I wrote several months ago about my first time dressing a body and how profoundly this affected me. I mentioned how I knew there would be other "firsts" that I would have to work through and I've gotten through many --first hands-on embalming, first home removal, and so on. This week's first came carefully tucked in a cherub casket lined in white with a tiny pink bow pinned to the pillow.
I knew this day, this first, would be hard. It was. I knew I would have to compartmentalize a lot. I did. But the thing that caught me most off guard was the battle between my maternal instincts and the logical reality of the situation. For example, the way that all of us ladies in the office had to talk through the fact that this is the one time it's okay to leave a baby unattended on an elevated surface when everything in us was screaming, "this is not right!" Or how, when touching the palm of her hand, I half expected a grasp reflex and for those tiny fingers to curl around mine. Or how the conversation changes.
Yes, the conversation. I talk to the dead. A lot. And I'm not alone in this. Many of us funeral peeps do it. For me, it's part of the level of care and dignity I think people deserve. It keeps me cognizant of the life represented by the lifeless form. Those (thus far) one-sided conversations usually include lots of explanations -just need to turn you to the side for one second, or descriptions - your girls picked out such a pretty dress for you, and sometimes apologies for the more invasive parts of the process. But it doesn't feel right, it doesn't sound right to say, "okay, sweet girl, let's get you swaddled so mommy and daddy can come see you."
But here we are. I have a friend who lost a child several years ago at about the same age as this baby girl. Having watched her walk this painful journey, I know that this poor mamma has a long, agonizing road ahead and my heart break's for her. And lending even the smallest of steps toward her healing is why we funeral directors will keep compartmentalizing, keep fighting through the cognitive dissonance, keep caring for these little ones.
I have a sneaking suspicion that this particular "first" will not be easier even when it's the thousandth.
RIP Little Miss Sunshine.
