The Inspirational Whale

Tahlequah, a name that most of you have become familiar with over the last few weeks.  Or maybe you know her by her more official name, J35.  She is the mother orca whale who carried her baby's body with her for at least 17 days after it died shortly after birth.  It was a public display of grief that many in the world watched in awe and amazement as she pushed the body day in and day out.  News networks, scientists, grief therapists, psychologists, and many others all watched in wonder and reported on her journey day after day.  It was a hot topic on social media for a couple of weeks and even I wrote a quick fb blurb about this mother.  The world watched and waited to see how long she would endure.

I can't help but write a little more though.  Tahlequah made me do a lot of thinking.  I know her pain and understand to my core why she kept pushing her baby toward the surface of the water.  I feel her broken heart.  I sense her soul hoping that just maybe the next push up might bring breath back to her baby.  I know the inability to make sense of never touching your child again.  I watched in envy as she defied the social norms of grieving and did what she felt was right in every cell of her body.  I get it.

I have not been shy about saying that my brain still struggles with how in the world I ever let the gentle giant from the funeral home drive away from our house on the night Keyan died.  How did I willingly tuck her body and blankets into the body bag on the gurney on our porch and let him zip it shut?  I consider our family some of the lucky ones.  We had a little bit of time to know that her death was imminent.  We had time to discuss our wishes and figure out what would bring us the most comfort and peace.  We had family and friends and hospice people to guide us in following our hearts.  We were not rushed at all....and yet every minute of the time between her death and the removal of her body I knew the clock was ticking.  I knew that we would have to let the funeral home take her physical body.  Through bathing her, and dressing her in the craziest outfit her sisters could find, and brushing and braiding her beautiful hair, removing her trach and doing what needed to be done for embalmment, and those final touches filled with both laughter and tears, we all knew that the moment would come where Paul would pick her up and carry her out of our home. Did Tahlequah know that too?  Did she know that she would eventually have to let her baby fall into the ocean?  Was she just trying to figure out how to stop herself from diving down to retrieve the body? We will never know but I can tell you that is how I felt.

Those days in-between death and the visitation were so confusing for me because I didn't know where her body was.  Paul and I sat in the funeral home the day after she died, my birthday in fact, to sign all of the finalizations and I cried tears of panic because I knew she was somewhere in that building but I had no idea where.  It was terrifying.  The morning of Keyan's visitation we had a private viewing with just family at the funeral home.  I dreaded it with everything in me.  As we walked up to the room, the doors were closed and the funeral director gave us a mental layout of the room so that we knew what to expect.  Paul and I wanted to lead our family in so we grabbed each others hands and pulled the doors open.  My eyes quickly scanned the room to find her and I let out an audible sound when I finally found her.  I had been so frightened of the moment, but all I felt was relief and joy.  "There she is!' I said as I pulled Paul closer with my quickening pace.  All felt right in the world for those few moments.  I knew where my baby was.  I could breath a little deeper.

For me, part of my grief work has been coming to terms with how I didn't put up more of a fight when her body left.  Why didn't I lay across her body and scream, why didn't I just keep her longer?  In spending time with these questions, I have researched how other societies around the globe deal with death.  Many do it a little more heart led than we do in this country.  One remote people group keeps their loved ones bodies with them until they can afford a funeral which can sometimes take months.  I know that sounds like complete insanity to those of you who haven't lived through this but when I read on these customs, I couldn't help be think how much easier the transition might be if that was my norm too.

My research also lead me to a family here in the United States who brought their son body back to their home.  They took care of their son's body while they built the casket.  The mom spent hours holding his hand.  After the casket was done, they all went to the crematorium together and waited for the cremains.  They walked the whole journey together and never had to leave his side until they were ready....much like that mother whale.  I will let you in  on a little secret....it's probably a good thing I didn't know this was legal....I think it might have been a little much for my family...but I sure would have tried to convince them!  I wish I had known.

The world quickly became familiar with J35.  Embracing her journey of pain and moving back to allow her to do what she needed to do. Members of her pod even helped her in her efforts but also seemed to know when to just surround her and let her feel. The whole thing was a thing of beauty and grace.  We all found ourselves empathizing with Tahlequah and learning about her pain.  I urge you to do the same around you.  Look for the Stephanie, the Ann, the Michelle, the Jessica, the Paul, the Karen, the Tom, the Erika, the Karisa, and the countless others...I could go on and on.  There are people in every community who are swimming through the waves of mourning and working on releasing the pain... moving towards healing.  Know them.  Support them.  Reach out to them in ANY way.  Speak their child's name.  Listen to their stories.  Surround them with love.  Smile. Ask how they are.  Become familiar with both their pains and joys.  If this world can follow a whale, I know we can do even better for each other.