Viewing my husband's body

I couldn’t decide if I wanted to view my husband’s body, or not. The undertakers had told me that I could do so on the three days prior to the funeral, if I so wished. I didn’t view any of my grandparent’s bodies on the basis that I wanted to remember them how they were but, somehow, it felt different with my husband.

Very strangely, I then developed this romantic notion in my head where I would visit and spend time with ‘him’ on each of the three days to say goodbye. I don’t know where this foolish notion came from (I’m a nurse I know what bodies are like!) but I suspect it was case of my heart ruling my head. I didn’t want to let him go. I can only put it down to the pain of grief.

In reality, though, my head still hadn’t decided if this was something I wanted to do. So, I decided to seek out other peoples’ experiences on the internet. There was lots of material to read, but their experiences didn’t help with my decision. Some felt viewing a loved one’s body had been really helpful, others less so, and others decided not to do it. It is, of course, what is right for each individual and there are no rights or wrongs, but this didn’t help me. Then, I remembered my husband saying, quite recently, that he had never regretted things he had done only things he hadn’t. This did help to guide my thinking but didn’t completely make my mind up.

In the end, I asked if my minister would come with me on the first day allocated for viewing, and view the body first so he could tell me if it looked like my husband, on the basis that I could then decide if I wanted to view it or not. He very kindly did this for me and said it did look like him, so I went in. The undertakers had done a good job, it did look like him except of course it wasn’t him. ‘He’ was cold, which I expected, but ‘he’ also felt hard, which I hadn’t quite expected although, if I had thought about it, it would have been logical. I spent some time with ‘him’ alone and then my minister said a lovely prayer (although neither of us could remember what he said afterwards!). I had some more, tear-filled, time on my own with ‘him’ to say goodbye and I was then able to leave knowing that I didn’t wish to return.

Did I make the right decision? On the one hand, having viewed the body really helped me at the crematorium. I felt I could let the coffin go without too much sadness as I knew it wasn’t my husband inside, only his empty body. He had already left me, and it was the man I was grieving for not the body. On the other hand, I still have the image of ‘him’ in his coffin, although it is, now, slowly beginning to recede.

All in all, and I am glad I did what I did, and I don’t regret my decision. My husband was right! I think I would have always been left with a nagging doubt if I had decided not to do it.