I Actually Wanted Her To Be Mangled

I wanted someone else to let me off the hook for doing what, in my heart, I knew I must do.

The days are blurring together to the point where discerning one from the other is almost impossible without looking at the calendar. It hasn’t even been four days and it feels like a year.

On Friday morning we received a call from the pathologist who performed Chloe’s autopsy. He seemed a nice enough guy doing an important job that sucks for the people he has to talk to. He methodically went through Chloe’s cause of death, itemizing her broken body parts like a macabre grocery list from Hell’s supermarket.

Broken neck..check. Ruptured aorta..check. And on and on.

When he was done, I asked him the only question I really wanted the answer to:

Look man, just give it to me straight, is she mangled? Is she too fucked up to see?

Here’s the crazy part….I wanted him to say yes. I wanted him to say that she was so damaged that we couldn’t see her again. Because I was so goddamned terrified of having to go through with seeing her lifeless body lying on a table. I thought it would break me. I wanted to remember her just as she was. My perfect little girl.

I wanted someone else to let me off the hook for doing what, in my heart, I knew I had to do.

Learning a New Nightmare Vocabulary

Instead he told us that she was “viewable.” He said her face most mostly undamaged and that in his opinion we could see her. Naturally, he said it with a certain clinical detachment that is I’d imagine is born from a sense of professionalism and a need to maintain one’s sanity.

The way he used the term left some doubt in our mind. Maybe he sees so many fucked up corpses that his idea of “viewable” is vastly different than ours. Maybe he’s a psycho. I mean, who the fuck wants to do autopsies?? To me, the only definition of “viewable” is perfect. Anything less than that is fucked.

My little girl was “viewable.” Not vibrant. Not happy. Not optimistic. Not funny. Not loving.

Viewable.

And that was supposed to be the good news. My immediate reaction was to say there was no fucking way I was going to see her again. I couldn’t. And Tanja, in her perfect way, told me I was the only one who could decide what was right for me and that whatever I decided was fine.

Choices, Choices

We called a funeral home to talk about and arrange the details of cremation. The lady was kind and compassionate in a way that felt important to us. She also broke things down so we could process what needed to happen and in what order.

She told us the first choice we had to make was whether or not we wanted to see Chloe again or have her cremated right away. I wanted to have her cremated right away but Melody wanted to see her again. Of course we’d honour that request. I was still adamant that I didn’t want to see her.

The funeral home would arrange to have Chloe moved from the hospital to their care. We asked them to call us and give it to us straight, “Please tell us what the hell she looks like. And just be honest about it.” To be clear, I asked them to call Tanja because there was no way I could receive that call.

They called a few hours later and said she was fine to see.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.

I knew in my heart in that moment that I would see her but I wasn’t ready to admit it to myself.

My Baby Girl

First of all, Tanja was incredible. She helped me break down the steps one by one without having to look too far ahead. “You only have to walk to the car.” “Now it’s time to get out of the car and walk to the door. You only need to make one decision at a time.” I found her breaking it down that way so helpful. There’s a certain irony in taking baby steps to see my baby one last time.

I have never been more terrified of anything in my entire life. Nothing else even comes close. I remember opening the doors and seeing Cindy at the funeral home and it was awful. This was orders of magnitude worse.

Tanja went in first and I sat there with Melody. Melody was absolutely amazing, gently telling me I didn't have to do anything I didn’t want to. I felt guilty that my seventeen-year-old was consoling her dad but I guess in times like this we support each other however we need to be supported in the moment.

Tanja came out, looked at Melody and said, “You can do this.” The way she said it was comforting beyond belief to me. Melody went in and as I pictured her in there with Chloe I started to sob and shake. I was almost hyperventilating. I don’t think terrified is a strong enough word. I asked Tanja to explain everything about the room so I knew what I was walking into.

Melody came and I took up. My feet felt like lead. I opened the door and there she was, lying there, with a blanket up to her neck with only her beautiful face exposed. She looked so peaceful. And I was overcome with inconsolable mental anguish. It was the worst thing I will ever experience. Although, I said that when Cindy died as well. Who knows what the future holds.

I sobbed, wailed, collapsed, paced, implored someone, anyone to please make it different.

I finally left the room resigned to the fact that I will never see my little girl again. Except, Mel then said she wanted to go back in. She did and I knew I wanted to go back in as well. Melody came out and back in I went.

And this time I was calm. And able to say everything I wanted to say to her. I told her I love being her dad. I told her how grateful I was for our time together. I reminded her how many people cared about her. I told her the unbelievable amount of people who had reached out and whose lives she had touched. I promised her I would do everything in my goddamn power to honour her memory and legacy by living the very best in her to make the world a better place.

And I finally, I told her that while he body will be laid to rest, her spirit and energy will always be with me and that I will be connected to her always. And that I would see her again. And I turned and walked out the door upright with my head held high.

Lessons

I will always be grateful to Mel for being so resolute that she wanted to see her sister one last time. I drew strength and inspiration from her when I needed it most. She and Tanja helped me walk through the hell of doing something I couldn’t have done without them. I know I would have regretted not seeing her again. That regret would have been a heavy cross to bear.

In the process, as usual, some important lessons emerged. The first is that, if I could face this nightmare, I can literally face anything. No challenge, obstacle, limiting belief or fear will ever come close to the level of the terror I felt yesterday. And I did it. Which reminds me that I can do anything. I find that incredibly empowering.

The second is that we all need help. When you have amazing people around you and are willing to lean on them when you need it, you all become immeasurably stronger. I’m not only grateful to Tanja and Melody. I’m grateful to all the people in my life who love, inspire and challenge me to be better. I will lean on them and invite them to lean on me more in the future and by so doing, I will only elevate my ability to make a positive impact in the world.

Please love each other. And ask for help when you need it. Helping someone else feels so damn good so giving someone a chance to help you is as much a gift to them as it is to you.