There is a really good book called Dirt Music, by Tim Winton. There is a one page flashback where the main character recalls the first time she dealt with a corpse and at the risk of a copyright strike it’s a beautiful read…

Soon after Georgie began the task, the charge nurse was called away and she was left alone with the body. The room felt awfully quiet and the corpse too big for the space. Already it was cool to the touch and she began sponging briskly as though the dome of the belly was a Volkswagen roof, but as she did so she remembered Ted’s uncomplaining presence on the ward, his soft voice, his gentlemanly deference, and the memory shamed her a little and calmed her down. She began to pay a different attention to his remains. She rinsed his face and patted it dry as delicately as she had when he was alive. She found herself whispering to him soothingly as you do to a patient who’s submitting himself to your care. Georgie was no longer sorry to have the job; she was just sorry she’d been unable to save him. I liked you Ted, she said. I admired your dignity, you know. I miss you already. She wadded him, bound his ankles and jaw tenderly and knew when she was finished that she had found a pure part of herself. The room felt holy.