Arctic Chill

There was a town meeting on Saturday at 2. I didn’t go since I was out on the tundra and I haven’t been listening to the local radio station for my news like most in this hamlet. It was held at the local catholic church, since it is the largest in town, but it was an Anglican service. It was the funeral for our young friend of Wednesday evening.

I met him only once, as the paramedics brought him through the door applying chest compressions that in time had proved in vain. The team of professionals had tried their best but this time they came up short. In his mid teens, his life now over, the process of a family and their community handling the aftermath had begun.

We have a morgue in our building. It’s located at the back door right next to the staff entrance. I hadn’t been toured that area but suddenly I was there. The nurses serve as morgue attendants and act as funeral directors communicating between the families and the local clergy. It’s that part of the job description, we all know, that says “Other duties: From time to time, etc.”

Once the news has been relayed to the family, the same emotions occur in the north. Sudden loss and the emptiness that it brings is the same no matter what the culture. Often times the family will stay for a while before heading home and return to the health centre again for viewing before the service. The family receives their condolences at home from family, friends and their community neighbours. Food is brought and memories are shared. Grief knows no boundaries.

A casket is brought in and the loved one is placed therein. I was called in to the health centre on saturday to do three patients (It’s nice here that sometimes everyone comes in at the same time). The nurses asked me if I’d help lift the coffin for placement before the family arrives for their final viewing before church. It’s the least I can do. Once completed, the casket will be transported by fire department vehicle to the church and then to the local cemetery following the service.

Whether by choice or by duty I noticed that one of the paramedics who brought him into emerg on Wednesday is taking him to the church on Saturday. Such are the roles in a small community and I’m sure that this same scenario is played out across the world and not just in the north.

Saturday was a beautiful cold clear and sunny day, a nice day for a funeral. Sunday was even nicer. I went for a walk around town on Sunday. I was getting quite brave in my travels. I got some great photos of the snow and ice and the Inuksuk looking out over the Rankin Inlet from his perch near Lake Wilcox in the middle of town. I went down some streets and around a few corners and came upon a road leading to a hill that I thought would give me different shots with a height advantage.

I climbed the road and found myself approaching the cemetery. The crosses mark the graves with names and dates. There is a fence around it. In the snow you could see that it was metal. And at each post there is a steel heart welded on. It looks like it been there a while but it’s built strong atop the wind blown hill. It has to be. I look over and see tracks…dirt, tires, footprints and rabbits. I realize that the grave would be here and should be the newest.

I look around and find it and travel towards it. I stop and pay my respects. I notice how the grave is circled by rocks like so many others and I now have to ask someone what this means. His name and dates of birth and death are freshly applied to the cross. I assume it’s wood painted white but I don’t go nearer to find out. I leave and travel down a big hill at the back of the cemetery. It’s a cold place. On this sunny bright day, I know I will not be the last visitor today.