Lent Day 7: Inanimation/Animation

"That's not him."

"That's not my dad.  That doesn't look like him at all."

Those are the words my colleague said when I went to the visitation last week.  I hope she doesn't mind me quoting her.  And in fact I would imagine it's not an uncommon thing to hear at a wake.

Open casket viewing is an interesting ritual, and one I'm still not comfortable with even if I've grown accustomed to them.  It's easier if I don't know the deceased because there's a minimal frame of reference.  Having known the person is a bit jarring.  They look like they're sleeping... and for reason I always have the urge to laugh.  It's not the kind of laughter I love -- deep, belly laughs at something hilarious -- but rather the closest thing to nervous laughter (even though stifled) I've ever experienced.  I'm not sure but I always feel like I'm going say or do the wrong thing.

And I'm not a superstitious guy, with the possible exception in softball of stepping into the batter's box and rubbing dirt on my hands and the bat handle.  But one thing I've never shared with anyone before is how frightened I become if I ever find myself lying on my back with my arms crossed as if lain in a casket.  A variation of the "if you keep making that face, it'll freeze that way."


The visitation conversation continued:  "My dad wouldn't believe that he's wearing makeup."  And I replied "Yeah, and that lipstick isn't even his shade."  Yes that's lame, but it's part of the awkwardness of a wake -- the awkward combination of sympathy and small talk.

Yet I think that past all the embalming and makeup, it's the stillness we don't recognize.  We're so accustomed to seeing people, especially loved ones, breathing even in their stillest moments.  It's hard not to be cliched about the breath of life or describing someone as animated, but that's exactly where the pain lies:  in seeing the stark reality of no breath.

Here's a counter-example:  I just came in from walking the dog, and since I hadn't seen Noah all day he decided to join the walk.  When walking past a neighbor's house we saw a big blue tarp covering the hilly lawn -- it's the third time he's built a retaining wall (which is another story altogether).  A wintry night's sudden gust kicked the tarp open like boat's billowing sail, sending the poor dog scampering.  Noah kind of laughed but then realized, "Oh, I can see why Koa did that."  An inanimate object, animated by the wind;  the very opposite of a body without breath.

[to be continued]


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