To view or not to view….

it is still a question in my mind.  One never knows what is going to trigger a cascade of memories. There is a storeroom in my mind of memories, they are metaphorically tucked away in banker’s boxes. I was careful not to tape them shut, but I don’t voluntarily go into that room and look in the boxes either.  Sometimes those memories get jostled and it is not unlike having the cats knock something over – you hear a noise, a crash and you are spurred to go and see what fell.  My memories got jostled and a box has now spilled out onto the floor and the present blurs into the past and we are at the funeral home.  I can see the dark wood furniture, we had gone in the back door, I was so conscious of Justin’s body being close.

Doug had returned from Washington state on Tuesday afternoon. Reluctant to leave Ryan, but Ryan couldn’t travel to Maryland until Wednesday. We had so many decisions to make in a very short period of time. We had spoken to the funeral director in Minnesota about Justin’s condition, how bad was his face…what did he look like after being in water?  You have these conversations and it is like two people inside you – one talking calmly, taking notes…the other is staring, just numb – remembering a perfect smile and dancing eyes. We were urged to view his body, I expressed my reluctance to have my last vision of Justin being one of death – would his face be bloated from the water, he had a cut over his eye, was he bruised – what if it didn’t look like him?  I have seen enough dead people to know they don’t look the same at all. Jeff, the funeral director in Minnesota, said that viewing the body was important, that if we regretted it later, it would be too late. We said we would give it serious thought.

I had spoken to the our local funeral director and he asked if we could bring clothes to have Justin buried in, of course, we will be there soon. What to put the boy in? He always had clothes here – most of his clothes were in South Dakota though…we presumed that he most likely had his suit on when he died or it was hanging in the car.  Wasn’t going to truss him up in a suit anyway. Do you know what it is like to go to his room, open the closet, the drawers and try to decide what to put on your dead son? Unless you have physically stood and had to do that for your own child, then you cannot imagine -it is too surreal.

We find his JPII “Mission Accomplished” t-shirt, that works. His Aunt had already bought him new flannel lounge pants for Christmas, we think that is perfect. Socks, bear slippers…we pack it in a bag and try to leave for the funeral home. Neighbors have stopped by, we tell them we are on our way to the funeral home – they keep talking – your skin crawls with impatience.  You want to scream at them, but you bite your lip, smile and nod, finally Doug and I are out the door. Bright blue sky, puffy clouds.

We arrive at the funeral home and speak with the director.  You notice funny things, like how shiny the furniture is, how tasteful the appointments, somber lighting. He is talking about viewing the body, we tell him closed casket. Justin would have hated having people stare at him.  He tells us the body arrived Tuesday night, he assures us that Justin looks good.  He tells us that it at any time we can change our mind, he won’t do the final securing of the casket until the last moment  He promises that he will do as good a job as possible. I ask about the cut, how bad is it – he said not bad at all.  I look down the hall, I know Justin is in one of those rooms – so close.  We go over the contents of the bag, talk about what time the body will arrive at church.  So strange.

I regret not viewing his body now, I do.  More so after reading the coroner’s report. The funeral directors didn’t tell us of the extent of his injuries. They spoke of bruises, but did not elaborate. The coroner’s report tells a different story. Now I long to have a moment, without the wood of the coffin separating us…but I cannot discern between the overwhelming longing to see him now and if that is being projected into regret for not seeing for myself his injured body. Has longing for that beloved face colored my thought process to where I am now so desperate for a glance of those familiar features that I question my decision?

There is an unrealistic expectation placed on grieving parents, we are told how to grieve, when to grieve, how long grief should last, and what we should and shouldn’t think about, when we should be over “it.”

This particular box is just about empty, what do I put back in for storage?…what should stay out? Do I put the box back in the storeroom?…do I leave it out to go through again?  Standing there in the funeral home is a moment frozen in time for us, should we have asked for a lock of curls – angry that we weren’t asked.  Should we have been offered a thumbprint?…a reminder of his uniqueness.  This box probably needs to stay out, too much unresolved to put the lid back on and tuck it away.

There is an unrealistic expectation placed on grieving parents, we are told how to grieve, when to grieve, how long grief should last, and what we should and shouldn’t think about, when we should be over “it.”  I read a line recently, and I can’t remember which resource at the moment, but the writer posited that we as a society suffer from a tremendous amount of unresolved grief.  Agreed. An unequivocal yes.

When a box gets knocked off the shelf and its contents spilled out, it doesn’t help to just quickly grab handfuls of memories and stuff them back in the box.  So you get down on the floor and enter into the pain of remembering.  Let the pain wash over you, through you and breathe it in, cry it out, scream it out – it has to move.  The journey is exhausting, but your breathing calms, a deep sigh escapes you. There comes a stillness, not peace, but a quiet.  You can move from the box now, true you may have to visit it again, but you know its contents, having looked them in the eye, they are a part of you.  Peace will come.