Cork embalmer: 'I want to help people say goodbye to loved ones'

In a country where death is taken very seriously, but can often be discussed in whispers, Orla Barry is speaking loudly and proudly - not only on behalf of the dead, but for the living left behind.

At just 23 years old, the Fermoy native is carving out a path as what could be Ireland’s youngest embalmer - and she’s doing it with humour, compassion, and a sense of mission far beyond her years.

Her story is far from ordinary - it’s one of grit, empathy, and a deep sense of purpose that began at just 14 years old.

“I lost my grandmother, Etta Byrne, suddenly,” Orla recalls. “She was on life support, and when she passed, I couldn’t bring myself to go see her. I was traumatised.

“But my cousin, Lisa, locked me in the room and made me go. 

"I ended up putting my nana’s glasses on her, and in that moment, she looked like herself again.

“That’s when I knew - I needed to do this for every grandchild, niece, and cousin out there. I had to help people say goodbye.”

That one moment became her life’s purpose.

Today, Orla works as both an undertaker and embalmer in Wicklow, a full-circle twist of fate given her grandmother’s roots in the area.

But Orla’s journey began in her home town of Fermoy, where she balanced a job in a local factory - Samina - with her first undertaker training and saving for college fees.

“The lads in Fermoy were amazing. They showed me everything. I’ll forever be grateful for that,” she says.

Orla later trained under renowned embalmer David McGowan in Sligo, one of a handful of mortuary schools in Ireland.

Unlike traditional college paths, embalming training often requires self-driven apprenticeships and private tuition. Orla’s drive and financial independence meant she forged her path on her own terms.

And she did it all while living with profound hearing loss. Orla was born hard of hearing but lost all hearing in her left ear in 2022, with only about 20% remaining in her right.

“It is scary, but I’ve adapted so well,” she says with a shrug. “I don’t really know any different.”

Orla rarely uses a hearing aid - “It just amplifies what I can’t hear”, she says - but instead lipreads and picks up sounds through vibration.

“Music has always been a huge part of my life,” she says, “my dad’s a musician. I feel it in my chest, in the back of my neck. That’s how I experience it.”

What’s most striking about Orla is her outlook. In an industry that deals with grief and trauma daily, she radiates positivity.

“It’s always a bad day, not a bad life,” she says.

“I grew up with people telling me I couldn’t do things. And I’ve always said, ‘Watch me’.”

And people are watching - and listening.

Despite working in a profession that’s often considered taboo or misunderstood, Orla’s voice is cutting through the silence that can surround death in Ireland.

Whether it’s on social media, in interviews, or face-to-face, she answers every question, sometimes 101 of them - driven by the belief that the more people understand death, the less they fear it.

“We’re morticians, not magicians,” she says with a smile.

“But we always try our best. Whether it’s the way someone wore their hair or their favourite lipstick, those little things matter.

“The details help families see their loved ones again not just in death, but as they were in life.”

It’s that attention to detail and compassion that make her such a stand-out figure in the industry. She greets each person she cares for as if they were her own - whether it’s a 100-year-old woman or a child lost far too soon.

“When I step out of that room, that’s when I cry,” she says. “That’s when I grieve. But when I’m with them, it’s about respect and honour. That’s what keeps me going.”

Her job is also, in her own words, a “conversation-killer” - at least in social settings.

“Sometimes, I just say I’m studying to be a teacher,” she laughs. “Otherwise, people run away or stare at me like I’ve 12 heads. Or they bombard me with questions. It’s always one or the other!”

But Orla prefers the questions about death and the care for the dead. “This is going to happen to everyone. The more we talk about it, the better prepared we are.”

Orla hopes to one day open her own funeral home, and eventually, teach others the art of embalming. She wants to support people like her - those told they ‘can’t’ do something.

“That’s my mission. If I can do it, anyone can,” she insists.

At just 23, Orla Barry is far from finished. She’s already achieved more than most would in a lifetime - but make no mistake: she’s just getting started.

And if there’s any justice, she won’t be remembered just as one of Ireland’s youngest embalmers - but as one of its most inspiring.