Jason's trip to the funeral parlor had to be one of those most awful and difficult experiences that someone could have to go through. What he felt and how it was is just for him to know. But, I will tell about a small piece of what happened, because it has been our secret so far and may help others to realize once again: it's okay to express ourselves and show our love of the deceased in whatever way helps us.
I touched a little on the use of objects and concrete gestures to commemmorate the place where someone left our earth. I think it has become more common to bring small items, perhaps pictures or medals, rosaries, any small item to be placed near the deceased for visitations or in the casket itself for burial. Maybe this is reversal back to the Egyptians when people got to have huge pyramids with all their earthly belongings kept with them. Maybe I am waning philosophical over something just trite and silly to some. But, the important thing is, this occurance gave us in those first few days something tangible to do for Erik, at a point when there was nothing left to do.
When Jason had gotten Erik's clothing together, I had also found a little plastic rosary that Erik had given me as a gift when he was a little boy. For some reason, it gave me comfort to think I could give that back to him and that it should be buried with him. I really am not sure of my logic about this, but I remember it was something I just wanted to do. Maybe because it had always been close to me, somewhere amongst my things, I felt I was sending part of my space on earth along with him. I can't explain it, but it made me happy to think of it being back with Erik. So Jason took it, along with pictures of Marissa and Griffin, his kids, Erik's niece and nephew, that he had chosen to put in the casket, and he left to get through this moment of life he needed to accomplish.
Upon his return, our first moments were taken up with him collecting himself. It tore my heart out to see and feel his pain, to know I had one son who had left altogether, and now my remaining son had to be so sad.
After a little while, Jason told me a little about how things had gone, what it was like, the room, the setting etc. ( Now, after all this time, I am remembering something for the first time. Jason had actually made two trips that morning. One to just bring the clothes, at which point he agreed on a time for him to return, and then the second trip, when he would spend a few minutes with Erik.)
So when he saw Erik, he felt it was the last moment that anything would be seen or touched in that casket. He told me about holding Erik's hand, and a little about how he appeared. Then he told me about putting the rosary in one hand, and about tucking the kids' pictures next to him. However, he continued on to tell me a few other things which always cause me to smile, even still as I am writing this.
One of the few things that Erik had continued to enjoy his last few years on earth was his football games, both the Buffalo Bills which gave him a topic of conversation he could discuss with his grandfather forever, and his own video football games, the "John Madden" football games, which we purchased religiously every fall when the new one came out. I had not known that Jason had tucked the video game in his pocket as well, which he had decided Erik should keep with him. So I smiled when he told me he had thought of doing that, that he had tucked the game under one of Erik's arms, and I nodded with great approval and pleasure.
Then, however, he started hesitating, looking sort of sheepish and worried to tell me what else he had done. After a few minutes of saying whatever he told me it would be okay, he finally stammered out, "Well, ma, I couldn't help it, his other hand was just there like this, (and he postured his hand in a relaxed posture of holding something small), so I gave him...well...I gave him a cigarette!!!" For a split second I have to admit I was speechless, but then I had my first decent chuckle in two days, and Jason and I had something to smile about together. I did scold him, worried that now I might be standing at the casket and picturing that secret cigarette in there, and start smiling at some inopportune time at the wake, but in the end I just said, "well, I guess now he can have a cigarette with his two grandma's up in heaven".
I am telling you this story to say it's okay to use real things and real moments to process through your grief. At a time when someone's physcial presence is suddenly taken away from us, things that are tangible become so important. We want to touch what we know they touched, and we want to feel, I think, that some part of us was taken along with them. Eventually we can find comfort in knowing that our spirits are forever connected, but at first these tangible, visible gestures can mean so much.
If you are someone supporting the suicide survivor, again, please know that actions which may seem a little "crazy" at that point, may be the very thing that helps the suicide survivor process their grief, and confront that what is happening is real. Most important, it may feel like a very tiny way of bridging the new distance from our hearts to our lost loved ones.
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