Closing the Eyes of the Dead
My small service when a family is hurting
Closing the Eyes of the Dead
Last night my wife and I were watching a television show in which a character died, and her friend gently closed her eyes. I’ve seen that gesture in after-death scenes many times in TV and movies, and it has always been a rather dramatic and-depending on the character-emotional touch.
Last night it got me thinking about how I have done that in real life before. Yes, I have. You see, in my job at a hospital, I sometimes have to assist in preparing the body of a patient we could not save. So the family can come in and see. So they can have a moment to let it sink in. So they can cry.
I never got such a moment when my mother passed away, since she was never taken to a hospital. Since becoming a paramedic and working in a hospital, I think I would like to have had that. So now, when that opportunity is given to a deceased patient’s family, I make it my personal mission to make sure I take as much pain out of that moment as I possibly can.
At this point my fellow staffers know this is my thing, and they usually give me the time to do so.
When I go in:
All trash is thrown away, excess equipment is put up, and the counters wiped down. Everything on the counter put in it’s place so it looks straight. Cabinets closed. Monitor leads detached, rolled up, and monitor turned off. Then I turn my attention to the body.
All blood or other fluids are cleaned off. All IVs, catheters,and breathing tubes are removed (except under certain circumstances, where law requires they stay). A clean gown is put on. The body is rolled, dirty sheets are removed, and fresh clean sheets put on the bed. Arms are placed at the sides, knees straightened out, and a sheet is placed up to the neck. A clean towel is folded and placed under the head. Head and neck are straightened to a more natural position. Hair is straightened, mouth and lips are closed as much as I can manage.
And I gently close the eyes.
The last step is to place two to four chairs (more if I can tell the family is large in number) on either side of the bed, with a box of tissue near each set of chairs. Finally, I turn the bright lights off, and turn on a softer set of lights near the patient’s head.
Then I let the nurse know the room is ready, and walk away. I don’t go back in there, usually until the room is empty and ready to be cleaned for another patient.
I don’t necessarily have a super dramatic point, but it’s something I wanted to share, because I am thankful God has put me in a position to be able to do this small service on one of their most stressful days.
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