Most people believe that a parent should never bury their children. This just goes beyond what is expected when you become a parent. I have to agree. There was one case I had in which a 5 year old had died. It was an accident, and I sat quietly in another room as the mother visited with the Funeral Director to make arrangements for her child. My boss came in and said we had work to do, so I put down my pen and walked behind him to the prep room as usual. I had overheard them talking about a 5 year old, one of which my other boss had showed me a picture of the day before during a service. I think he did this to prepare me, in his own way, for what I would be dealing with. So before entering, I took a deep breath, and mentally told myself, "It will be ok, this is what you are meant to do. How you handle this will determine your future." I knew this would be difficult. If I couldn't handle it, then this profession is not for me. As the door opened, I felt relief. This dread that had overcome me on the walk down the hall had stopped. Although saddened, it wasn't different from when I saw anyone dead. It is always a sad moment. You can't help yourself but think of the life they had lived. The feelings they felt. This one was different however. I didn't want to show any remorse or anxiety because, after all, my boss had surely seen much more than I had. I had to be strong. I had to be solid. They would judge me as a professional had I reacted otherwise.
Knowing the mother was in the other room really put on the pressure. I couldn't let her hear us in here. That was evident. I wouldn't want her mind to wonder as we dressed him and prepped him for her last moment in his presence. Her last moment to see her little boy. The embalming had already been performed. Now he lay with a sheet over his body, his face the only thing seen. Even then he looked so innocent. So pure. My boss instructed me to file his nails, as we have many times before. And as I took his little hand in mine, my heart felt so many emotions. I will never forget his perfect hand and his perfect little fingers in mine. Cold and pink, but perfect in every way. As I filed, I saw the dirt under his nails. I even remember commenting on them to my boss. He assured me that it is usual for young children to have dirt under their nails, as they play in the dirt, as young ones do. I was unsure whether or not to clean it fully. Would the mother find comfort in seeing her boy as he was, dirty finger nails as a child should be, or would she like him cleaned up from head to toe. It was hard to determine what would stick out in her mind as the last memory picture.
I had finished prepping his fingernails and my boss dressed him in the clothing that had been brought. I remember standing there, watching, being quite thankful he hadn't asked me to help. After all, he was small, it really only took one person to do the job. I watched as he turned from this pale boy under a sheet, to a fully dressed son of the woman in the other room. His eyes had that slightly darkened circle around them, but he was still perfect. Every freckle. We placed him in the viewing room, very quietly and made minor adjustments to his color once under the light. Then I was sent on my way, back to the lounge to study.
Just one room away, I could hear her crying and trying to prepare herself for the final viewing of her son. I stopped everything. The sound of her gasping for air from the other room took hold of me. I knew then, this was something I would never forget. I listened intently as my other boss who was comforting her and telling her to take all the time she needed. Finally they went in. My heart sunk. I couldn't hear her now, but I knew what she was looking at. It didn't matter how much we had done to make him look like her little boy again, he just simply will never be the same. I waited as she had her time. It was literally 3 or 4 minutes before they came out with her sobbing uncontrollably. My boss reassured her it was normal for her to feel this way. He did everything he could to calm her and make her feel at peace. She did not want to see him anymore. It was done. I remember how heavy that room felt. Although I was in the lounge, I didn't want to make a sound. The pain she was feeling was unrecognizable to me. I felt for her. My eyes watered. I kept telling myself I would never forget this. And I haven't. This was my first encounter with a child, with death that had been inexplicable. A child is the last person deserving of this. An innocent mother, grieving without any understanding of why this would happen to her little boy. I will never forget this, but I am so glad to have experienced it. I will forever remember his cold, perfect, little hands. And those freckles, god, those freckles. I'm sure there will be many more to come. And I hope to never forget any of them.
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