The opportunities I had to spend time with my wife's body before her cremation were very precious to me. They helped me come to terms with her death.
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Indeed, HH.
The first time I recall seeing an actual corpse (well, a modern one, rather than the Egyptian mummies), was, coincidentally, the first time I conducted a funeral.
The family had no church connections and didn't want a celebrant - they knew me very well (I'll explain why in a sec), so they asked me, though at the time I had no training.
This was 1994, and the deceased was - technically - my fiancee.
OK, we knew her time was short, and we'd been close friends for years, and her last few months were tortuous - so, with her family's consent, I gave Jane an engagement ring.
Her death was a release, and I spent hours with her - sometimes alone, sometimes with her parents - before the funeral, and those hours, like yours, were cathartic.
In a way you'll understand, they were healing - more so than the funeral, which took place in the middle of a driving snowstorm, and was conducted with haste - in case some of the mourners caught chills and decided to join her.