Some kids played house. My sisters and I played coroner.
While other kids dressed their Barbies for dates, ours were… well, bagged and tagged.
When I casually mentioned to friends that my childhood Barbies had their own body bag, I got a mix of shocked gasps and morbid laughter. But for me, it was just another day in the life of a coroner’s daughter.
I grew up in a home where death was a dinner table conversation and the county coroner’s office was literally in our family home. My father, a doctor and medical examiner, conducted autopsies at the local hospital, but everything else happened at home. My mother, ever the multitasker, managed both the office and the bodies that came through it.
And me and my sisters? We helped wash and recycle body bags in the front yard, process paperwork, and listen to countless tales about the latest death investigation over family dinners.
Looking back, I probably should’ve realized that not every kid’s childhood involved storing the deceased’s tissue samples in the basement freezer or hearing phrases like ‘lividity’ and ‘decomp’ before they could spell their own name. But at the time? It was just normal.
What I didn’t realize back then was that these strange, morbidly hilarious childhood experiences would shape my writing career and one day inspire a lifetime of storytelling, crime fiction writing, and a deep appreciation for the fine line between humor and horror.
This is the story of one fateful email chain, an ill-fated Barbie, and how a lifetime surrounded by death led me to crime fiction.
A Family Like No Other
When Your House Doubles as a Morgue…
Before we dive into the bizarre and darkly comedic saga of Malibu Barbie’s untimely demise, let’s set the scene:
☠ My dad was a county medical examiner. Our house was also the M.E.’s office.
☠ My mom was his office manager. She handled the case reports, the logistics, accounting, and communicating with morticians, detectives, the families of the deceased… and occasionally, the bodies.
☠ My sisters and I “helped out.” If you count washing body bags, driving dad to scenes of death, and quizzing each other on cause of death over meat and potatoes.”
☠ No, Mattel does not make Barbie body bags. Ours was a real body bag sample from a vendor—a perk of having a dad in the forensic business.
While my friends were pretending to be princesses or pop stars, my sisters and I played ‘crime scene investigation’ with our Barbies. Yes, we played tea parties in our barn loft, just above a 55 gallon drum filled with formaldehyde and a human leg (for legal reasons, naturally).
The Email Chain That Started It All
Years later, my childhood Barbie the Coroner games came back to me in the form of one simple email question between our family:
“Hey, does anyone know where our Barbie body bag ended up?”
I figured one of my sisters had taken it as a joke. I should have known better.
Within minutes, what should have been a casual inquiry turned into a full-blown forensic investigation.
📩 Subject Line: Miss Barbie Found Dead According to Newaygo County Medical Examiner Report
📜 Message: “We regret to inform you that little Miss Barbie was found lying in her case without any obvious signs of trauma. The medical examiner was notified and has placed her in a body bag for transport to the morgue. A cause of death is pending autopsy.”
And just like that, my family launched into action to solve the crime.
Denial, Blame & Conspiracy Theories
First Comes Denial… Then the Theories Start Flying
Naturally, my sisters immediately entered the ‘denial’ phase of grief.
🔎 DENIAL: “That’s not Barbie! It’s Skipper! Please confirm the identity of the deceased.”
📜 OFFICIAL CORRECTION: “The M.E. regrets this grave error. Skipper, not Barbie, is deceased.“
🚨 BLAME GAME: “Eyewitnesses report a tragic fashion runway accident involving a disco ball. Or was it poisoning by the jealous Malibu Barbie? Or… did Ken just get tired of driving Skipper around and toss her off a cliffside?”
The family consensus? Skipper was murdered.
By who? We may never know.
(But our money was on Malibu Barbie. She always seemed a little too perfect.)
The Verdict—And the Real Killer
Turns Out, the Truth Was Darker Than We Imagined
Days of family debate later, the final autopsy report was in:
🔬 Cause of Death: Acute loneliness.
⏳ Time of Death: Sometime in the last decade.
Final conclusion: After years of being stuffed in a toy case, forgotten, and abandoned, poor Skipper simply gave up.
A tragic fate for a beloved doll.
And perhaps, a not-so-subtle message from my mom to come collect our childhood relics from her house.
How This Became the Cornerstone of My Writing
From Barbie Body Bags to Crime Fiction
Growing up in a forensic household, I spent years trying to keep my childhood skeletons (sometimes literal- we had a life sized skeleton named Sam. But that’s a story for another time) in the closet.
But now? I embrace them.
💀 Death was never taboo for us—it was just life. We learned well the lesson never to take any day for granted. We learned to treasure those around us and foster our relationships, because you never know when they’ll be gone.
💀 Storytelling was always part of the job. Investigating, analyzing, and piecing together a case—just like crime fiction. Each case presented a puzzle to be solved.
💀 Home is where your story begins. Body bags or not, I believe we can create a lifetime of stories just from what we experience before we are eighteen years old.
When I’m stuck on how to raise the stakes in my story, I always try to remember:
“Write from the places where you are most fearful.”
I have plenty to draw from when I think about all the strange, horrible, and sometimes senseless tragedies I was witness to through my father’s work in our home.
And yet, it’s these experiences have shaped my voice and philosophies as a crime writer. If you want to write stories that thrill and stick, write from the truths about humanity you are afraid to face. But don’t leave your readers there. Show them there is hope and light even in the darkest recesses of human experience. A great mystery is not so much about the crime as it is about the restoration of chaos to order.
If you’re a writer, lean into the hard places. If you’re a reader, embrace the unexpected.
Embrace Your Story—Even the Morbid Parts
I never imagined my childhood morgue memories would fuel my career as a forensic writer, but here we are.
And honestly? I wouldn’t change a thing.
As for Skipper and the body bag. They RIP at my parent’s house in the pink Barbie box, a reminder of our past lives and the riches we gained from living around the dead.
Writers:
What strange, dark, or hard places of your past have shaped your storytelling? Drop them in the comments!
Readers:
Want to see more of my crime fiction based on my own life as a coroner’s daughter? Check out The Coroner’s Daughter series—where forensics, mystery, and dark humor collide.
