‘No one should have to experience such a traumatic experience’
ACCORDING to Swedish folklore, the period between 4 and 5am is the ‘Hour of the
Wolf’, the time when most people die. June’s husband died at 4.15am in June 2005.
Initially treated with strong antibiotics for a chest infection, the prognosis was that he
would be fine after three days. But the infection did not clear up, and her husband became very ill; finally he was admitted to a clinic diagnosed with pneumonia.
“I’ll never forget,” she told me, “undressing him, getting him settled into bed, reassuring him that I would be back as quickly as I could with his pyjamas and toilet bag, but he kept insisting I shouldn’t make the journey back home, saying it was too tiring for me to go and come back again, all he wanted was for me to sit and hold his hand. I stayed for a long time, but it was clear he was exhausted and needed desperately to sleep, so, I kissed him and whispered my goodbye, saying I would be back early the next morning.
“At home I rang the clinic every hour checking he was still alright, until I eventually fell asleep at 2 am.
“When the phone woke me up at 4.30 am, I immediately freaked, I knew it had to be bad news, then a matter of fact voice on the other end of the phone announced ‘Hello, your husband has just died – do you want us to hang on to him’. That was it, the shortest, bitterest words I have ever heard.”
June immediately called a good friend and he drove her back to the clinic. “I was there within 25 minutes and we were escorted to the lift. Here I was thinking I was going to my husband’s room, but when the doors opened we were in the basement, and there, right in front of me lying on a trolley was my dear dead husband. I was so desperately upset; this wasn’t how I wanted to say my goodbyes, standing in a corridor outside the mortuary, with people passing by. I just shrieked at the staff, told them to go away so I could quietly hold him for the last time.
“Then, we had to sit and wait for hours for the doctor to arrive to issue the death certificate. I was instructed to go immediately to the local mortuary to see a man who would give me the telephone number of a company that would organise the necessary embalming and repatriation of my husband’s body back to England.
“This was another traumatic experience no one should have to endure, especially in such a state of grieving. We entered the mortuary, and there we were confronted with two dead bodies lying out on slabs.
“The next five days went by in a blur of tears, deep sadness coupled with feelings of utter frustration at the chronic lack of any co-ordinated procedures that would have helped us complete all the paperwork needed to get my husband off the island.
“There was the urgent need to register the death at the village where we lived, then, application for copies of the death certificate, applying for probate, which turned out to be ridiculously expensive for so little work done on behalf of the lawyer. There seemed to be a million things to do, with visits to what seemed like dozens of different offices, every time seeing so many people, none of whom showed any shred of empathy towards my situation.
“It got to the stage where I woke up every day with a sense of the unreal, of being totally unconnected with this unfolding drama – a sort of permanent numbness had set in.
“My husband’s death was bad enough, but the seemingly cold and callous manner experienced when trying to get all the exit documents completed was truly dreadful. If my good friend had not been there for me I would have completely lost my mind.
“I eventually flew my husband home five days later, by which time I was an emotional wreck.
“The surly attitude of those working in the ‘death’ business only adds to the feelings of isolation and helplessness. I still feel strongly about this and something should be done to re-educate those who deal with death on a daily basis.
“It may be just a job to them, but the bereaved are at their most vulnerable, My anger is especially aimed at medical staff who have no concept about old-fashioned notions of human caring, especially when it comes to treating their patients once they die. They are totally cavalier attitude towards the deceased’s families.”
WITH the difficulty of handling bereavement and bureaucracy in a foreign land, it’s little surprise that companies are offering packages to ease the strain.
One such service is provided by Golden Leaves, a UK-based organisation, which, for the past 20 years has been seeing to the funeral needs of expatriates in Spain, Mallorca, Portugal, and now Cyprus.
The pre-booked plan allows monthly installments of between 12 and 60 months, promising peace of mind for your relatives once you have died. Golden Leaves pledge to take care of everything from the minute they are informed of a loved one’s passing, all the paperwork and notifications, the embalming and transport to the UK where a local funeral company then takes on the responsibility for the burial/cremation services.
According to Steve Rowland, managing director of Golden Leaves, “June’s case is not untypical. I witnessed many of the difficulties that families face when trying to make funeral arrangements. Living in the warmth and friendship of the expatriate community has many benefits, but however strong your local friendships are, you can be a particularly long way from home at times of family grief.
“The question everyone needs to ask themselves is – at such an emotionally challenging time, will your friends know what to do, who to call, and how to help arrange a funeral to suit your own and your family’s wishes?”
n Golden Leaves funeral plans. Contact Sue Tomlin, 99-411013. www.goldenleaves.co.uk
