I have made death a messenger of joy to thee.
Wherefore dost thou grieve?
I made the light to shed on thee its splendor.
Why dost thou veil thyself therefrom?”
It was a clear, crisp, spring day in late March of 1983 when we buried our infant son, Dana. What if I told you it was one of the happiest days of my life? If you’re surprised to read such words try to imagine how astonished I was to feel a sense of peace and yes, joy, fill my soul on that day.
He was but eleven months and four days when his body could no longer withstand the many assaults. His organs began to fail as a result of damaged lungs. “It’s kind of like the domino effect,” we were told, “one damaged organ affects another and so on.” We knew this day was coming and had preferred death for our son rather than him living his life in a body whose mind had been stolen away almost three months earlier when a cardiac arrest wiped out all hope of a normal life. Had Dana lived, he would have spent whatever precious time was allowed him, in a vegetative state. We certainly did not want that for our son. We also had come to realize Dana’s fate was out of our hands.
Many of us can imagine all too well the sorrow that would engulf the hearts and minds of grieving parents at the news of their child’s passing. So, for Dana, we planned his funeral in advance with the hope of demonstrating to ourselves and to our guests a glimpse of the joy suggested in those introductory words.
We did not know how our baby’s inevitable demise might affect our emotions and our ability to take charge at a time when we may be too emotional to function.
We searched our minds and hearts for how to portray the joyful aspect of death and put our ideas down on paper. We consulted close and trusted friends for their input. We then filed those plans away and wondered when and if we might have to put them to use.
As life would have it, we did have to put those funeral plans into play when on the 28th of March in 1983 the call came early one morning from The Hospital for Sick Children in Toronto informing us that our dear Dana had indeed left this world.
We had decided to use a nearby funeral home but only as a gathering spot for our guests. Remember we were trying to focus on the joyful promise of death and funeral parlours had never particularly evinced a sense of joy within either of us.
Upon entering the chapel room it was not festooned with flowers as one might expect. We had asked that instead of flowers those wishing to, might consider donations to The Hospital for Sick Children (commonly referred to as Sick Kids’) or a charity of their choice. In spite of the fact our funeral director had advised that our guests would still send flowers, not one blossom had arrived. Our directors had also asked, “Perhaps an arrangement of flowers from you, Dana’s parents, would be appropriate for your son’s casket?”
“No, but thank you,” we had said, “we would like balloons and our baby’s teddy bear to take the position of honour”. You can well imagine an eyebrow or two might have lifted.
So, what caught the eye of those entering? At the front of an otherwise stark room sat the tiny white casket with Dana’s bandaged bear sitting atop. The teddy clutched three helium-filled balloons … one yellow, one red and one green.
How these keepsakes look today.
As the guests arrived they signed a guest book and seated themselves in one of the pews. At the appointed hour we arose and made our way out the door and into our cars. Dana’s casket took up every inch of space on the front seat of a black limousine beside the driver. The teddy bear was still securely positioned on top with the three balloons.
Guests at the funeral parlour.
Guests at the memorial.
Dana’s father, Michael, and I and our two small children, Emma, age four, and Ben, just turned two, all sat in the back seat for the final family-of-five ride together.
There was barely an inch between the casket and the steering wheel which made it necessary for the driver to drive at a slower pace than normal in a funeral procession. It must have been quite the sight for those passing by. They could see clearly it was a funeral procession without a hearse and the lead limo displayed brightly coloured balloons. People stopped and stared as this odd sight passed.
My friend, Shar, (I’m certain her name will come up again) later said, “I was about midway in the procession. When I looked ahead and back, it appeared to be very long. One might have thought it was the funeral of a dignitary”.
Our first stop was at Mount Pleasant Cemetery. We gathered around the open grave where prayers were recited and Sacred Writings Read. One of the prayers said was also reproduced on a card that every guest received as a memento. This meaningful prayer spoke directly to our desire for baby Dana.
“O God! Rear this little babe in the bosom of Thy love and give it milk from the breast of Providence. Cultivate this fresh plant in the rose garden of Thy love and nurture it by showers from the clouds of Providence. Make it a child of the Kingdom and lead it to the divine world. Thou art powerful and kind!
Thou art the Giver, the Bestower, Whose blessings transcend all else!”
We had kept in mind children when making Dana’s funeral plans. He was, after all, a baby and we knew there would be children present. The youngsters around the grave got in close, as children would, so as not to miss anything. It was noticeable when the following passage was read everyone closed in as did the two funeral directors. It was interesting and heartwarming to see these words act as a magnet to our families and friends. Here is how that somewhat magnetic passage begins.
“And now concerning thy question regarding the soul of man and its survival after death. Know thou of a truth that the soul, after its separation from the body, will continue to progress until it attaineth the presence of God, in a state and condition which neither the revolution of ages and centuries, nor the changes and chances of this world, can alter. It will endure as long as the Kingdom of God, His sovereignty, His dominion and power will endure. It will manifest the signs of God and His attributes, and will reveal His loving kindness and bounty. … The world beyond is as different from this world as this world is different from that of the child while still in the womb of its mother. … Wert thou to ponder in thine heart the behavior of the Prophets of God thou wouldst assuredly and readily testify that there must needs be other worlds besides this world. …
The day was quiet, the wind was still so these beautiful words were able to reach the ears and hearts of those who had gathered to support us as we said our physical goodbye to Dana.
Our two-year-old son, Ben, had managed to scoop Dana’s teddy from atop the casket and wound its key. This old man, he played one, he played knick-knack on my thumb, with a knick knack paddy whack give a dog a bone. This old man came rolling home … The tune tinkled its way into the cool spring air where the notes and those sacred words drifted into the atmosphere along with many of the hearts that had opened to the moment.
My heart was most definitely opened to receive those healing words. What did it take in life to get me to the moment of so-called separation from this precious infant to be able to face it with an opened heart that was filled with joy?
Hopefully, the chapters to follow will help you, as well as me, understand how I got there from where I started.
