Yes, in our culture and society, they say death is the big taboo. It is not to be talked about, thought about, or in any real way dealt with. I see that when the subject comes up in conversations. People want to move on and avoid the subject. I see that and somewhat understand that, but I don’t think that is good, in the long run, as it’s a subject we all have to deal with many times in life, and ultimately when we reach the end of our life, which in many cases, we never know when that will be.
For some reason, death has always been a part of my life, sometimes staring me right in the face. I remember talking with someone a while back and they said, “you know, I’ve never really had to deal with death because nobody I’ve know in any close way has ever died.” Wow, I thought, that’s hard to believe. You’ve never really experienced death up close at all and you are in middle age.
The picture in this blog post is my first encounter with death, at a very early age. It is a picture of me ( on the left) and my cousin John playing together in our yard the day before he died. His family had brought him down to Los Angeles from Oregon for heart surgery and they were staying with us. I don’t remember much except that the next day after this picture was taken, his mother and my mother (sisters) were crying and wailing all day long, non-stop. It was a miserable day. I really didn’t understand what had happened. Maybe they explained it to me that he had died, but I didn’t really comprehend what that meant.
I remember when friends I knew in high school were killed in a car crash in our neighborhood. It was a shock, of course. The next major death was my mother’s when I was twenty-five. The day before she died she expressed her wish to me privately that she wanted to be buried in her family’s plot in Florida and did not my father to carry through with his plans to have her cremated and scattered at sea by the Neptune Society. Now, my father was very stubborn and did not want to do anything different than what he was planning on doing. I stood up to him and demanded he allow her to be buried in her family plot. Fortunately, I had just started working for an airline the year before and they provided free transportation for her body and us to Florida. I had a very strong will to carry out her final wishes, no matter what it took.
Thirteen years later my father died. During this time I also had several friends die. I never remember a long stretch of time where there were no funerals or memorial services to go to. Death, it seemed, was always occurring in my life.
An interesting event occurred when I was in college. One summer, instead of returning to California from Seattle (where I was attending college) for the summer, I was offered an opportunity to stay in Seattle and spend the summer living in a mortuary as a caretaker of the facility at night and to help out during the day with assisting the morticians doing their work. I was given an apartment in the mortuary, so I had an up-close view of the business and the bodies, being alone at night and opening the building for night visitations and wakes, etc. Once again, death staring me in the face, literally. It was an interesting time and I took pictures just so I would remember the experience later in life. The one lesson I learned from that experience was that there was no way I wanted to spend every day for the rest of my working life dealing with the death business. It would be too much to handle on a daily basis. Death, day in and day out. I did have an aunt and uncle that were very successful in owning a funeral home, but I guess I missed out on inheriting that gene .
I wrote a blog earlier about the large number of friends I worked with that died in the past several years and how I was experiencing “survivor’s” guilt about surviving all of them, many my age. From 2015 to 2018 I was going to funerals or memorial services at least once a month, and that is no exaggeration. So many friends are gone, people I worked closely with and were my age. It’s a weird feeling. I’m amazed I’m still here. I never really expected to live much beyond age forty or so. It was just a feeling I had most of my early life, probably because of my childhood depression, etc.
So, while I have not had the technical, well known type of “near death experience,” or NDE as it’s called, I have had two experiences of death in my life that have stayed with me and are very vivid today as they were the day I experienced them. The first one was around age six or so when I had my tonsils removed in surgery. I remember being wheeled into the operating room and the ether mask being placed over my face. When that was done, I experienced the weirdest feeling. It was pitch black, blacker than black, in a way. The ether was applied and I was told by the doctors to count backwards from 100. I felt I was going back to God. I can’t really describe the experience in words, but it is as real today as I think about it as it was sixty-five years ago. My thought at the time was, so this is what dying is like.
My second experience of death was in the 1970’s. It was a drug-induced state, I admit. I did not really experiment with drugs much at all, but for a short time I did. This night I had a very realistic experience of dying. Again, it is impossible to put this experience into words, but I was facing my death, a real experience of death. I knew this is what dying was like. This was a taste of the final life event, a very realistic full awareness type of experience. I was confronting what I had to confront, letting go of everything in life. Like I said, impossible to put into words.
So, what I’m saying is that I have not had the pleasure of avoiding death thoughts or being able to avoid the topic of death like some people have. For some reason I was destined to have to confront this subject my whole life. It’s always been right there before me in one way or another.
I was reading recently about how some people avoid dealing with death and others seem to just jump right in and think about it, converse about it. There are those that are called “death investigators,” they really study the subject and have a kind of fascination with it. Maybe that’s what I am, maybe not. All I know is that it is a fascinating mystery, as is all of life. I recall that when I was in college and had some free time, I would go up the hill from my dormitory and walk through the cemetery next to the campus. I would stroll through the grave sites in deep thought about things. I know, saying this sounds weird, but that’s what I did.
When I talk about these things I sometimes encounter harsh reactions from people. I’ve been told to not go to any more funerals or memorial services, do not go visit people in hospitals or any ill people, especially terminally ill people. Wow, talk about being in denial. That advise just does not resonate with me. That’s not how I choose to handle this subject. In fact, I have recently visited a couple of morticians and mortuary counselors to discuss end of life issues and planning. I have been writing down our final plans (for me and my spouse) and wishes while we have clear minds. That’s how I am handling this stuff. It’s not easy or fun, but there’s no way to avoid this final big project or event that’s going to happen. We do have to deal with life as it is and live in the mystery of it all.
Wally