Six Feet Under And Not Likely To Get Higher

Life has its many tragedies and one of the inevitable is the separation (brief, our faith tells us) that comes when a spouse, parent or child passes on. The soul goes to its Creator, the body dies and is buried with respect, the living go back home to grieve the loss and somehow go on with their lives. Occasionally it doesn’t quite work out that way and the tragedy grows worse.

I have seen a wife trying to pull her deceased husband’s body off the gurney in a hospital emergency room, screaming to him that she wanted to take him home. I’ve seen a parent practically jump onto the casket to get her son back.

These past two weeks, I’ve seen a retired professional woman talk about visiting her recently deceased husband’s grave and seeing how much weight he has lost. “If I could only dig him up,” she told me, “bring him home, get him something to eat and have him walk around, he would be fine.”

Reminding her that he has passed away makes no difference; talking about his funeral doesn’t make it through; her prior experience with people who died hasn’t dawned on her.

“I know he’s in heaven with God, but I have to get him out of that cemetery. I want to bring him a tray of food, dig down to the casket and give it to him. He needs to eat.”

Daily, as she slowly unravels, her personal tragedy grows to an end we can’t see yet.