“The Jewish ritual of Tahara, the preparation of the dead for burial, is emotionally demanding. The Chevra Kadisha, the “holy society” of those who take on the task, enters the room — men to prepare a man, women for a woman — and, addressing the body by its Hebrew name, asks its pardon for any indignity they may visit on it as they work. The body is washed twice. First the practical washing, in warm water: the fragile skin cleansed with washcloths, the ears swabbed with Q-tips, the hair combed, the toenails and fingernails cleaned. At this point the body is treated almost as if it were still alive, as if it could feel warm water. Only the part being washed is uncovered to view. Then the sheet is removed for the ritual washing. Naked, the body is sluiced with floods of cold water. It is not embalmed. It is dried and clothed in the garments of a priest of the Temple, and the hood is pulled over the face. It is put in a pegged wooden coffin; no nails are used, so that body and box may return entirely to earth.”
Love Songs to the Dead: The Liturgical Voices as Mentor & Reminder, Catherine Madsen
Forgive me if I make light of something that may be serious, even sacred, to you. I tend to retreat to irony when I’m uncomfortable; it helps me get through the rough patches.
Tomorrow afternoon I’m meeting a friend from the ward to go to Forest Lawn and dress another brother who recently died. Up until yesterday I was under the impression the body would be dressed in the white shirt, pants, socks and tie when we got there, and we just had to put on the temple clothing. The prospect of even that duty gave me butterflies. Yesterday, however, I went to lunch at a sub shop run by a high councilman, and learned it was worse than that.
“Oh, no, you have to do all the dressing. The garments, everything.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Oh, man. I’ve done it. It is not pleasant.”
“Oh, no.”
“Have you ever seen Weekend at Bernie’s?”
“Yeah…?”
“It’s just like that. You just gotta stay focused on the spirituality of what you’re doing… preparing a brother to be ready when the Lord receives him.”
Which is now harder to do after he brought up Weekend at Bernie’s.
The bishop, who is out of town, then called me last night to prep me: The clothes are in his office, make sure you get there on time, etc. He then cleared his throat, chuckled and said, “David, this is a good experience for you. Look at is as just another way of our saying, “Welcome to the club!”
I feel like I did as a kid when I got in trouble and waited for my father to come home– that appetite-losing dread. To get a better idea of what I was in for, I did an online search and found some procedural aids:
- When you arrive you will find the body on a table or gurney in a private room, covered by a sheet to buffer the initial shock.
- You will be shocked regardless; accept that. Take a few moments to rest your hand on the deceased’s arm to get accustomed to the feeling.
- Flesh-colored bandages have been placed over any wounds or surgical cuts– do not remove them. Also, avoid touching anymake-up that was applied to cover discolorations.
- Make sure there is at least one other person there to help you. Adult bodies– even those wasted by illness– are unbelievably heavy (hence the term, “dead weight”). Joints do not bend and, of course, you will have to do all the work of getting the clothes on. It’s not like holding a coat for someone to slip into themselves.
- Rocking the body from side to side helps get the clothing in place.
- If need be, the Relief Society can furnish clothing that is cut up the back from neck to lower edge, which can lessen the physical labor of dressing a body.
- When you have finished, consider spending a few minutes alone. This will be the last quiet moment where you can say anything that needs to be said, or simply to be there.
While all this is helpful, it does little to squelch the trepidation. Apparently there’s a Church manual entitled, Instructions for Clothing the Dead Who Have Received Their Endowments, but there isn’t one readily available and, frankly, I don’t think it will add more than maybe saying a prayer before the ceremony and the order of putting on the clothing. These things I already know.
I even get uncomfortable when I visit folks at the hospital. It’s not that I’m squeamish– the sight of blood doesn’t bother me and I closely watched my wife’s C-section without a problem; it’s handling– even the close proximity of– the frail, dying and dead. It feels…intrusive. I obviously need to get over it, and fast.
More than anything, I need to stay focused on the brother. This is about him, his family and the Lord, not me. When I get up tomorrow I have to start framing my mind with prayerful, introspective thoughts– read the scriptures and general conference talks, pray that my spirit may be in tune for the task at hand.
Suddenly home teaching looks very easy.
12 responses so far ↓
1 Chris Bigelow // Feb 28, 2008 at 8:36 pm
Holy cow, this really brought to life what you’re going through. How strange and surreal. It makes me wonder how I would handle it… Can you wear a surgical mask? I don’t think I’d wretch, but I might giggle.
2 xoxoxoxo // Feb 29, 2008 at 7:43 am
I have great faith that you will handle the experience in exactly the right way-and that once you get there the battle will be half over. (What we envision in our minds can be far more horrible or difficult than what actually happens ya know?)
One thing I have always found when events bring me close to “the dead” is that once the spirit is gone-the body is nothing more than a shell to me. Of course when both of my parents died, the mortician was LDS and did all of the dressing for us, with the exception of the “final” temple veil on my mother which he gently asked my sister and I if we “wanted” to do that. My sister nearly fainted on the spot, but I shocked myself by saying “Of course, I’ll do it”. It felt “surreal” like Chris said but also like a great honor to be able to “finish” my mother’s worship on earth by doing that for her myself. I braced myself for it to feel “odd” or something similar but all I remember is thinking how soft her skin was and how peaceful/beautiful she looked.
