Tag: death

Let Me Tell You About Tinkerbell

~ Kiki Writes ~ 5 Comments

Carrie, my good friend for 20+ years and my roommate for 15+ years, unexpectedly passed away on December 1st.

Carrie and I met through the Lord of the Rings fandom back in the long, long ago of LiveJournal. We spent hours chatting on AIM and she flew out for a visit in 2004 (I think). A few years later, Carrie was in need of help. Plagued by depression and anxiety (as well as undiagnosed autism as we later discovered), she was struggling to survive on her own in Buffalo, NY. I offered her a place to stay in the cornfield and help to get her life back on track. She accepted. I drove 12 hours one way in a rented van to help her relocate her life. Her stay in the attic room was only supposed temporary. She never left.

Moving out here was a rough adjustment for Carrie. She went from living alone to living with two other people. She was afraid of my dad at first. Understandable since he was a police officer. He’s used to be intimidating even when he’s not trying to be. And Carrie’s history had left her easier to intimidate than most. She went from barely coming downstairs, especially if I was at work and only my dad was home, when she first got here to coming down for daily chats with my dad while she made tea as part of her routine in the last year.

Therapy was a big part of Carrie’s growth out here in flyover country. She had a few therapists, but her last connected with her the best. She really helped Carrie heal many of her old wounds and better manage her triggers. She was also key in getting Carrie on the medication that helped her function in life better. Their relationship was cut short thanks to state budget cuts that closed the mental health clinic in town, but Carrie still found a way to build on that progress and continue to improve.

Between the therapy and the support, Carrie really came into her own. She went to community college for a while, studying art. She took better care of her health and happiness. She learned to stand up for herself, assert herself, and set boundaries. She reconnected with her family and made several trips back home, including a solo road trip, something she never would have been able to do before. We went to DragonCon in Atlanta; took the train to Milwaukee for a weekend trip; and flew to Seattle for five days of exploring a city in the part of the country that Carrie adored. She always wanted to live in the Pacific Northwest.

We had a lot of long talks that covered everything from hopes and dreams to fears and nightmares to stories that made us cry to stories that made us laugh until we couldn’t catch our breath. She loved talking about her family, particularly sharing memories about her grandparents and the summers she spent with them, aunts, uncles, and cousins at Keuka Lake. One thing her family and mine had in common was a love of games, particularly card games. She always said that she believed in Heaven and in her version, her grandparents were playing cards with other beloveds who had passed.

Carrie became a valuable part of our family. My nieces claimed her as another aunt. She took the youngest one to Disney World. She was shocked to find that she had gifts waiting for her at her first Christmas at my great-aunt’s. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of that rowdy bunch as we ate a whole lot of food and then played loud cards, but she had fun. It was an early wake-up time for her and that house gave her a headache, but she loved going to Thanksgiving and Christmas there. She mourned my grandpa and great-aunt with the rest of the family just as though she’d known them her whole life, too.

A lover of animals, Carrie devoted time and money to animal causes. As much as she loved her make-up and skincare, she made an effort to switch all of her products to cruelty-free brands, a habit which rubbed off on me. I’m not completely cruelty-free yet, but I’m getting there. Carrie never shamed me for not making the switch, but applauded me whenever I did. She understood the struggle. After all, she had always wanted to go vegetarian, but could never quite achieve it. She did reduce her meat consumption quite a bit, though.

Her love of animals extended to our own, inside and out. I always say that any animal that comes within a block of this house will get spoiled. Our cats, the neighbor’s cats, the neighbors’ dogs, squirrels, possums, raccoons, mice, whatever, Carrie was one of the biggest spoilers. Her big heart made her a soft touch. She was our point person when it came to the vet, taking them for their yearly trips and any other necessary visits. It was a hassle wrangling them into their carriers and driving them to another city, but she was happy to do it. Nothing mattered more than the kitties being well-taken care of. Of course, this translated into her doing nightly squeezies for the Addams Family and spoiling her cat Antoinette (she called her Baby) to the point that she admitted that she created a monster. She wouldn’t have had it any other way, though.

Carrie’s generosity extended to humans, too, especially the ones she lived with. If we needed anything, she’d do what she could to help. She didn’t mind picking up my slack and bailing me out of more than one jam that I’d gotten myself into it. She was unfailing in her support for my writing and once she learned not to push too much (you can tell me twice before my spite kicks in), Carrie was good at nudging me to do better at taking care of myself.

