Through the Eyes of his Brother.

by Thomas Gallagher
Baby Brian’s Younger Brother

When I first heard that my parents were having my brother’s body moved to another cemetery and that I had the opportunity to attend his reinternment, I knew I couldn’t pass it up. I have vivid memories from my childhood of wishing my brother were alive and a part of my life. I prayed to him often growing up and even had a powerful and, what I believe to be, miraculous sign from him during a retreat my senior year of high school when I spoke heartfully to him while looking into the night sky and asked for a sign that he was listening and with God – almost immediately a shooting star streaked across the night sky at the exact spot I was staring. Even without that experience, I have always felt close to him and would include in my “get to know you” bios that I had a brother in Heaven. He has always been in the list of intercessors I ask for prayers at the end of my rosaries.

So, when I received an invitation from my parents at the age of 32 to attend my brother’s “second funeral,” I knew I had to be there. They said that not only could we transport his casket, but that due to the excavator accidently breaking the original casket and his remains appearing surprisingly well-preserved, we could view him if we wanted.

I knew my oldest sister was also going to be there and we shared our anxiousness around what we would see. We knew the funeral director had told our parents that Brian’s body was surprisingly well-preserved, but we were skeptical as to just how well-preserved he could be. Being a practicing Catholic who had just completed seven years of seminary formation for the priesthood (but not ordained to the priesthood), certainly the thought of incorruption occurred to me, but I did not want to jump to conclusions. I feared that the funeral director had exaggerated perhaps due to the relative preservation of what she perhaps expected, but also possibly partly due to her being accustomed to viewing bodily remains.

To say that I was nervous as we entered the funeral home would be an understatement. I recall the quiet and surreal feeling as I was about to see my brother, whose soul I knew to be in Heaven by the teaching of the Church and by faith, yet his body remained with us. I also had an inescapable anxiety that perhaps we were doing something wrong by disturbing his remains, but I spoke a petition to God of mercy and understanding as we approached his body with reverence. I thought in particular of my mother’s heart and the hopeful consolation this would somehow bring to her 37 years later.

As we rounded the corner and I saw the little white vault-casket, I could just see the profile of my brother’s face. I was both relieved and amazed as we approached. While my attention was thoroughly on my mom, wanting to support her and unsure of how she would take this experience in, I was amazed at just how perfect he looked. He appeared just as a sleeping baby. My mom was calm and peaceful and immediately went up to place her hand on the blanket he was wrapped in. I knew I had to take some pictures and a short video with my phone to document just how perfect he appeared.

My mother either then asked or was told by the funeral director (I can’t remember which) that she could hold him if she wanted. I remember thinking, “Let’s not push it too far,” as I thought that while he looked amazingly well-preserved, certainly he must be frail or brittle. My mother proceeded to pick him up – his body appeared extremely light and rigid – and she held him in her arms as she sat down. She stroked his hand very lightly, and I recall being worried that his hand or arm may break from being so fragile, but nothing of the sort happened. After holding him for a few minutes, she looked at me with a heartfelt smile and tear in her eye, and then placed him back in the casket.

The funeral director then sealed the vault-casket, I took a picture of my dad carrying the casket, and we proceeded to transport him to the National Cemetery in the Black Hills.