Your bishop said that it would be a “good” experience for you, not a scary or duty filled one, and I have a hunch that because you are approaching it with humility and spiritual preparation, it may very well end up being an unexpected but deeply powerful blessing in your life. Invite the Spirit to guide your hands as well as your heart and allow Him to unfold new dimensions and nuances of eternity that you could learn in no other way.
I’m honestly glad it’s you and not me, but at the same time, in a strange but real way-I also envy you.
Promise to share what happens with us tomorrow if it’s not too personal ok?
3 David // Feb 29, 2008 at 6:37 pm
xoxoxoxo,
I was debating whether or not I would report the experience, but since you asked I’ll do it. My friend Bear said the same thing you did, though. “Better you than me”
As I understand it, in Utah and Idaho there are enough LDS-owned mortuaries to relieve loved ones of having to perform this task if they so chose. A member could make a lot of money in So. Cal, I can tell you that.
4 David // Feb 29, 2008 at 6:42 pm
Chris (#1),
Funny you would ask about the mask. My friend asked if I would be putting Mentholatum under my nose, and really freaked me out.
5 brenda // Feb 29, 2008 at 7:22 pm
David, I am so glad we are family. I love your comments. They make me laugh, think, and wish I was more literate. Brenda
6 xoxoxoxo // Feb 29, 2008 at 7:25 pm
ROFL the mentholatum comment. That’s usually only used to cover the smell of …er…decomp…and a properly embalmed body shouldn’t smell like THAT, although they do have an odor all their own in my limited experience-rather chemical. In my opinion the odor would have been the least of my worries! LOL
Ok…I cannot believe I just typed that or that I’ve responded twice now to a discussion on this topic….ROFL!!! You ARE original to a fault David.
P.S. You know, the right person might find it a satisfying and life sustaining job to do such a service for others in So. Cal and I’m sure a single mom with the right heart (and courage) might be able to take such an idea and run with it to the benefit of all (especially squeamish Bishopric members and sorrowing family members). You might want to suggest your idea to your Bishop and see if he could help someone needing employment develop it further…just a thought.
7 Nebraska // Mar 3, 2008 at 7:52 pm
I agree with xoxoxoxo that this could be a deeply moving experience. The qualifying factor is how you are approaching everything - with seriousness, prayer, a dose of apprehension and the usual feelings of inadequacy. I believe things will qualify you for a wonderful experience.
It’s not something I would want to do, but I would like the experience and understanding that fulfilling such a duty brings.
You may never be the same.
8 David // Mar 4, 2008 at 11:29 pm
Nebraska (#7),
Boy, am I with you there. I went back to the sub shop today and told the high councilman it wasn’t so bad after all, and he grinned/grimaced back and said, “Yeah… everyone should have to go through it at least once, huh?”
9 Sooz // Mar 5, 2008 at 6:26 pm
You will never forget the experience.
I had the opportunity and blessing (of course) to dress my grandma. I was pregnant with my first child at the time and was already emotional.
The process was difficult both physically and emotionally.
To this day I cannot wear the same deodorant I wore that day because the smell reminds me of that small room in which I struggled so much.
10 David // Mar 5, 2008 at 9:30 pm
You’re right, Sooz (#9), it was a profound experience, full of mixed emotions and reactions. That’s interesting what you said about the deodorant; I’m just glad the room, as far as I could tell, didn’t have a scent. The physical thing I’ll least forget was the cold stiffness as we dressed him. Remembering that I was reverently handling an object and not a person helped me get it through a lot more easily.
11 s'mee // Aug 3, 2008 at 3:25 am
Once more, late to the party.
One of my friends committed suicide, and so five of us went to dress her, one good with make up, one good with hair, one good with fashion, another who was like the Spiritual leader to keep us in line, and me, the humour when we need it go to girl.
We all understood totally why she decided to jump ship, we just felt bad that she could no longer count on us to help her out here on earth, so we would make sure she went out properly and fashionable dressed.
The difficult thing for me was the weight of her arm and the cold firmness, like partially thawed chicken, which I swore off for more than a year afterward.
We giggled and talk with our friend as if she were actually there, recounting trips to Disneyland and other fun things we enjoyed together as a group. When we finally gave her the last once over and knew she looked ‘presentable’ we just all hugged each other and had a little cry.
The next day two of us sang a couple of songs at her funeral and then we were the ones to last leave her as she was lowered into the ground.
For me, it wasn’t creepy (except for the chicken thing) it was “o.k.”. I can’t really say it was a Spiritual experience more than any other, more of a “hey Judy’s not here in her body but maybe she can still hear us”, so we talked to her one last time and had a good visit. I look back on it and feel very lucky.
I have dressed another, and the initial feeling subsides rather quickly. But the biggest thing for me is just to handle the situation as their personality dictates.
12 David // Aug 4, 2008 at 8:15 pm
s’mee,
Ack! Partially thawed chicken! That’s EXACTLY what the skin felt like! Thanks for reminding me (he says drolly)…
Yes, I feel fortunate, too, to have been chosen for the task, and I hope it doesn’t happen again for many years.
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