She had an affinity for Tinkerbell, anything with cats, monkeys, apes, or sloths, and the color blue. She loved murder mysteries, Jane Austen, and anything relating to England, particular the Tudor period. We had many common interests and likes, but the royal family wasn’t one of them. We had totally different fashion styles (even if we’d been the same size, we wouldn’t have shared clothes) and rarely read the same kinds of books or watched the same kind of movies. But we never missed an episode of What We Do in the Shadows or Ghosts, and even though I stopped watching General Hospital, she kept me up-to-date on the latest storylines. I’ve listened to more A-ha than I would have thanks to her love of them (“The Sun Always Shines on TV” was her favorite song). She learned more than she ever wanted to know about Hawaii Five-O and The Monkees thanks to me.

Was it all rainbows and unicorn farts? Of course not. We had our spats and disagreements. We buried a yard full of hatchets. We got on each other’s nerves. But family does that.

My biggest regret is that the last couple of months of Carrie’s life was so hard. Despite a recent hand surgery, she was right there to pick up the slack with me as we dealt with my dad’s health problems. Then she fell down the stairs. She had a hard couple of weeks after that, but she was finally beginning to rebound from it.

And then she was gone.

It’s been a difficult adjustment not having her here.

Which is kind of funny when you remember that this was all supposed to be temporary anyway.

You’re playing cards beyond the horizon now, my friend.

Read This If–You’re Curious About Dead Employment

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

I do believe I’ve mentioned more than once that one of my favorite non-fiction subjects is the dead (corpses, not Grateful). This fascination has led me down some interesting reading avenues, including employment. It turns out that there’s quite a few professions that involve the dead, some you may not know about. Or even want to know about.

Though I’ve been told that I have the temperament to work with the dead, I’m not sure I could do it. However, I can read about those professions all day long and never get bored.

What the Dead Know: Learning About Life as a New York City Death Investigator by Barbara Butcher- True Crime non-fiction with a memoir twist, Barbara Butcher was in the early stages of alcoholism recovery when she lucked into a job at the Medical Examiner’s Office and became the second woman death investigator in New York City. She loved the work and it turned out she was really good at it. It could be grueling, gruesome, morbid, and sometimes dangerous. It’s the kind of work that can only be compartmentalized for so long before that box breaks down.

The author discusses some of her more memorable cases -she’s investigated more than 5,500 death scenes- and populates her stories with the colorful characters she’s worked with. However, she also describes the toll the job took on her and that despite loving the gig, it nearly broke her. It’s an unflinching look at an incredible job.

Personal Effects: What Recovering the Dead Teaches Me About Caring for the Living by Robert A. Jensen- Another book that’s part memoir, this one delves into the world of disaster recovery. Did you ever think about what happens after a major disaster like a tidal wave or airplane crash or building collapse? Someone has to go in there to retrieve the bodies and their possessions. Robert Jensen is the owner of the world’s largest disaster management company. He and his teams do the unthinkable: recover the dead after a mass casualty event. His team has responded to incidents all over the world, including 9/11, the Bali Bombings, the 2004 South Asian Tsunami, and the 2010 Haitian Earthquake, working to give the survivors what they can of the victims.

The book goes into the details of many of these incidents as well as just how a disaster management company works. It’s eye opening to see how much time and work goes into cleaning up after these incidents and how little they can sometimes offer the next of kin. The book also details the toll this kind of work takes on the author’s life and how it’s not a job for just anyone.

All the Living and the Dead by Hayley Campbell- This book covers all of the death-related careers you could think of and a few that you never dreamed of. There are the traditional jobs like funeral directors, embalmers, and grave diggers. Then there are the jobs that you’d rather not think about like executioners and crime scene cleaners. There are jobs that are kind of far out there like in cryogenics. And then there are the gigs that you didn’t even know existed. Did you know people still make death masks?

What I really like about this book is that every job is treated with dignity and respect. The death industry is a difficult one and for a majority of the public, something no one wants to deal with until they absolutely have to. But there are certain people to whom these careers are a calling and they make their living doing what others couldn’t. After all, someone has to do it. Might as well be someone who loves their job.

If you give these books a try, I hope you find a job you like. If not, then I’m sure you’ll find something else in the want ads.

Read This If–The Dead Intrigue You

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

For clarity’s sake, I’m talking about corpses, not The Grateful Dead. Not to say that The Grateful Dead aren’t intriguing. I enjoy their music. But I’ve never read a book about them.

I have, though, read numerous books about the dead. We’re talking books about decomp, morgues, cemeteries, crime scene clean-up, cremation, funeral homes, embalming, all of that fun stuff. Why? I don’t know. I think part of it stems from the fact that I fear things less when I know how they work. I think it’s also morbid curiosity. Mostly, I think it’s because I’m weird. I didn’t freak out when I found my neighbor dead in his yard, but I won’t go to funerals because they keep laying the guest of honor out like a Thanksgiving centerpiece and unlike everyone else, I don’t find that comforting.

