Intimate Acts

I will mark December 2007 as the month in which we received the fewest causalities since before the war started. In fact, Christmas Day 2007 was the first in five years that the Mortuary was not preparing fallen heroes for their final resting place. I found time to meditate on the intimacy of those acts which that preparation requires and the reverent honor of those preparations.

For the last almost five years now young and not so young troops representing all branches of the services have volunteered and been deployed to Dover to provide the dignity, honor and respect which is due to each of our war dead. When asked (as they often are), “How can you possibly do this job day in and day out?” each will answer that they do this job for families who grieve.

They are very aware that for each soldier, marine, sailor or airman who comes home through Dover there are multiple family members who wait at at a kitchen table somewhere in the U.S. Unable to begin the long journey to closure until their loved one is returned they simply wait. That wait started when their hero first deployed and the wait continues after every e-mail, letter or phone contact. Some military members call mother, wife, husband or dad before and after each mission. If the second call is delayed the wait becomes intense and deeply unsettling. For the family who are notified that their warrior has fallen their wait becomes wake. But still they must wait to see, to say goodbye, to understand, to deal, even to grieve. They wait while the Dover family prepares.

Preparation of someone else's child for burial is both physically and emotionally intimate. Touching, lifting, washing, dressing are personal acts done with all possible care and always with family in heart. The following vignette illustrates both intimacies.

Hair must be washed. Water and shampoo - hands and hair. Intimate and personal. The chaplain stood observing the shampooing of a handsome 19 year-old soldier and engaged the Airman hairdresser in conversation. The conversation eventually came around to how this Airman sustains himself over the long-haul, facing the constant river of souls. The unexpected response brought tears to the chaplains eyes. I should have known.

Looking away from the chaplain and toward the head and hair he washed; he responded with measured words, “Oh - - - - His mother washed his hair the first time. - - - - I’m washing it for the last time.”

If perchance a grieving parent reads this little blog - draw some strength from your Dover Military Family. You are constantly in our thoughts and prayers. We too grieve your loss and ours. Your hero was loved, cared for and offered the utmost dignity.