Kate Braestrup - The House of Mourning

 

So, Nina's mother came up to me. She said, “I have a problem. Nina, my daughter wants to visit her cousin Andy.” Well, I looked over at Nina, and Nina was hanging by her knees from the swing in her backyard. Her hair was sweeping the ground. “How old is Nina, again?” She said, “Five.” I said, “Oh.” I should probably mention that Andy was dead, which isn't unusual. I have been the chaplain to the Maine warden service for 12 years now. And in addition to enforcing fish and wildlife law, Maine's game wardens respond to a variety of outdoor calamities, including search and rescue operations, snowmobile accidents, all-terrain vehicle accidents, homicides, suicides, drownings. When it's a fatal, the chaplain goes with them. 

 

When I teach the game wardens, the new baby game wardens, at the academy, the art of managing death, the example I usually use is my own. I want to illustrate for them that when a family member says they want to see the body of their loved one, you can trust that. You really can. So, I tell them about when my husband, Drew, died. He died in 1996. He was a police officer and he was killed instantly when his cruiser was T boned by a truck. 

 

And as soon as I heard the news, I wanted to see his body. I wanted to take care of him and bathe and dress him. I said as much to the funeral director when he showed up at the house. And the funeral director used that special voice that they learn in funeral parlor school, [audience laughter] “Yes,” he said, “I see. Yes.” And then, he went back to the funeral parlor, went into his office and called the state police and said, “I thought you should know that trooper's widow wants to bathe and dress the body herself.” Basically, the state police freak out. 

 

So, phone calls were going, ricocheting back and forth across the state of Maine all night long, from the state police command staff to the funeral parlor to Tom, the trooper who had been assigned specifically to manage me. And in the morning, Tom arrived at my house with the news that the state police, upon consideration, had decided that they would allow me to do this thing. “But you have to take me with you,” he said. “And I'll go too,” said my mom. Good old mom. [audience laughter] “And you have to take Sergeant Cunningham and Sergeant Drake as well, because they aren't sure about this. You're going to have to trust us, Kate, because if we don't like what we see, we are going to take you out.” 

 

So, I pictured all three police officers taking out their sidearms [audience laughter] right there in the funeral parlor. “I don't think that will be necessary,” I said. “She grew up on a farm,” said my mom. “She's used to dead things.” [audience laughter] What were they afraid of? Well, duh. They were afraid that seeing the body would make it hurt more. They were trying to protect me. So, I had to feign absolute confidence. I took my mother's hand and she and I, flanked by law enforcement professionals, did a weird perp walk up the street [audience laughter] to the funeral parlor where Mr. Moss, the funeral director, let us in. 

 

They all kept their eyeballs peeled, watching me walk into the cool room where Drew's body lay. He was there, and he was dead. But that's all, he was just dead. He was wearing the Halloween novelty boxer shorts, our nine-year-old had chosen for him. [audience laughter] They were covered with little bats that were saying, trick or treat. “I'm okay,” I said. So, the troopers and my mom and the funeral director all went out, and I had about 20 minutes by myself. And then, they came back. And together, we got Drew bathed and dressed in his Class A's, his dress uniform. 

 

I can't say it was easy. I mean, if you've ever tried to put someone in a Class A uniform who's not cooperating, [audience laughter] you know what I mean? But we made him look spiffy. It was better than fine. It was better than okay. It was terrible, and beautiful, and funny, and sad and it was fine. 

 

So, after that's the story that I use. Occasionally, there'll be a warden who needs a biblical reference. So, I'll point out to him that back in Bible times, there were no state troopers or funeral directors to get in the way of things. Mary Magdalene did not have to justify herself to the disciples, did not have to overcome their protective skepticism when she wanted to go to Jesus’ tomb to anoint His body. She did not feel called upon to justify her distress when she arrived and found the body gone. 

 

Nowadays, we are led to believe that it's the presence of the body, not its absence, that is most distressing. But in my experience, and I have a lot of experience by now, it is far, far more common for the bereaved to wish they had seen their loved one's body than for them to regret having done so. So, at the main warden service, we are very proactive, as they say, about making space, about empowering and enabling and encouraging families, and about getting the strangers out of the way at some point in our operation, so that the moms and the dads and the lovers and the friends and the siblings can take care of their own. 

 

And let me tell you, the mourners are magnificent. Even when the body is smelly or skeletal or ugly, they're magnificent. They are tender and brave. A mother will smooth the wet hair back from her drowned son's face. The dad will hold his hand. The spouse will lay a flower on his breast and murmur endearments. “I love you,” they say, “And goodbye.” Is this what Nina had in mind, little Nina, when she wanted to visit cousin Andy? I don't know. I don't think she knew, because she'd never seen a dead person before. She didn't even live on a farm. I mean, maybe there was a dead goldfish in her past, but she's five. That's not a lot of past to work with. 

 

“What if it hurts more?” her mom said. “What if it hurts more? She's five years old and cousin Andy was four.” Suffer the little children to come unto me. That line kept going through my head. Although, as the wardens told me, the one good thing you could say about Andy's death was that he didn't suffer. He didn't have time. He was killed instantly when an ATV, an all-terrain vehicle driven by a neighbor, rolled over on him. 

 

When we finished processing the scene, the body was taken directly to the funeral home. That's where Nina wanted to go. She wanted to go and visit his body. I had seen his body. I can't say it was easy. “But she's so sure”, her mom said. “She's five years old,” her dad said. Finally, I said, “You know, I think it would be okay. I don't believe it would make it worse. She's your child. You know her. You know what's best for her. But I think it would be okay.” “Well, we're going to have to think about it,” said the dad. 

 

A few days later, I went back, because the family had asked me to preside over the service. So, I arrived at the church early, and Nina's mom was up at the altar table arranging photographs and pictures and flowers and Tonka trucks and stuff. She said, “I have to remember to leave room for the box containing Andy's ashes.” But it's a small box. I said, “So, what did you decide about Nina? What did Nina do?” She looked at me, and her eyes went big with the persistent astonishment of someone who's seen a miracle. Her eyes just pop and she goes, “Let me tell you, it was amazing.” 

 

Little Nina, they drive her to the funeral home. She hops out of the car. She's out across the parking lot with such confidence that they have to scramble to keep up. They get to the door of the cool room where Andy's body is, and they stop her and they say, “Nina, you know, Andy is not going to be able to talk to you.” “Yup,” says Nina. “And you know that he isn't going to be able to stand up or walk or move or even open his eyes.” “Yes. Yes,” says Nina. She opens the door and in she goes. She walks right up to the dais where Andy's little body lay covered with his quilt his mom had made him when he was a baby. She walks all the way around the dais, touching him, making sure he's all there. And then, she takes his hand and she puts her head down on his chest and she talks to him. 

 

Well, after about 10 minutes of this, her mother, who's awash in tears, says, “Okay, Nina, are you ready to go?” “No,” says Nina, “But I'll tell you when I am.” So, she smooths the hair back from his brow. She sings to him. She puts his Fisher Price telescope in his hand, so that he can see anything he wants to see from heaven. And then, she said, “I'm ready to go. Now, I'm ready to go. But he's not going to be getting up, so I have to tuck him in.” So, she walks around the dais again, tucking him in very carefully, and then she says, “I love you, Andy. Dandy. Goodbye.” 

 

You can trust a human being with grief, even a small human being. I tell the wardens walk fearlessly into the house of mourning, for grief is only love that has come up against its oldest challenge. And after all these mortal years, love knows how to handle it. I don't need to have confidence. I certainly don't need to have to feign confidence anymore in that, because I have Nina. And with her parent’s permission, so do you. Thank you.