I will try to continue/finish what I started here. For many who know me well, You will know that I have been interested in death and dying for a long time. For me, when the dying is done, I’m very interested in what happens with the body – How different cultures have their preferred traditions and rituals, evolved thru the ages. There are many reasons to care. My reasons are still evolving but some years ago, these words from an undertaker/poet, Thomas Lynch, touched something at the core of the matter: “The bodies of the newly dead are not debris nor remnant, nor are they entirely icon or essence. They are, rather, changelings, incubates, hatchlings of a new reality that bear our names and dates, our image and likenesses. It is wise to treat such new things tenderly, carefully, with honor.” This led me to want to do the “undertaking” when my mother’s time came. I had talked about this with her over the last few years. So I connected with the local funeral home of my mother’s choice – they were the undertakers for her parents. My mother, sister and I did the preplanning about 5 years ago with Kris, a woman undertaker at this funeral home, who has truly felt like a kindred spirit in this journey. So when she got my text Wednesday morning early that the time had come, she came to my mother’s bed where her body was still warm, and together we gently washed and dressed my mother for her final outing. We put a sign on the door: “Privacy please – the Celebration of Life service will be at 10 am” Kris was gentle, skilled, efficient, and tender, with my mother’s body, and with me. There was music softly playing. I even managed to do my mother’s hair like she likes it, pinned her black bonnet on – the Sunday-go-meetin’ one, and I added a touch of blush to her cheeks and an ever so slight touch of color on her lips – she would not approve of too much. She was beautiful. Natural looking. Her face had relaxed and she had a look of ease: I could almost detect a slight smile. She was always so concerned about how she might look. I think she would be pleased. We were ready at 10, with no time to spare. Adriel and Frances came in and we had a few moments together to take it in. The cloth with the 3 butterflies was draped on her bed. People come silently into our sacred space, filling it and spilling out into the hall. I recognized so many faces – so many of the people who had cared for my mother thru the years at the home, from the receptionist, to the housekeeping staff, to the social worker, to the director of personal care, the hospice nurse, three of the chaplains… and of course some of my mother’s friends, lots nurses and staff. It was a beautiful thing to take in. People were offered the opportunity to say something and many did. We finished and had more time by her side. And then, without rushing anything, the strong men came from the funeral home and ushered her out to the hearse. (Kris knew that I wanted a real hearse, and not just the van they would typically bring.) This is where I will leave things for now. So much to do now, so many emotions, abundant gratitude for the beauty of unfolding journey. The butterflies did come And I indeed got my bench at the center of the labyrinth.
Posted on: Fri, 26 Sep 2014 14:05:15 +0000
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