The Gift of Goodbye, Part 2

( A Man, A Plan and His Clan)

Last year, my husband’s death was the catalyst for a set of healing trips to Ireland. I arrived home deeply inspired by the work of Irish historian Catherine Corless, whose research and tenacity shed light on a deeply painful chapter in Irish history. Corless began by taking an enrichment course in which the teacher told the students to research their local history.

Her attention to detail revealed a curious discrepancy in the death records of 796 children who had died at the local St. Mary’s Mother and Baby home between 1925 and 1961. Failing to find corresponding burial records, Corless began to question whether the children’s remains were possibly disposed of in the sewage pit on the property. Facing intense criticism from the church and residents who wished to keep matters quiet and forgotten, Corless persevered. Her detractors called Corless, a former secretary turned homemaker, a liar and anti-Catholic.

When a national paper ran the story, the cloud of secrecy began to dissipate. A team of international forensic experts began the delicate work of discovery and exhumation at the site in July of 2025. As of this writing, 99 sets of children’s remains have been exhumed from the sewage pit, just where Corless predicted they would be found.

Corless has since received numerous awards, honorary degrees, and a movie about her in recognition of her exceptional humanitarian service.

After I returned home from Ireland, I decided to pursue my own local history, beginning with the Pine Hill Cemetery’s grave of The Unknown. Thankfully, I have received nothing but kind, enthusiastic agreement to my request to identify the remains interred there for decades. I hope that the deceased can be reconnected with their families, so that the families can have the gift of goodbye, which is so precious.

Since the release of part 1 of this series (https://thechosenlady.online/the-gift-of-goodbye-part-1/), the cemetery director and his staff have found another burial card for a third anonymous burial. Two people were killed by local trains, and the third was a drowning victim.

I want to share an update on the process and highlight the special person (and his children) who have shown the same exceptional humanitarian service as Catherine Corless.

Local archaeologist Jake Tumelaire recently arrived at the cemetery, ready to donate hours of his time to perform ground-penetrating radar on a day when both the heat and humidity were well above the 80s. He generously invited me to shadow him, letting me pepper him with more questions than his children did.

Where many men his age are content to go soft in the middle, Jake resembles his inspiration in the field: the swashbuckling fictional archaeologist Indiana Jones. Lean, fit, and tattooed, Jake needs to consume twice the daily calories of an average man to keep up with his intense regimen of gym workouts and constant digging of holes.

Jake’s genuine passion for his work and the reverence with which he treats the dead were on clear display as he laid out his tools and invited his three children into the process. Ten-year-old daughter Hildie arrived ready to partner with her father in the sweat-inducing work. The dichotomy between her cotton candy-colored hair and her meticulous recordkeeping was a powerful reminder never to judge a book by its cover.

Seven-year-old twins, Isaac and Isabella, known as Ike & Izzy, were quick to jump into action as their dad’s “Cone Crew.” Jake had them setting up small orange cones every 25 centimeters along the designated grid, and the twins would move them as needed while their dad, a born encourager, would shout out, “Teamwork! I like it!”

Supervised by no one but a fearless bunny rabbit that Izzy requested to keep, the four-footed boss watched the Tumelaire family from the cover of a row of poison ivy. Jake quickly warned the kids to stay away, as a severe case of facial poison ivy had once excluded him from a friend’s wedding party photos. (Things you never see in the Indiana Jones movies.)

Hildie, Ike and Izzy decided to be near me for a few moments, satisfying every child’s innate curiosity about newcomers to their world. With their dad’s permission, I showed them a nearby Callaway crabapple tree that my own son had pruned last winter, which had produced a bumper crop of sweet apples. I explained that I often see deer come out at dusk and eat the apples that drop on the ground. The Tumelaire trio happily gathered a handful of juicy treasure and returned to the work site.

The children decided to rest for a few minutes on the path near the grid their dad was setting up. Hildie, with the laser precision that all eldest children are born with, casually pointed out a ground crab spider scuttling near Ike’s feet, eliciting a predictable shriek from her brother, followed immediately by, “Is it a poisonous spider?” from Izzy. Jake reassured them both that they were not in mortal danger.

The work began in earnest, and the kids were eager to get in on the action. Ike pushed the machine, hand in hand with his father, matching his stride. This was fairly easy because a ground-penetrating radar machine is rather unassuming and small. Picture a laptop screen built for sonar detection, on top of a baby stroller, being rolled in methodical lines, over and over. I was as eager as the children to see what images would show up on the screen and asked Jake if I might have a peek.

Jake was quick to accommodate me; his passion for his work is infectious. I could see why Izzy was so quick to ‘flex’ on her dad, telling me that he has a skull in his office. Jake told me it was true, but sadly the remains could not be identified even though he had tried. He also has the Indiana Jones whip and hat in case you’re wondering.

Jake shared what he would be looking for: ‘hyperbolas.’ Each time he had said this, I misheard it as ‘hyperboles.’ My second-grade teacher was the Nostradamus of educators when her comment on my report card read that I was destined to be a creative writer but really needed to focus on math. Hyperbole is a literary exaggeration; hyperbola is a mathematical term. Jake patiently looks for hyperbolas, or upside-down U shapes that appear when the radar scans over rocks, pipes, or potentially the remains that he was looking for.

Jake pointed out the hyperbolas on the radar screen, and the images immediately brought me back to the moment I saw my first baby’s ultrasound pictures, when the technician confidently pointed out tiny body parts and my untrained eye saw only an amorphous blob with a heartbeat. I confessed I didn’t quite see the hyperbola until Jake pointed to a spot on the screen that looked like geese flying in a V-formation.

Jake continued his methodical passes, with Hildie writing down notes on the kind of graph paper that intimidated me in math class and still does to this day. When Hildie tired of the job and handed the notebook to a very capable Izzy, she asked her father for permission to wander a little around the infant burial section.

Here is where Jake differs from a fictional whip-cracking archaeologist. Jake has made significant, unique archaeological finds, like Indiana Jones. At a Native American burial site, Jake found the remains of an indigenous person, buried with their dog – which had an arrow shot through its back. Unlike in the movies, you never see Indiana Jones teaching his children to treat the dead with the reverence and dignity due to a fellow child of God. Jake gently reminded Hildie to say the second half of the Requiem prayer – “May the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.” I could hear her say it quietly before she took another step.

When his work was complete, Jake came alongside Hildie, bowed his head, and repeated the prayer.

Although I would like nothing more than to have the graves located, DNA samples taken, names assigned to the Unknown, and their families found, I take comfort in this scripture.

Isaiah 43:1: God says, “Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name; you are mine.”

God knows the names of the Unknown; they are His, now and forever, no matter the results of the ground-penetrating radar.

With the day’s labor done, Jake called to his trio and incentivized them to clean up the tools with promises of Slushees and popsicles, video games for Ike, and an evening movie at the theater, complete with snacks guaranteed to keep their family dentist in business. I went home and promptly napped after four hours marinating in the heat.

Jake’s report will take a month to digitize and present, and I am in suspense waiting. In the meantime, I’ll make do by rewatching Indiana Jones movies. This time, though, I’ll notice something special missing. Faith, prayers, and the friendliest trio of hard-working junior archaeologists following in their dad’s footsteps.