I’ve attended a couple of funerals recently. The services were beautiful and their celebration of life brought everyone together and lovely stories were shared. Part of these services involved cremations. I couldn’t help but be brought back to Dan’s cremation. This is something I now look on with both horror and laughter. It may or may not be your cup of tea, but here goes.

You may or may not know that Dan had a regimental funeral. It was beautiful yet surreal. Thousands of officers from around the world, all coming to pay their respects to an officer who had their life taken. Because this was such a public event, we chose to have a small cremation after the service.

I’m assuming you’re aware of how cremations go. Or how they regularly go. You’re in a room that looks very similar to that of a church. An alter like area at the front and rows of benches facing it. The coffin is placed on a slightly disguised conveyor belt that has lovely velvet red (or another colour) curtains either side. Once the service has ended, music of your choice may be played. The coffin is slowly moved through the curtain and they slowly begin to close. Once the curtain has closed, if you haven’t left already, you leave and move on to the celebration of that person’s life. Their wake.

Dan’s cremation didn’t quite go that way..

My Brothers, my Grandmother and Dan’s closest friend had flown over to join us for the funeral. So along with mine and Dan’s parent’s, we would have a very quiet, private cremation. I had decided not to take the boys to this. As you read on, you will understand and thank the good Lord above that I made that decision. They had gone back with friends to celebrate their Dad with hundreds of other Police Officers at their Headquarters in Downtown Edmonton.

We arrived at the cremation centre (what do you even call it?!) and walked through the main doors. It was so lovely. A beautiful big room with the familiar alter and red curtains. Only thing I noticed was that it looked Very bare. Not at all ready for a cremation. Which was odd. But, they knew what they were doing…

We followed the funeral director and Chaplain past this lovely room and through a corridor. A little like a game of ‘Follow The Leader’. This continued until we reached the other side of the building. A more medicinal side of the building. The area that I don’t think the general public were meant to see. It was unusual, but again, they knew what they were doing right?

Wrong… very, very wrong.

I began to run a few scenarios in my head. Maybe we were going to walk in with the coffin and go into the benches before he was placed in front of the curtain? Maybe there was a smaller area that was for very small groups of people and were were going in a different way? No. And, no. Not quite coherent with what was actually happening, we followed the chaplain into a small, lifeless room.

I will never forget that room. It was all tiled. White brick shaped tiles. Small and the perfect brick formation. It felt sterile and medicinal. Ten of us were led to the right hand side of the door. All huddled in this small, cold room. No chairs, no windows, no comfort of any kind. The first thing I noticed was this contraption in the middle of the room. It looked like a huge car jack. Only this one was a lot bigger-the size of a coffee table- and had a very long handle on the side. Quite similar to the one pictured. It was close to us. Very, very close.

On the wall to the right of us was a large square hole. This hole had a metal frame around it. On the right hand side of the square, there were a number of buttons both large and small. Also, a red light and a green light. At the top of the square, in the centre, there was a big sign similar to this.

Looking inside this large square hole was interesting. The bottom was a flat surface. The 3 other sides had what can best be described as dark grey nylon type wool. Like those silver scrubbing pads you can buy. It surrounded the three other surfaces and across the back. Making a lovely square.

See where I’m going with this?

Suddenly my heart began to race and my forehead became clammy. This was it. This was the cremation. We weren’t going to that lovely room with the curtain. Where you feel sad but comforted by the peacefulness of it all as we said our final goodbyes. We were staying in here. This truly awful room. This is where Dan’s body would be cremated. This was the area that grieving families were absolutely not meant to see. Yet, here we were. Why on earth were we in here?! I was imagining it. I was being dramatic. They would never do this. We would move soon. It was all a joke. They would ask if we wanted to move.

They didn’t. We didn’t.

The pallbearers slowly brought the coffin into the room. They carefully placed it onto this large car jack- which we soon noticed wasn’t all that sturdy. With each gentle push from the pallbearers, the jack let out a little screech and wobbled. Then there was the lever. Oh, the lever. With a back and forward pumping motion-I kid you not, the jack was made to go higher. With each motion, a creaking, screeching sound-almost as if it needed some WD40 on the hinges- was made worse with the wobbling of the coffin after each motion. It seemed to go on forever. The pallbearers then walked backwards and left the room.

Oh.. My.. God...

We were all looking at each other in both horror and pure disbelief. All coming to the same horrifying conclusion.

The Chaplain began to speak.

Oh.. My.. God…

Now, there was no turning back. I couldn’t tell them to stop. I couldn’t do anything. I wanted to yell but my voice refused to be heard and my body refused to move. Dan’s mum suddenly called out in a broken, distraught voice- I’m sorry, I can’t do this. She shuffled past her son’s coffin which was less than a foot away from her and ran out the door. His dad soon followed her.

I have no idea what the Chaplain was saying. Something about laying him to rest no doubt. I felt compelled to say the prayer Eternal Rest. Dan wasn’t religious, but it felt right. Feeling this rush of emotion and asked everyone to leave the room. A few more words were said. Two officers came back into the room. They slowly began to slide the coffin into the wide expanse to the right of me. This was the moment. The final moment Dan’s body would be whole. I believe your body is just a shell for your soul. Meaning when you die, your soul is free. It’s the fact that we will never get to touch, to talk to and to actually see that person that hurts us inside. If it didn’t affect us, we wouldn’t get so upset. Once the coffin was in, the huge metal jaws slowly came down, as if it were devouring its latest meal. It was so mechanical. So very, very wrong.

Now the part I will never, ever forget. The part that is so insanely bizarre all I can do is think back and laugh. Thinking about the pure absurdity of the question, I don’t even think they actually thought about what they were asking me. Or how it could have easily been misinterpreted. At the time though, it made me shiver and want to literally punch the funeral director squarely in the face. Hard.

Claire, would you like to push the button?

Why, yes. Yes I would. It’s very important to me that I, myself, am able to set fire to my late husbands body rather than leave it for you…said no one. EVER.

NO. NO THANKYOU.

I marched out of that room with such anger. There was nothing to throw, nothing I could yell at. So I cried. That big ugly cry when your eyes swell up and your nose is likened to Rudolph.

I found my mum. She was sat on the bench at the back of that beautiful room. The one we should have been in all along. She held me tightly. As the Chaplain approached her grip got tighter. He knew something was wrong. Little did he know just how wrong it all was. I don’t remember the words my mum had given them. Her head turning a shade of purple and her voice talking through gritted teach at an octave I think only Barry White could hear. It was terrifying and I’m so glad I wasn’t on the receiving line. The Chaplain stood there in horror. Apologizing profusely but it was too late. What was done, was done. Once she had given the Chaplain a stern piece of her mind-which I still maintain was terrifying and amazingly courageous all at the same time, (Mama Bear was taking care of her cub!) we went back to Police HQ. Back to the celebration. Back to remembering the good over the bad. Knowing that someday we would talk about this and do the only thing that we could. What he would have done. Laugh.

 

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