Two and a half years ago, these pictures might have seemed disturbing to me somehow. There are clear images of the girls touching their mother and laying their heads upon her body as they grieve. Today I look at them and think about how grateful I am that they felt the freedom to touch her and weep openly. They needed to do it and the culture of their environment allowed it to happen.
A few years ago, a young child in our community died. The mother chose to have her child's body in their home. Family members took turns touching his body and even holding him. During the funeral service, the mother held her precious son's body. Such actions were clearly not typical or well received by all who witnessed them. I remember thinking to myself that I was so glad the family didn't allow our sterile culture of cold morgues and embalming fluids to keep them from embracing their little son/brother as they needed. Yes, it shocked people and left them feeling uncomfortable, but who cares? During that time, it wasn't about the people who were watching. It was ALL about that family and what they needed to do. My guess is there is little or no regret over what they did.
Certain social rules, cultural norms or even personal experience will often dictate how comfortable we are with expressing our grief and touching the body of someone who has died. As a little girl, my grandmother encouraged me to touch my grandfather's body as it lay in a casket. I did so, but never forgot how it upset me to feel how cold and stiff he was. That left a lasting impression. As a 17 year-old, I stood next to my sister-in-law's casket and stared at her. She was a beautiful woman, but I could see evidence of the trauma her body had experienced in the car accident. Later, I wished my last image of her was when she was alive and laughing. Both experiences left a mark on me that influenced how I responded after Jacob's death.
At first, I didn't even want to see Jacob's body. How could I look at my son with his wounds and survive? After being told that he "looked good," my husband convinced me I needed to say goodbye. The whole process took only a couple of minutes. As I stood there looking at Jacob's body, everything in me was screaming out, "No, no! This can't be him! This isn't him!" I knew Jacob wasn't there. His body was convered in a white sheet up to his chin. His scalp was completely wrapped in an inch of gauze. Only his beautiful face was visible. I walked out of that room never having touched him, and to this day, I feel such guilt and regret for being unable to do so. I wish that my experiences and culture had created an attitude and environment that would have allowed me to touch my son freely.
Tonight, my husband and I are having dinner with two other couples who have become friends. Both couples have lost a child in a car accident. One of the mothers has shared how she took the initiative to pull back the sheet that covered her son. She needed and wanted to see his injuries. The other mother touched her daughter repeatedly and kissed her multiple times while stroking her daughter's hair and face. I am so glad they did.
An aunt who recently lost her husband said she crawled into the bed next to her husband's body and held him. Others spoke up and said she probably should not do that, but she boldly responded by saying, "This is the last time that I will be able to lay next to my husband! I'm going to do this!" Good for her.
When someone we love dies, we must allow ourselves the freedom to do whatever we need to do. I wish that I had understood my own need better at the time of Jacob's death. If so, I would have hugged him and kissed him. If you've not already faced that moment, please seriously think through this and give yourself permission to do what feels right to you. When that moment does come, you want to be somewhat prepared to respond in a way that you will not regret later.
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