Anyway. Here are a few death-centric books that you may find fascinating.

Deadhouse: Life in a Coroner’s Office by John Temple- The book follows three deputy coroners -Ed Strimlan, Mike Chichwak, and Tiffani Hunt- working in a coroner’s office in Pittsburgh. We get to know them, their work, their coworkers, some history of both the field and the area they work, and of course, some grisly details about the cases they investigate -and all the hang-ups that come along with investigating, like the sights, the smells, and the politics.

Obviously, the work fascinates me, but I also really enjoy getting to know our three deputy coroners at the heart of the book. What I really like about the book is how we learn about the work through them. This book came out in 2005, I think, and it’s one of the few books I’ve read several times. In fact, I’m about due for another re-read. Can you have a comfort read about a coroner’s office? If you can, I do, and this is it.

Smoke Gets In Your Eyes & Other Lessons From the Crematory by Caitlin Doughty- As a twenty-something with a degree in medieval history and flair for the morbid, Caitlin Doughty took a job in a crematory and quickly found herself pursuing her life’s work. The book provides explanations of the cremation practice, some history involving how people lay their dead to rest, and answers questions you didn’t know you needed the answers to, like how many bodies can you fit in a Dodge van and how do you get cremains out of your clothes?

What I like about this book is that not only is there this demystifying of death happening, but it’s also being demystified by someone as they were learning the ropes of corpse disposal. There were some awkward missteps and she made some mistakes and she owned up to them all in witty fashion. Maybe a book about cremation shouldn’t be amusing, but this one is.

Over My Dead Body: Unearthing the Hidden Histories of America’s Cemeteries by Greg Melville- Working in his hometown cemetery in college led Greg Melville to ponder the rich history of America’s burial grounds. He visited several for the book, including Arlington, Hollywood Forever, Boothill Cemetery, Colonial Jewish Burial Ground, Central Park, and Chapel of the Chimes. Each place of eternal rest exhumed more and more of our country’s history and the final resting places of our dead.

When I first saw this book in Bookpages, I realized that I didn’t really know that much about cemeteries beyond the general notion of that’s where we bury people and you can go sledding in the local one. This book is a fascinating tour of graveyards and their impact on and reflection of society. A cemetery’s history is more than just the people buried there. And even though his family wasn’t always enthused about spending time in these places, I was certainly entertained by the experience.

If you give these books a try, I hope you find them enlivening. If you don’t, well then, just bury it and move on.

Goodbye, Nez

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

I woke up Friday feeling less than. The weather has spent the week switching seasons from fall to winter to spring and I felt every single front and barometric change so by the time I woke up on Friday to fog and rain, I’d had it. But, I pressed on because I had too much to do on my day off to slack because I didn’t feel well.

And then the news of Michael Nesmith’s passing came across my timeline and what little wind I had in my sails evaporated.

Three of my dear Monkees are now gone and it seems like only when they’re gone do others realize that these men have always been so much more, Nez no exception.

He was instrumental in The Monkees playing on their own songs, being allowed creative control over their music. He was a pioneer in country rock after the he left the group. He came up with the concept for MTV. He produced films and wrote books. Meanwhile, his own music continued to evolve and change as he explored his own talent. I have more of his solo stuff than the rest of The Monkees. Not so much out of favoritism (though I love his solo stuff), but because he has such a huge catalogue of it. And there’s a variety to it. The First National Band stuff doesn’t sound like anything from The Newer Stuff album, but it’s all so distinctly Nez. Coming back together with The Monkees after Davy’s passing was especially sweet. “Me and Magdalena” is probably my favorite song from Good Times.

I never felt like Nez got the accolades that he deserved. He deserved a wider recognition for the contributions that he made to music.

I’m forever grateful that him being one of The Monkees allowed me to be a fan and get to experience so much more of his music, talent, and creativity.

Blessings, Nez. Safe travels beyond the horizon.

So Long, Peter

~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

A week before the seventh anniversary of Davy Jones’s death and just a little over a week after his own birthday, Peter Tork passed away.

I’m heartbroken.

I wrote about my attachment to The Monkees when I remembered Davy after his passing. Losing the guys is something I’ve dreaded for a long time. Losing Davy hurt badly. Losing Peter doesn’t hurt any less.

He was a brilliant musician and a gifted songwriter, something that goes terribly overlooked just because he was part of a band initially created for a TV show. He played a slew of instruments. He just had that natural talent for understanding them and playing them. I always felt that he was underused as a vocalist and songwriter in the band, as well. The other guys had songs that were catered to their voices and styles. Peter should have had more of that treatment. Maybe he wasn’t the strongest vocalists, but he had a sound that should have been heard more.

