaka-sakit og lisod. Sakit kaayo to, bug-at kaayo. Hasta ako, dili nako mapugngan ako luha while ga-trabaho ko. Bug-at kaayo hangtod nahuman nalang ko,” he said.
(It was really very painful. Very painful and heavy. I couldn’t stop my tears from falling while I was working. It was very heavy until I finished.)
The eerie streets of C. Padilla in Cebu City come alive at night, shrouded in darkness. With no streetlights, only the headlights of passing cars pierce the silence, casting ghostly shadows on the pavement. | Photo from Christian Gerard Jamora
In embalming, one must master the delicate art of inhaling and exhaling grief, learning to absorb the weight of loss while exuding calm professionalism.
This balance calls for more than just technical skill; it demands empathy and quiet resilience, as embalmers become the silent witnesses to lives that have ended, the caretakers of final goodbyes.
However, for all its gravity, Jonathan and other embalmers often encounter those who see the work as merely a routine task. People often crack jokes and make casual remarks, as if the profession is just some sort of nonsense—not worthy of any respect.
“Maka-disappoint lang siya kay makadungog sila og usa ka embalmer, yaga-yagaan paka sa uban. I-discriminate ka, and then wala siya kabalo nga ang embalming nga profession kay maoy usa sa pinaka lisod nga profession. Kay kung wala’y passion diha, dili gyud nimo mahimong trabaho,” he explained.
It’s just disappointing that when someone here’s the word embalmer, some would make fun of you. They’ll discriminate you and then they don’t even know that the embalming profession is one of the most difficult. Because if you really don’t have the passion, you can’t make this your job.
For Jonathan, embalming is a rare combination of technical skill, emotional resilience, and compassion. It’s far more than a job. It’s a vocation that reaches into the depths of the human experience and demands not only expertise but also a commitment to honoring each life he touches.
It is a calling that requires passion and countless sacrifices, a willingness to bear the weight of others’ grief, and to serve as a bridge between loss and closure.
Two coffins, each holding a deceased body, are prepared for shipment to their families in the province. | Photo from Christian Gerard Jamora
Despite the challenges, there is one aspect of embalming that Jonathan finds deeply rewarding: those quiet moments when grieving families, amid their sorrow, manage a small, grateful smile and thank him for his work.
For Jonathan, knowing he has helped create a gentle, lasting memory of their loved ones gives him a sense of fulfillment. It’s in these moments, when his efforts bring comfort to the grieving, that he’s reminded why he chose this path—a calling that allows him to offer solace in heartache.
“Sa simpleng pasalamat sa imo kliyente or kanang pamilya nga tapikon ka sa likod unya muingon og ‘Salamat ha’ kay nakita nila nga gwapa, gwapo og tarong ilang nipanaw nga pamilya, grabe dili ma describe gyud ang kalipay. Kanang bisan gahilak sila pero makita nimo nga mo-smile sila sa imo trabaho, dili gyud na kabayaran og kwarta,” Jonathan said.
(A simple appreciation from your client or the family, when they tap your back and say ‘thank you’ because they see how good you worked on their loved one, you can’t describe that feeling of happiness. Even if you see them crying, you still see their smiles because of the work you did. And this is something money can’t buy.)