death has a body
I love Kate Braestrup. She writes brilliantly about life and death and faith. Her memoirs about marriage and grief are the only ones that have not made me want to throw them across the room in frustration. (Sorry, C. S. Lewis and Joan Didion.)
I want to grow up to be more like Braestrup.
Her story "The House of Mourning," told at The Moth, reminded me of the one regret I have about the choices I made after Adam's death--not viewing the body.
Braestrup's overall message is that "you can trust a human being with grief," a message that we all too often doubt. We try to insulate ourselves, and especially our children, from grief when in reality it is an integral part of life.
She supports this message with her own story of insisting on seeing and caring for the body of her late husband, a state trooper who died in a car accident while on duty, and also with the story of a five-year-old girl who insisted on visiting the body of her four-year-old cousin.
Braestrup says that in her experience as a chaplain to the Maine Game Wardens, "People are far, far more likely to regret not having seen the body than they are to wish they hadn't done it" (6:55). And I wish that every funeral director and law enforcement chaplain and county sheriff's deputy would hear this story.
The men in my kitchen that day--the chaplain and the chaplain-in-training and the deputy and the several officers--presented a united front in their "recommendation not to view." The haunted looks on the officers' faces added weight to this recommendation. As did their refusal to take me to retrieve things from the car, offering instead to get whatever I wanted and bring it to me.
Knowing what I do now about the physics of Adam's accident and the coroner's findings of cause of death--cranio-cerebral trauma--I understand the recommendation not to view. But I wish that I had thought to ask for a middle ground between full viewing and none at all. Could the children and I have held the hands of his draped body? Could the mortician have wrapped his head in gauze to cover the worst but allow us to see and touch the rest?
Ultimately, my acquiescence on this score allowed other people--medical examiner, tissue donation organization, crematorium--to do their work more efficiently, and the funeral director was able to have the ashes present at the funeral service a mere four days later, which was very important to me.
Death has a body, and when the decision is happening in your kitchen or your loved one's hospital room or wherever, Kate Braestrup and I recommend that you choose to view.
I want to grow up to be more like Braestrup.
Her story "The House of Mourning," told at The Moth, reminded me of the one regret I have about the choices I made after Adam's death--not viewing the body.
Braestrup's overall message is that "you can trust a human being with grief," a message that we all too often doubt. We try to insulate ourselves, and especially our children, from grief when in reality it is an integral part of life.
She supports this message with her own story of insisting on seeing and caring for the body of her late husband, a state trooper who died in a car accident while on duty, and also with the story of a five-year-old girl who insisted on visiting the body of her four-year-old cousin.
Braestrup says that in her experience as a chaplain to the Maine Game Wardens, "People are far, far more likely to regret not having seen the body than they are to wish they hadn't done it" (6:55). And I wish that every funeral director and law enforcement chaplain and county sheriff's deputy would hear this story.
The men in my kitchen that day--the chaplain and the chaplain-in-training and the deputy and the several officers--presented a united front in their "recommendation not to view." The haunted looks on the officers' faces added weight to this recommendation. As did their refusal to take me to retrieve things from the car, offering instead to get whatever I wanted and bring it to me.
Knowing what I do now about the physics of Adam's accident and the coroner's findings of cause of death--cranio-cerebral trauma--I understand the recommendation not to view. But I wish that I had thought to ask for a middle ground between full viewing and none at all. Could the children and I have held the hands of his draped body? Could the mortician have wrapped his head in gauze to cover the worst but allow us to see and touch the rest?
Ultimately, my acquiescence on this score allowed other people--medical examiner, tissue donation organization, crematorium--to do their work more efficiently, and the funeral director was able to have the ashes present at the funeral service a mere four days later, which was very important to me.
Death has a body, and when the decision is happening in your kitchen or your loved one's hospital room or wherever, Kate Braestrup and I recommend that you choose to view.
Hi Kate -- I've been thinking much the same thing lately, that facing reality of any sort -- no matter how unpleasant -- is better than hiding from it in the long run.
ReplyDeleteHardly a day goes by that I don't think of Adam. I'm always picking up a tool or a piece of steel and remembering "this was Adam's", and how blessed we were that we met both of you.
Good to see your new life is so amenable to cycling. I miss doing that myself, and could certainly use the exercise now that we've sold the cows and I find myself sitting inside during the winter weather.
It's so nice to see you here, David!
DeleteI have a similar relationship with some of Adam's objects. His pocket knife, for example, lives in my kitchen and gets used almost daily.
The best part of living where I live is the choices about transportation. I can walk, cycle, use transit, or drive, and the exercise-with-a-purpose of walking or cycling is the best. I do sometimes have a nostalgic longing for a path in need of shoveling and firewood waiting to be stacked.
It must be odd to be without cows after so many years of days shaped by their needs.
Yeah, getting rid of the cows was like ripping out the heart of the farm, though it's a relief not to have to spend hours a day doing the associated chores. Definitely a mixed blessing.
ReplyDeleteIf my current ideas come to fruition, there's a chance we might make it out your way. If I could sell the farm today, the boat I'd like to buy and go cruising on is out in Annapolis.
It would be amazing to see you! I have some friends who keep a boat in Annapolis and live on it about half the year. Let me know if there's any way we can help.
Delete