Wanting to Touch a Corpse
Janet Kuypers, 09/05/06 #3
I’m the youngest child in the family
and I wasn’t as close to mom as the other daughters
so after dad called to tell me mom died
and I told the rest of my siblings
my older two sisters rescheduled their flight
so they could see dad that night
I had already rescheduled my plane ticket
for the next morning
first hoping I’d be there in time to see mom
before she died
so I wasn’t going to pay a ton to change my ticket again
so I went to dad the next day
and mom didn’t want any services
she didn’t want anyone to see her dead like that
especially if she was getting more and more sick
before she died
so we held no public services for mom
but we held a small service for only the family
it was hard for me to agree
that for this service, and for her cremation
she should wear the dress she wore to my wedding
and the remains of that dress
would be mingled with her ashes forever
but I agreed that this could be a way to connect us
we entered the room
where her body lay
all stopped at the other end of the room
all I think too afraid to make the first steps
to see her laying in a coffin
and see her for the last time
dad finally walked to her and knelt before her
cried
what am I saying, we all cried
I waited for everyone else to see her
to have a moment with mom, kneel before her
before I went to her on my own
and when I knelt before her
and tried to think of what my family said,
about how thin she looked, how her skin hung
before she died
but she looked so peaceful there, relaxed
free from pain and dressed like and angel
for her private farewell
she just looked asleep, like I had often seen her
in her final months, but this time was was no longer
sleeping to avoid the pain, she found another way out
unlike the many times I had seen her sleeping when sick
she looked free of pain, free of the battle, at peace
and I didn’t want to stop looking at her
when she knew she was dying, I wrote her a letter
telling her that I just wanted to be able to
put my arms around her and hold her for a very long time
to show her that I loved her,
and that she meant that much to me
and it was like a part of me was unable to believe
she was dead
and I wanted to touch her hand, touch her cheek
just make some sort of contact with her once more
but
but I knew I wouldn’t be able to cope
with feeling her cold dead skin
and my family would be shocked and mortified
if I touched my mother, I knew I couldn’t do it
I saw the skin on her arms, the fingernails they painted
so she would look pretty for us, to ease our burden
when seeing our mother for the last time
and knew it wasn’t the skin of my living mother
I had to let her go, even if I couldn’t help
but keep crying
Copyright Janet Kuypers.
All rights reserved. No material
may be reprinted without express permission.
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