A Good Death

For death is no more than a turning of us over from time to eternity.  ~William Penn

One of the biggest benefits I reaped from growing up as a PK may seem more morbid than anything at first: over the years, I was continually exposed to the many faces of death and to the grief of those left behind. Some of the funerals we attended were for people who had  died young in terrible accidents, others waged long, brave battles against chronic diseases before quietly slipping away in their seventh or eight or ninth decade while surrounded by generations of loved ones. A handful died through acts of violence.


I was not particularly close to the vast majority of those who died while I was growing up. Because Dad was their Pastor, though, I attended more funerals than most of my friends and classmates growing up and I was privy to events that most other children my age would only experience when there was a death in their own family . Every funeral home we visited seemed to have the same overstuffed chairs, the same slightly musty scent, the same elixir of grief, regret, emotions rubbed raw and, occasionally, a subtly guilty sense of relief if the person-who-was had experienced much suffering in their final days or months or years.


I was 15 years old when this particular story took place. I  believe it was late winter or early spring when the weather shifts quickly from cold to warm and back again. I remember a few clumps of ice or snow on the ground, but there was a growing warmth in the breeze.


One of the oldest members of our church had died earlier that day. This member was married to one of the other oldest members of our church. I believe it was the wife of that couple who passed away when this story happened, but they died within such a short time of one another that I could easily be wrong about that part.


Both of these church members had been ill and housebound for years. This death, while sad, was in no way unexpected. When it happened a member of that family called and asked that we sit with them while they waited for the coroner to show up. I don't know if Dad was with us, but I do remember me and Mom being there.


The deceased had been sleeping in a hospital bed in their living room. We stood and sat around the hospital bed. Someone may have gone into the kitchen to make coffee. I no longer remember what the living  room looked like, whether it was dark and still or bright and sunny. I only remember the silence that permeated the air even when someone was speaking. It wasn't a silence to be feared or one that was supernatural in origin, it was just a natural part of a family saying goodbye.


Mom said, "go say goodbye to ____" (the name of the deceased.)  Before that moment, it had not occurred to me that touching the body would be acceptable. I walked over and kissed her on her cheek. Her body had begun to cool, and this was a little bit of a surprise for me. Logically I knew that this was completely normal,  I just hadn't thought about what it would feel like to touch lukewarm skin before it happened.


When the coroner came, Mom and I went back home. That house was too tiny to hold everyone who was currently there _and_ a coroner (and any stretchers or other devices that he or she might have brought into the house.) I don't remember talking about this event after it took place. I don't even remember attending the funeral, although I'm sure that I must have done so.


I do remember how much it demystified the process of death, though. Death was still scary in the sense that no one  will ever know what is on the other side until he or she goes through it themselves. But seeing the body of someone who had died at home peacefully and  surrounded by loved ones is a far cry from the way death is often portrayed in the media.  It wasn't violent or unexpected or tragic. It was sad, of course, for those left behind but it was also a release from what had been a physically difficult existence for her.


I don't think many people are privileged enough to witness this sort of thing. Or, if they do, it is in the context of their spouse or child or parent or sibling passing away. It is much more difficult to think of death as a good thing when it's happening to a member of one's immediate family. 


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