I have a lot of his solo and non-Monkees work. I adore Shoe Suede Blues. I love the stuff he did with James Lee Stanley.

And of course I’m forever grateful for the role he played in The Monkees as an actor and a musician and as one of the architects of the happy place that I started constructing back in 1986.

Blessings to you, Peter. Safe trip beyond the horizon.

A Dead Neighbor on Sunday

~ Kiki Writes ~ 2 Comments

MTD Yard Machines Lawn Mower 4.5HP Tecumseh En...

The Universe has an interesting sense of humor. Last Sunday, just days after I finished re-reading Deadhouse: Life in a Coroner’s Office and typing up a blog post for it (it’ll be up Friday), I found a dead body.

I took my cat Maudie Moo for a walk (our “walks” involved wandering around the yard together; Maudie likes it when her people are outside). At the end of our yard is a narrow alley and on the other side is the backyard of another house. It’s fenced in with a weird sort of chain link privacy fence that makes it difficult to see into the yard. I got down to the alley and walked down it a few feet, trying to lure my cat into the sun.

There I was, standing in the alley, singing along with Paul Simon on my iPod (“50 Ways to Leave Your Lover”) when I realized there was someone laying in the neighbor’s yard. At first, I was a little embarrassed that I’d been singing along without realizing someone was there. Then I realized the person that was there probably wasn’t in any condition to hear me. He was laying on his back next to his lawn mower, one arm outstretch, his other arm curled up with his hand on his chest. A water bottle stuck out from his sweatshirt pocket. He looked like he was napping, but I knew he probably wasn’t.

I approached the fence and asked him if he was okay. No answer. I got closer and asked again. Still no answer. I got right up to the fence, peering between the weird privacy slats that blocked the view but didn’t. He wasn’t moving. It didn’t look like he was breathing. His skin had a waxy look to it.

I figured he was dead, but I ran to the house and got Dad for a second opinion. He confirmed it (Dad is uncanny with his ability to determine death without taking a pulse; 25 years as a cop helped develop that skill) and called it in. I then sat back and watched as first police officers, fire rescue, and paramedics, then the coroner, dealt with the body, my dad holding court with all of them just as he had when he was still working.

Meanwhile, I was left to explain to the neighbors (and friends of the neighbors who were on vacation, but heard the call on the police scanner) what had happened. Near as we can figure, he’d been out mowing that morning between 10 and noon. Dad saw the mower out, but didn’t see him, which he didn’t think much of at the time. I found the body sometime later, around 4:30. Dad said the mower was in a different position than when he last saw it, so he probably came back out, maybe started the mower again, maybe even mowed some, and then collapsed. He’d been laying there for at least four to six hours. Rigor was already starting to set in, so he wasn’t long for the world after he collapsed. There probably wasn’t anything that could have been done for him. Speculation is that it was most likely a heart attack, but he’d been taken to the hospital last week for his blood sugar, so maybe that was the deciding factor. I’m not sure.

Carrie felt bad that the man collapsed and died in his backyard and no one noticed for several hours, but really, I think it was a blessing. He was a quiet man, not exactly social, though very nice when he did speak. If he’d died in his house, it might have been days (or longer) before anyone found him. I think that would have been worse. And really, it was a nice day to die in the yard. A little chilly and breezy, but sunny. Not much in the way of flies, if you want to get scientific about it.

People kept asking me if I was okay since I was the one that found the body, which one hand I found odd, but on the other hand, I appreciated. It was nice of them to ask, but I couldn’t understand why they thought I’d be upset. I didn’t know the neighbor very well. And as my personal beliefs dictate, the soul or spirit of the man was long gone by the time I found his corpse. That’s all it was. A corpse. Out of the ordinary, sure, but not traumatic.

This isn’t to say I didn’t feel bad. I did. It’s a shame. But I guess I’m just one of those people that doesn’t fall apart at the sight of a dead body. I suppose, with reading all of those books about death and decomposition, it makes sense.

However, I’m not immune to those weird human thoughts when confronted with death on a back lawn. At the time I’d been sick for over a week and I was still dealing with a cough. While standing at the fence, waiting for the circus to arrive, I kept coughing and every time I did, I thought it would get the dead man’s attention. And then later, a slight case of embarrassment set in when I was recounting the story to someone because I’d realized that I’d asked a dead man if he was all right. Of course, I wasn’t certain he was dead at the time, but still I felt a little silly admitting to people that I’d tried to start a conversation with a corpse.

