Hundreds of families in the World Trade Center attack, already robbed of the intimacy of the deathbed, are now being cheated out of the rituals of mourning. Having the deceased dressed in her favorite clothes for a Catholic wake, scattering ashes in a river for a Hindu ceremony, reading prayers at the Jewish cemetery, cocooning the body in a white shroud for a Muslim burial: They are traditions born of faith and handed down across time. And none of them are possible.
The reason is both simple and overwhelming: They have no bodies.
"Whatever religion people may be, having the body gives people some real sense of consolation," said the Reverend Jim Cunningham, pastor of St. Bartholomew's Church in Elmhurst, Queens, who has consulted with the relatives of several victims. "I would want it myself. But if you look at it from a religious perspective, the soul leaves the body and is with God."
Family members' decisions about what to do now have been as varied as the lives taken by the terrorist attack on the twin towers. Many are going ahead with memorials that contain many of the same prayers and ceremonies of a conventional funeral. Some are waiting for remains to bury before holding any service. Some are nudging their reluctant kin to say goodbye. Others are utterly unsure of what to do.
In lieu of the physical, there are pictures, sometimes in place of where an open casket would be.
There are objects dear to the person. A wife's chartreuse scarf is placed at an altar. A husband's sneakers are displayed at a memorial Mass. Favorite candy is offered to the guests.
Mayor Rudolph Giuliani said Wednesday that every family would receive something from the site. "We hope that we can recover remains," the mayor said, "but we will give every family something from the World Trade Center, from the soil, from the ground, so that they can take it with them."
Moving ahead with the rituals of mourning is complicated by a most delicate calibration: When do you give up hope?
Hope lasted five, maybe six, days for Maureen Olson's family in Rockville Center, on Long Island. At first, they jumped every time the phone rang. They thought she might be wandering dazed through Brooklyn. Then they thought maybe she lay unconscious in a hospital. Then they hoped someone would find her under the rubble.
Finally, last Monday, the family held a memorial Mass. Pictures of Olson filled the vestibule of the church. A thousand people showed up.
After the Mass, Olson's sister, Dorothy Crowley, admitted that she sometimes imagines her sister pulling up the driveway, with lollipops in her purse. Perhaps, Crowley mused, that is because she hasn't been able to lean on some of the old traditional mourning rites -- dressing her sister for the funeral, hearing the sound of dirt being shoveled over the coffin. "I think it is going to take a long time before we fully accept it," Crowley said.
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