The Barbaric Custom of Visitation

  Cory Girl

 

First and foremost, I would like to thank all the friends and relatives, some of whom travelled many miles and hours to be at my side.  This is in no way meant to be disrespectful to you or ungrateful for your support.  I love you all.                          

It is in the interest of honesty and full disclosure, that I share some of my thoughts after experiencing the long and grueling day of July 10th, the visitation for my daughter.  I share my thoughts so that we, as a society, can perhaps examine why we do what we do or how we do it...is there or could there be a better way? 

Having never lost someone in my immediate family before, I wasn't sure exactly what to expect from visitation.  The main thing for me was that I would get to see Cory.  I know the purpose behind visitation is two-fold.  It is an opportunity for family and friends to see the loved one who has passed away before the service, or in lieu of the service.  It is also an opportunity for family and loved ones to offer their condolences to the surviving family members.

It is interesting that the bulk of support is given at the beginning, when people are still mostly in shock, and unable to engage and receive the emotional support that is so warmly offered.  By the time the numbness has worn off, and you may find yourself actually willing, maybe even wanting to talk to someone, months may have passed. 

 If you know someone who has suffered a loss in the last year or so, just know the single card that comes in the mail box now will be received with the same gratitude, and perhaps even a slightly better mental state than in the first few weeks after the loss, when everything is so overwhelming.  And I can not say enough how much I love to hear people say my child's name, and share memories of her.  My greatest fear is that she will be forgotten over time.

So visitation:

Who thought of this mad custom of sitting the survivor in a chair near the coffin to receive the visitors who have come to pay their respects?  They call this “visitation”?  I call it hell.  Or perhaps… being naked and humiliated in public.  I am not Santa Claus.  Why are people lining up to see me?  I am not the one who is gone; why do they want to see me anyway?  Every once and awhile, someone will ask me if I would like a break- would I look to go into another room for a few minutes to calm down? 

Uh…no.  No, I would not.  What I would like is to be allowed to be alone with my child for as long as I would like (perhaps the next 3 days), to gaze down at her beautiful face and feel that sweet peace steal over me.  I would like to soak her in while I still have the chance.  I would like to kiss the scrape on the back of her sweet hand between her thumb and first finger as many times as I can.    I would like to smooth down her hair, and make it just right.  I would like to admire her lips, remember how pouty they looked when she didn’t get her way, before kissing them, cold or not.  I would like to wonder why they put the special mascara on her eyelashes that is tinged with violet.  I would like to pretend not to see the cut on her forehead where her hair falls over it in a gentle cascade.  I would like to count her bracelets, fix her sweater, and just generally fuss over her.  I would like to compliment her on her freshly done manicure.  I’d like to wonder desperately how her toes look.

What I would not like is to be allowed only a scant couple of minutes with her before being approached again by friends and family who, while meaning well, are ripping me apart with every kind word and stabbing me in the heart with each and every hug.  Every touch I receive ignites a fresh bout of sobbing.  I cannot breathe.  I cannot see.  I have snot all over me.  I do not care.

Fine, let them come.  I will hug.  I will cling.  I will try to talk, even though no one can understand anything I’m saying.  I will listen as they tell me it is not my fault at least 38 times.  I will shake my head and deny their statement 38 times.  I will do all of this if it means that at some point, I get to go back to her and gaze at my leisure. 

 It’s sort of like bringing your newborn home from the hospital…there’s nothing you’d rather do than just look at them.

  Marvel.  Admire.  And love.