You Can't

“You Can’t…”

"You Can't..."

         Late one fall afternoon, my perspective on life, death, faith, and love changed. It may not be as different now but has become more focused.

         It was late in the week, late in the month, late in the quarter, and late in the year. The shadows were growing longer and longer as the afternoon surrendered to the darkness of night.

         It was completing the day’s records and files. Then I would get the week’s records and files in order. After grabbing another cup of 'blonde and sweet coffee, I would transfer the days and weeks' business to the monthly journals. Then I would combine all the months to show where we are and what we have done.

         Sitting there, I could feel the weather changing as the outside light darkened before its time. As dusk settled in, I smelled the rain as it smashed into the concrete, trees, grass, and cars.

         I was tired and had too many cups of coffee, and my stomach started sour. I broke one of next month’s candy canes in its package and laid it in my pencil drawer. I could and did take a little piece of it and place it in the side of my mouth to settle my stomach down a little so that I could finish my shift.

         I could see flashes of lightning. The lightning is to be followed by booms chasing it. As a child, I thought you had to count 'one-thousand one, one thousand two and count the seconds between the flash and the boom. Since childhood, I had always heard that each second counted as one mile away. I didn’t know then, and I don’t remember now.

         The feeling of melancholy hung over the room of the funeral home I was working at as one of the assistant directors. For the last couple of hours or so, I felt a little depressed.  

         I was unconsciously staring out of the right side window for no real reason, and I noticed a gray pick-up truck heading into the third spot from the end.

         I then saw a young couple get out of the truck, trailed by a toddler hanging on to daddy as the mom protected her baby from the light rain that fell as they hurried slowly into our chapel.

         I didn't want to sit down with them to plan a sick grandma's or grandpa's final arrangements, but my number was up, which is what I do.

         As they entered the office of the parlor, I noticed both the mom and dad had been crying. I was sure our meeting would be for either grandma or grandpa and a pending funeral. 

         This man and this woman were hard-working people that knew that something must be done and were unsure how to get it done. They were people that worked hard for their money while at the same time wanting the best for their babies.

         They both followed my gesture to sit in front of my dark walnut desk. The daddy had the toddler jump into his lap as she hugged him while staring at me. He hugged and rocked her in the chair that was not a rocker. Mama sat down to my left, still holding on to her baby as she stared right through me as she mocked a rock in that chair. The man and the woman were looking for answers to questions not asked.

         Being professional, I uttered words I had spoken a thousand times before 'who are you here for?' and 'how can I help you?'

         I expected the troubled man or woman to tell me about their mom or dad. 

         The dad clutched the toddler and looked over at his wife. The mom stood up and stared through my eyes; as she handed me her baby, she and her husband started to cry openly.

         I couldn't speak and could hardly catch my breath as I looked over at the momma. One of the other directors started to say, 'you can't...! The director stepped in quietly but gently said, 'let me have the baby.' He took her into the next room with the sobbing mother behind them to check the baby. 

         The Director returned with the momma holding her baby. He excused himself, letting us know he had to make a phone call for the arrangements. He returned to where he had just been with the baby and her momma to make a phone call. I heard him ask for a particular person, and I knew that person was his friend at the coroner’s office. Though I couldn't listen to what was ‘being said.’ I knew what was ‘being said.’ 

         The director returned to my desk and asked me for my chair so he could talk to the family. As I walked to the desk across the room, the most compassionate person in the world began to grieve with the family as he explained that someone would be there in a minute to take care of their baby.

         It was now dark outside, and aside from the periodic boom and flash from the thunder and lightning, things seemed still. The rain was heavier now, and time became dream-like.

         I saw the light from the headlights cross from left to right by the clock. I then recognized the 'clunk' of a car door shutting right before the director’s friend from the coroners' office entered.

         The coroner put his umbrella down at the door and removed his raincoat. He made his way over to meet with the man and the women. He introduced himself and asked if he could check the baby in the next room. The baby's momma stood up, held her baby, and walked back to the other room with him.

         The three returned a short time later as the coroner sat in the chair my director had vacated. He gathered the necessary information in an understanding and patient way. He then looked at the momma and daddy and said, 'your baby girl needs me now. Go home and come back tomorrow as he took the baby gently from the momma. She seemed to understand it was time as she kissed her baby and handed her off.

         The family thanked everybody and nobody as they turned and walked out the door to their car over the wet pavement.