My daughter, like many children, loves Elmo. He's been with her for as long
as any of us can remember. Not just cute and lovable, but he also sang to her
when she squeezed his stomach. However, time waits for no man or monster. And as
time went on, Elmo grew weaker and weaker in his singing. My wife and I knew
that it was eventually going to be a sad day for all.
Then, on a cold December morning - that sad day finally came.
As is customary, Elmo was taken to the coroner's office for post-mortem
investigation (Maybe in the back of our Polly-Annic minds, we thought that there
might even be a way to bring him back). My daughter wanted to be present for the
autopsy, and against our better judgment, we allowed it.
Warning : The following images are of a LIVE autopsy, and are not
recommended for the squeamish.
As I look into Elmo's glassy-eyed stare, I try and fight back the happy
memories that are now flooding my mind. I can't let my personal attachment get
to me. This is all business.
After an initial examination, it was determined that the best point of entry
would be through the back. Not only will it make for a less messy job, but
there's something easier mentally about not having to do this face to face with
Elmo.
The initial incision is made, straight up the back. As expected, the first
layer of Elmo that we encounter is a fibrous mass, swaddling his internal
organs. It will have to be removed.
With the fibrous mass removed, it becomes apparent that there is some sort of
protective sac surrounding his internal organs. Whoever created Elmo obviously
never intended to have mere men messing with him. The deputy Coroner offers her
assistance, and I fall back to a photographic role.
With callous disregard for the dead, she rips of his cowl and goes to work,
digging in with a scissors. Easy there, Deputy. This isn't a Christmas Goose.
This is a friend.
With the protective sac opened, we now get our first glimpse of the inner
workings of Elmo. Apparently though, the device is larger than the opening which
was made, and the opening has to be enlarged.
In the middle of the procedure, my daughter erupts from the viewing area, she
can't take it any more. I knew we shouldn't have let her watch. I barely want to
watch. Reaching out to her childhood friend one last time.
She finally passes out from the sight of it all. She's taken to her room for
a much needed nap. Hopefully she will dream of castles and puppies, and not of
eviscerated corpses calling out her name.
With the internal workings finally removed, I can't help but to philosophize
about what it is that makes us tick. What magical "spark" that makes us be alive
and hugging a friend one moment, the absence of which makes us be dead and
splayed out on a slab the next.
We open the internal organs casing and gaze at the wonder inside. We can't
make any sense of it, nor could we be expected to. That's something that only
the creator understands. If only he could be here now to breathe the sweet kiss
of life into Elmo once more.
And so we bring it to an end. The final cause of death is determined to be
that his batteries just "ran out". Apparently they were soldered in place and
not meant to be replaced. Even if we could replace them, would it really still
be "Elmo"? Or would it just be some Frankensteinish monster that we put together
for our own amusement and pride? Perhaps it's better this way.
Case #7892310 is tagged and prepared for his trip to the mortician where he
will be washed, and restuffed. My wife wants to then give his corpse back to our
daughter, I want to bury him in the backyard. She'll probably get her way
though. She usually does.
Originally posted on Hypostatize
"Elmo" and his likeness are copyrighted by the Children's Television Workshop
and Sesame Workshop. Comments and inquiries should be made to
mrouse@hypostatize.net.
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