Embalming your own family is both a privilege and an honour. It is also a source of a great deal of worry and postponement of your own grieving.
My wonderful mother in law died and as we had always talked about how I would look after her, I felt the weight of obligation and duty heavy on my shoulders. I need not have worried though, she made it easy for me.
Initially I was concerned about whether I would be able to take on the task as its obviously not something you do every day. I have embalmed friends and their relatives, and relatives relatives but never someone who meant so much to me.
I messaged my colleagues on our secret facebook group, posting asking for their thoughts and advice and I was overwhelmed by their kind words and consideration for me. Most of them had embalmed family, some had not but felt it was something they could do. All of them agreed that it would be hard but something that I was 'bound' to do. To quote my colleague 'A' - I
have looked after all my rellies and many friends, I tend to chat
all the way through and cry too, tho usually cry at end when
everything is done and they're in chapel. Be yourself and do what you
do, just for her... Be proud you can look after her as the last care
giver and with love and thanks for the part she played in your life. and 'M' - To embalm one of our own family is, in my humble opinion, the final and most precious act of love. Several of these people messaged me offering to come help, and also messaged me during the day to check I was feeling OK.
My own family and that of my dear mother in law, didn't talk to me about it much, full to overflowing with their own grief at their sudden loss, I didn't really expect anything different. Lets face it, its not something you want to talk about if you are not in the business. But my parents, sister and my loyal and trusted friends couldn't have been kinder and more considerate to me. Some in grand gestures and others in their quiet, supportive way. But I knew I was being propped up in all directions so I couldn't fail.
The day I went to embalm her was four days after death. Sadly, papers weren't completed in enough time to bring her to premises before the weekend, but Monday morning first thing, my colleagues collected her for me and I attended as soon as I could get there. My stomach churned, dreading how I would react, just hoping that I would have my 'medical head' kick in and my emotions would be turned off for just that short time.
Entering the theatre, I felt such a dread in the pit of my stomach, nothing had ever felt like this before. I have lost lots of loved ones, but none have made me have physical pain; such heartache. True ache in my heart.
So, there she was, in that place where so many have been before.
I need not have felt any dread. She did for me as she had done all her days. She helped me. She would never have made things awkward for me, uncomfortable for me, difficult for me. Neither did she in death.
I pulled away the sheet covering her small frame. She looked so peaceful. Not a line on her countenance, not a hair out of place. No hypostasis, no oedema, no purging, nothing to create a distressing scene. A couple of IV sites and a removed pacemaker suture were the only signs of medical, physical trauma. I took a deep breath and started to work.
When everything was done, I washed her hair, dried and tonged it. Dressed her in her lovely pink jumper and black trousers and replaced her glasses. She looked lovely. What a relief, I cant tell you. My colleague helped me gently pop her into her coffin, dressed lovingly in a pink frill and we wheeled her into chapel. I set the lighting and told her I would be back later with her children.
Then I cried.
