Children.
Little 2 year old Sean (name changed) had opened the back door to the house, leading to the family pool. He was being baby-sat by a relative who thought he had gone to sleep in his room for a nap on summer afternoon. Sean made his way to the pool an fell in. Only a short time later, his baby-sitter saw the back door open and ran outside to discover Sean floating, face down, in the water.
The Medical Examiner’s office was about an hour away since it was in a neighboring city. I loaded myself in the van and set out for the drive, knowing I had a 2-year old drowning victim to pick up. I arrived at the M.E., and went about my normal checklist of things to do: Fill out the ankle ID tag, place it on the body. Check the body for personal effects and log them on my papaer-work. I unzipped the body bag. The first thing I noticed was the young boy’s wet superman underwear that he had been wearing. The site of this really made the story of his death more real to me. The next thing I noticed were his eyes. Or in this case, his lack of eyes. The M.E. had removed the boy’s eyes from the sockets. His family had agreed to donate them. The liitle boy, cold from death, with empty eye sockets and wet, soiled clothes next to his body was perhaps one of the most impacting image I had ever seen.
I loaded him in the van and began the drive back to the funeral home. All the way there, I rode in silence as I reflected on the day’s events. I thought about his family who had to be in hysterics. I thought his life, cut short because of normal toddler curiosity. I thought about his little eyes, now perhaps being used for someone else’s benefit. It was indeed the most difficult day I had in my short funeral home career.
The next day, I was required to dress the boy in his funeral clothes – a tiny white tuxedo. I placed him in his tiny white casket and prepared him for viewing. The embalmer had made his eyelids close in such a way that his eyes looked like they were still there. The image of him in the casket was not nearly as difficult as the image of him on the M.E. gurney when I first saw him. His wet cloths were placed in a small red plastic bag, and given back to the family. I can only imagine what they must have been going through when they opened that bag. Would they throw them away? Wash them and put them in a drawer? Who knows?
I have visited many websites like this and ones about suicide to try and deal with my fathers suicide and find some way to come to terms with it. Reading these stories helps me realize that there are situations that are far worse. While my fathers suicide was unfathomable and has been very difficult for me to deal with especially since it happened on my birthday- I never get to forget that- I do not know that I would have the fortitude to deal with the death of one of my children before my own demise. Thank you and I hope that family is God blessed.
I cannot begin to imagine being a funeral professional, and having to prepare a child for burial. That must be horrific. Thank God we have professionals like you that take over the preparations. Thank you for chosing this noble profession, for your hard work in college, and in work to provide families with a memory picture that is of peace, and rest. Gentle eternal somber.
Your story reminded me of a day, many years ago, when I was the hospice nurse present at the death of my pediatric patient. I had been asked by an agency to lend support to the family of dying child who was not expected to live longer than 3 weeks. I can do that, I thought, at the time. But this day took place a year and a half later, as the child had lived much longer than expected. During that year and a half, I had become (always warned against!!) totally emmeshed in this wonderful family. I felt like this little boy was my own, the mother and I had become close friends , and I was very attached to the 2 older children. The family on the other hand, sent Christmas gifts to my girls and anyone having a birthday from either of our two families meant a pizza party for all. Now the day that he died will be forever sealed in my memory. I had spent the day at their home, helping to care for this child, who was now in the dying phase. I had just arrived home at the end of the day, when the phone rang. I answered it to hear a sob.. and told her I would be on my way back. And now the undertaker’s men were there to pick him up. They were kind and did not bring in a stretcher, but allowed us to wrap him in his blankie. The undetaker asked the parents if they would want to carry him out and put him in the vehicle. The father and mother looked at each other and then looked at me. They said that they couldn’t do it, but didn’t want a stranger to do it either. I look back on that day as being one of the toughest in my career as a hospice nurse. And I will never forget the feeling of having to carry that small child outside and place him in the vehicle. I can still feel the strength of the choking sob that escaped my throat as I laid him down. Today, 20 years later, I am a hospice director and can still not bring myself to admit pediatric patients. The emotions that go with it are just too much to stand on a regular basis.
Oh how sad I dont think I could stand to bury a child I dont think I would be able to do that I am glad there are people trained to do such a sad thing.
Thanks for sharing. I am a driver for SCI. Very Strange but rewarding job.
It is so nice to see there are still a few good people out there. My Dad was a coroner for quite sometime and he said the worse part of his job was mostly when he had to pick up children.