I have lived in southwest Missouri my whole life. I come from hard-working, God-fearing stock. The nuances and traditions of Midwestern life I know very well and generally appreciate. But there is something I just don't get after 41 years of up-close-and-personal exposure: the open casket.
Don't get me wrong: I have immense respect for death and grief and all the processes therein. I attended more funerals by the time I was in second grade than I had had play dates. In fact, my brother wisely requested (after yet another Baptist funeral dinner in our young lives) that, "if they're going to bring chicken, I wish they'd bring extra crispy." As I've grown up, my sensitivity to the pain of death has remained steadfast. Loss is part of life and it is awful. My complete befuddlement at the opening of the casket for the corpse all the world to see has also not abated.
In fact, a recent "viewing" heightened said wonder. At the graveside funeral of a distant uncle came a first for me: the open casket NEXT to the open grave. That's right, as we all gathered 'round before the service began, the lid was lifted. And THEN we watched (or I suppose I should speak only for myself, as I watched) as the funeral director arranged the uncle's hands, tie, and suit coat. Only the raucous cry of the rooster at the neighboring house/scrap metal depository could distract me momentarily from this display. My father-in-law urged me on as he leaned to me and requested, "if they open my casket, you better close it!" I quickly consented, adding that this moment fueled my very CLEAR plans for cremation when my time comes. You can DustBuster my ashes if you like, but no parade past my waxy remains, thank you very much.
Attention to the phenomenon of the "viewing" of the dearly departed certainly isn't new or unique to me. The most vocal in her disdain for this practice is one of my nearest and dearest who also happened to be my principal in the heyday of my teaching career. Tragically, one of our freshmen had been killed in a ATV accident at the beginning of school during that time. Much to my surprise after such a violent accident, the casket was open. As I stood nearby, waiting to offer my condolences to her poor parents, I began to tear up. Seeing me on the brink of a bit of a meltdown, my pal sidled up to me and informed me that she promised her husband that she would haunt him for the rest of his life if her coffin wasn't sealed shut. "Take a good look now, sis," she cautioned. My tears turned to inappropriate laughter and ensuing horror that I was giggling in the midst of this awful scene. Nonetheless, I will always remain in her debt for the momentary reprieve.
Funerals aren't funny. But funerals are funny. They have to be or we would all implode. It might be after-the-fact that we recount how our favorite aunts posed next to the open casket of grandma for a few quick photos; or how my dad (an aficionado of funerals whose first memory in life was his cousin's body laid out in the living room after being killed in battle) is quick to critique and/or affirm the work of the funeral home makeup artist. But one of my favorites was when my 9-year-old son was making his way past the body of one of his great aunts.
Unlike many of my contemporaries, I have exposed my children to the displayed departed since they were babies. Some might find it morbid, but I figure the open casket is as common around here as death itself, so they might as well peek in early. It is what it is. The result, I must admit, is two well-adjusted mourners who know how to behave when a cadaver is present. Nonetheless, as Drew and I walked by the casket at this particular visitation, he was appropriately reverent. But the moment we cleared the coffin, he whispered in my ear, "wouldn't it be hilarious if she just popped up when we walked by?" Indeed, it would have been hilarious.
I held my grandmother's hand as the life left her and she grew cold. I didn't need to see her gone (but believe me--I did). I count still on my mind's eye to see her sitting in her rusty recliner and hear her laughing or asking me "honey, did you mean for your hair to look like that today?" I prefer the mental or visual pics of whomever I've lost when they weren't yet lost.
The ache of grief will be there for us--open or closed. And for some, "open" lessens the ache somehow. Here's the thing: if the open way is your way, more power to you. I will honor the wishes of my loved ones who will undoubtedly opt for a viewing after they have gone on to their great reward. And if I'm at your funeral I will pay my respects like my well-seasoned and genuine bereaved self. I still won't get it, but I promise I will remark to my fellow passers-by on your behalf, "they really look good. Better than they looked at the end, don't you think?" Just like my Dad taught me.
