Death and its administration

We finally received Max's death certificate at the beginning of this week. It had already been issued once, a few weeks ago, but it had incorrectly stated the day he died as the 24th November (his birthday) instead of the 25th. I was pretty pissed off about this at the time. Of all the things to suffer an administrative error why did it have to be something that was already painful enough to deal with? After calling the Victorian Registry of Births, Deaths and Marriages, I found out that the error was made by the funeral home and that I would have to follow it up with them.

To their credit, White Lady Funerals dealt with the matter very promptly and apologetically, but I did have a laugh when their letter of response to mine also had a mistake in it. Clearly someone in charge of administration there needs to take a typing test! They didn't even bother reprinting the letter, but used good, old-fashioned white-out to fix it. Oh well!

Receiving the death certificate in itself was not overly upsetting. I count it as one more thing I can collect that is Max's, as morbid as that sounds. The part that saddened me is reading through all of his particulars on the certificate. It is a piece of paper so clearly designed for someone who has had a life. Someone who has had married, and who has had the chance to have children. His 'period of residence' in Australia is listed as 'life' as he did not have the opportunity to go elsewhere. 

More than anything, I suppose, this certificate gave me a glimpse of the life my son will not have - the life that was mine to give him and his to keep.

This certificate will go along with all of our special family documents. There is not even a filing cabinet that Max will not be part of. He is everywhere in our house, and always will be, as long as we live. I take comfort from the fact that one day, when I die, Max will be listed on my death certificate as evidence that I did something special with my life; something that all of my descendants will know.