Afterwards - Moksha's Story Part III

I wrote this, pretty much in one go, on 7th August 2006, a time when I was still in total shock at Moksha's death. I have edited it to make it anonymous. At the time I saved the document as "Afterwards.doc"


On 1st August 2006, a national bank holiday, we had an appointment with a funeral home in _____. These places are open on bank holidays. People die on bank holidays. The funeral home would collect Moksha’s body from the morgue in the Hôpital _________ and take it to the crematorium. We had to make choices such as: did we want Moksha’s ashes to be given to us in a wooden urn, a metallic urn, a biodegradable urn or only in a cloth sachet; which type of coffin should his body be cremated in. We couldn’t decide immediately on the urn – the coffin was a simple enough choice as for such small bodies there were only two possibilities. We chose the simple, plain white coffin. We were told the cremation could be held on Thursday and the ashes would be cool enough either on Thursday afternoon or Friday morning for us to collect. During the appointment, because it was a bank holiday, the person we were talking to received several phone calls which he answered as he was the only person on duty for the bank holiday. It didn’t make me angry. I thought, if I was calling about Moksha, I would want someone to answer the phone.

The night before, we had chosen the clothes Moksha was to wear for his cremation and three things which would accompany him. My mother had made a beautiful quilted wall hanging with jungle animals for Moksha – her first quilting experience for her first grandson. One of the animals was a baby zebra. She had quilted another little zebra motif on its own without really knowing what to do with it. This little zebra was with Moksha.

B and SIL had sent us a box of useful baby items which included three little bears with Velcro to clip onto the front of the pram and keep Moksha amused. Whilst waiting for Moksha, we had fastened them onto the side of the cot. We gave the yellow one to him; we felt that we would always remember why there were only two remaining.

DH had read the story “Le Petit Prince” to Moksha over several weeks so that Moksha would recognise his voice and be soothed by it after he was born. A reading from this same book was read at our wedding in May 2005. The copy was mine from 1991 – I bought it whilst learning French in ________. My maiden name was already written in the front. We inscribed DH’s name and Moksha’s name underneath.

We picked a “Petit Bateau” yellow and white stripy body that we had chosen together and liked the best. It had a rabbit motif on the front. Moksha also had some yellow trousers which my mother had bought for him.

These were the things that accompanied Moksha. We gave them to the funeral home.

We were asked whether we wanted to have the coffin open or not at the crematorium. I wanted so much to be able to see Moksha again. One reason was to see him again, touch him and possibly even hold him again. The second reason was to make sure for myself that Moksha had been dressed in the things we chose and given the items to accompany him. Everyone, without exception, persuaded me not to see the body again and to maintain the memories of Moksha when he was born – still warm and as if he was asleep. The ravages of time and an autopsy on a dead body would have spoilt these memories. Moksha would have been cold and stiff and he would have looked different. His skin wouldn’t have been so soft anymore. In the end I accepted this advice and we chose to have the coffin closed. I would have to trust the funeral home that he was dressed as we wished him to be.

The next day called the funeral home to tell them this decision and that we had decided on the metallic urn, in which the cloth sachet is placed with the ashes inside it. We tried to relax on Wednesday and to have a break from having appointments or things to arrange or to do.

On Thursday morning, only DH and I went to the crematorium to see the coffin and witness the cremation. It was not at this time that we would hold our private goodbye ceremony to Moksha, so we decided to only go the two of us. The cremation was scheduled for 9am.

On arrival, we went to the reception where we met a man whose calling is surely not to work in such a place. He asked us if we wanted the coffin closed. We had to wait whilst they did this. I heard banging noises from behind a door. I wondered if this was them nailing Moksha’s coffin shut or whether it was something else. We went to room number 19 where Moksha was. His name, [Moksha], was by the side of the door.

We went in. We were hit by a wave of shock at how small the coffin was. 60cm long – we had read it in the coffin catalogue, but it was still a big shock. It was plain and white. We had to sit down from the shock before approaching it. We wept over it and kissed it and caressed it. I tried to think: Moksha’s soul is not in that box – his soul left nearly a week ago. That is how I tried to think of Moksha when his body was in the hospital morgue alone.

The man from the reception interrupted us twice to see if we were done. He seemed in a hurry. I was not angry. Not like me. He told us that a plastic bag that was lying on the side of the room held the pyjama suit Moksha had been dressed in just after his birth and asked what we wanted to do with it. On the spur of the moment, we said it should be cremated with him. We hadn’t thought about it. Now I wish I had kept it and brought it home as something which Moksha had touched.

Then we had to go and wait in the reception again whilst they moved the coffin to the furnace area for the cremation. We wanted to see this too. After a wait the man beckoned to us with his hand without speaking. We followed him into another part of the building. I was post-partum and couldn’t walk fast. He kept having to stop and wait for us. We walked through some doors and the air was suddenly much warmer. This was the back way into the rooms where the coffins lay. I saw a wooden, adult sized coffin waiting. It was very industrial. Some cleaning products lay around in disarray.

We walked down a ramp and saw three furnaces. I didn’t see Moksha’s coffin at first. Then I saw it lined up in front of the far furnace. It was so small that it had been lined up with a wooden support – it didn’t fit on the automatic rails that put the coffins in the furnace. DH had to ask for a chair for me to sit on – they wheeled out an old office swivel chair in a hurry. Another man in a blue boiler suit pressed a button on the side of the furnace. The furnace door opened and the rails moved in jerkily. I was scared the coffin would fall off the rails. We saw the light of the flames as the furnace door closed. The first man waited awkwardly as we wept and held each other.

We walked back to the reception. The man had to stop and wait for us again. On the way back I saw a black body bag lined up to go into a room. Different names were chalked on a blackboard near the entrance to this industrial part of the crematorium. Against number 19, we saw the surname “________”. DH and I stopped by the board and rubbed it out.

We stood in front of the reception. The man said, “What would you like to know? The ashes will be ready for collection on Tuesday”. We said that was impossible and that we needed them on Friday at 9am. The goodbye ceremony for Moksha was for Saturday early morning. He hurriedly made a few phone calls and said that would be okay.

We left. Our obstetrician had arranged a psychology appointment for us ­– it was at 11am in _________. We drove there and found a café. We sat quietly together and had a croissant and a coffee / hot chocolate before going to the psychologist’s office. I thought about how much I loved DH.

Read Moksha's story part IV