I just finished reading Brandilyn Collins suspense thriller, Dead of Night.
Without elaborating on the book (I did enjoy it, scary but redemptive all at the same time, just like life), there was a morgue scene in the book.
I debated about writing on this. At first I thought, “I’ve moved past this, God has brought healing, right?”
But then I thought, I want to tell you about the healing he brought through unthinkable pain. Maybe you’re ready to read this now. Maybe you’ll have to put this aside and wait for another time. Pray before you proceed.
After the two state troopers announced my husband’s sudden death in an auto-accident, I was told later that evening that family would need to identify him. Okay, here it goes—sometimes you don’t know how you’ll react until you’re in a situation, but this is what happened to me.
I didn’t want to go. I refused to go, at first. I was afraid. Afraid of what I might see. Afraid that Gerry’s body would be deformed from the accident. Afraid that in his final moments from the trauma of the accident that there would be a look of horror left on Gerry’s once handsome features. I did not want to see that. I did not know what to expect and it scared me witless.
My dad, Gerry’s parents, and Gerry’s brother went to identify Gerry’s body at the hospital morgue. They returned and told me, “It was okay. He was recognizable.”
I don’t remember specifics; I think it was the next day that I went along with the rest of my family, my sisters and brother, Gerry’s sisters and brother. I had all ready decided there was not going to be an open casket for many reasons (more on that another time), so this would be our “good-bye” in a sense. I knew Gerry was a child of God and had accepted Jesus Christ into his life as his personal Savior, so he was with Jesus in Heaven. But this was the last time I’d see his physical body for a very long time.
What happened before and after the morgue is a blur. But I remember sitting in the waiting room, crying silently in my heart to God. My chest hurt, my head hurt, my heart felt like it was breaking in two. My mom and dad came on either side of me, each grasping one of my arms. Together, the three of us walked into the morgue. My body shook uncontrollably.
I had been in a morgue before, when I was in school, training for the medical technology field. One of our educational trips was to the morgue. What was once a detached educational experience, now was real life. It felt like a bad movie, a horror movie, and I was the main character. Could this really be happening to me?
The room was white and green and steel. And there in the middle of the sterile room, with its pungent detergent smell was my beloved. He lay on a cold steel table with a sheet pulled up to his chest. I shuffled closer with my parents holding me up on either side. My knees buckled. “Oh dear God! Gerry…” I gasped for breath. My throat felt tight, just like last night when the officers first delivered the news.
I gazed at Gerry’s face from a safe distance, looking for tell-tale signs of trauma. A few cuts and bruises, I was surprised at how good he looked. But there was something that shocked me even more. Gerry looked like he was sleeping. Yes, sleeping. His face, after all he had been through in the car roll-over and ejection, Gerry looked peaceful. God had met him in that final moment and somehow given him a peace that translated its evidence onto Gerry’s face.
I remember saying, “Mom, Dad, it’s just his shell. It’s just his shell. Gerry’s with Jesus.”
My breath shuddered. My body felt hot and weak and heavy. I wanted to touch Gerry, but I couldn’t. Something within me held me back. I was afraid he would be cold to the touch. I didn’t want that to be my last memory of him. So I held my hand back, stiff, longing to reach out and smooth the soft, wavy hair away from his forehead. His eyes were closed, his beautiful blue eyes that would melt you with one glimpse. His mouth, slightly open would never speak again this side of Heaven. I would have to wait, yes, wait and pray, and trust.
Just like my parents held me up, God has held me up.
He wants to hold you too. Let Him gently take your arms; let Jesus hold you up. He has done that for me, bringing me healing despite the pain. He has continued to hold me through the long days and nights. And even though I may not feel His physical presence, He promises He is there just the same. I know it. I believe it. The Bible promises it and that’s all I need to know.
I am praying for you. Please, let Jesus hold you. He loves you and I do too.
Praying in the Spirit,
Susan Kelly Skitt
“Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty.” 2 Corinthians 3:17
