A Casket

August 31 was an odd anniversary: the day UMass Medical Center called Jim to say they were finished with David’s body and we could have it back. Jim and I were on a Boston On Foot walking tour of Beacon Hill in Boston. Jim took the call while we were outside the Statehouse.

In an immediate panic, I thought we had to answer them right away, make plans to immediately take possession of the body. Jim was calmer and convinced me that we could wait to respond until we did have plans in place.

Now, I realize there was no rush. The medical center must have a refrigerated morgue for such cases. I was badly thrown off: just as I'd gotten used to the idea that they might keep David’s body for two years, they were finished. I had struggled with his body being in some strange and unknown place, then suddenly had to deal with burial arrangements, 19 days after they took him away.

It all worked out. The burial was Saturday, September 12.

The morning of the burial, there was a heavy ground fog in the cemetery. As we stood near the open grave, a small flock of wild turkeys sauntered by. Some colleagues of Jim’s were there: I was touched. The Jones’ brought a small basket of purple flowers to decorate the grave.

Peter and Xiomara came from the Bronx. Victoria was exactly a month old and I felt joy through my tears as I held her. Andrew had played a similar role at my mother’s funeral, two years before. I remember my bereaved father holding his newest great-grandchild.

I have never wanted an elaborate casket. Funerals are for the living, and many people find comfort in choosing a beautiful hardwood casket with a satin interior for the body to rest in. I prefer a plain pine box. So I chose the most inexpensive casket available at the funeral home. At the cemetery, I suddenly had second thoughts. I was embarrassed at having scrimped on the casket. I was relieved that it was covered by the large American flag. (David had been in the army, so he had a military honor guard.) However, after the prayer, two soldiers stepped to the casket, removed the flag, and reverently folded it. They marched over and presented me with it.

Looking back, I’m sure no one was judging me and my frugality. I was among friends and family, who wanted to share this sad moment with us. They didn’t care what the casket looked like. They cared about us and mourned with us early on that foggy morning.