And honestly, I felt less awkward trying to talk to a dead man than I did trying to talk to the living neighbors.

That’s because death is more natural than my socialization skills.

Remembering Davy

~ Kiki Writes ~ 1 Comment

Davy Jones of The Monkees passed away on February 29, 2012 and he took with him to the great beyond my love, respect, and a little bit of my heart.

The Monkees are my favorite band. I make no secret of it and I admit it with pride. I love them. I love their TV show. I love their music. I love them individually and together.

I first became acquainted with The Monkees during their 20th anniversary tour. I was six and it was love at first sight and sound. Davy was my first favorite (over the years, they’ve each been my favorite to the point that now I can’t really pick). He was cute, he was small, he had a tambourine…what more could a six year old ask for?

Mom let me watch the show in the afternoons when everyone else had to be outside playing. I’d stay up extra late on the weekends to watch it, sneaking out of my room while Mom slept (Dad worked nights) to watch it on the TV in the living room (we only had one TV).

Then and Now: Best of the Monkees was the first tape I ever asked for. It was the first of ANYTHING I ever asked for, as I was raised by parents that didn’t abide by children asking for things every time we went to the store. But I saw the cassette among the others in the rack at Wal-Mart and I couldn’t stop myself. I asked my mother for it and instead of getting the negative answer and the lecture, Mom ended up getting it for me.

I still have that tape.

The first story I wrote (okay, maybe not the first, but definitely the first one I remember writing) involved The Monkees. Today it’s commonly known as fanfiction, but at six or seven, I had no idea there was a name for it. It was a “book” I wrote, complete with illustrated cover and big words (albeit misspelled). I was very proud of that story.

I still have it, tucked away with the papers I never want to lose.

Ten years later, I was living with Dad in housing and my parents were going through a rather bitter divorce. The typical challenges of being 16 were compounded by the war zone my parents created. Most kids hated going to school, but it was the only place I got to feel like an actual kid. At home, I was expected to be the adult.

As my luck would have it, The Monkees decided to celebrate their 30th anniversary, reminding me of the happy fun-times of my childhood. I dug that old tape out of the few things I had and it became my life raft in the stormy sea of what had become my life. I submerged myself into rediscovering The Monkees. I constructed a happy place out of their music and the show, filling it with news and stories and CDs and solo work and pictures and memorabilia and fandom.

The summer before my senior year, 1997, I worked for my cousin in her daycare. When I found out that The Monkees would be in Chicago in August, she became my partner in crime so that I could go to the concert.  Not only did she help me get the tickets, but she also took me and paid for the hotel room. The entire Monkees Trip Experience deserves to be retold in another post (and probably will be), but suffice it to say, I had an amazing time at the concert, watching three of the four men that I credited with keeping my head above water perform on stage.

My senior year is forever tied to The Monkees. I listened to Justus so much I’m surprised the CD didn’t wear out. Mom enabled my obsession, getting me a cardboard cutout of the group from a music store. Papa got me a few their CDs. My sister helped me decorate my graduation cap with the Monkees logo. I had all four of their names written on it. If it wasn’t for them, I wouldn’t have made it through high school with any sort of sanity intact (though, friends might argue the sanity part, since my graduation cap also featured “Loco 4 Life” written on it and my nickname was Skitz, short for skitzo, but I stand by what I mean).

My Monkees Happy Place was built to last and over the years, I’ve only added to it with more music (not just The Monkees, but their solo stuff as well), shows, and memorabilia. Family and friends see Monkees stuff and they think of me. I had a friend bring me a Monkeemobile model car from Canada because he saw it there and thought of me. I’ve grabbed unique items off of eBay and been able to find the not so easy to find music on Amazon. I visit it often; my iPod is full of Monkees music and on shuffle. I don’t go a day without hearing one of their songs. Bummer of a day? Nothing an episode or two can’t fix. I’m working on a collage of their album art. It’ll be really great addition to the happy place when it’s finished.

But first, I need to fix the happy place.

On Leap Day, the Universe kicked down a wall of my happy place. Davy’s death leaves a pretty big hole, one that I will patch up with memories and music and pictures. It won’t be the same, of course. But even though Davy slipped from the mortal coil and crossed the horizon into the next world, he left behind a lifetime that he shared with the world. His smile, his laugh, his voice have all been preserved. It’s not the same, but it’s not that different, in a way. At least for someone like me, a fan that only got to see the star from a distance. It’s the future that’s been compromised, not the past. He can’t do anything more, but he’s already done so much.

And he did more for me than he can ever know. Except maybe now, he’s in a place that he does. I hope he knows how much I appreciate it all.

Catch you on the flip side, Davy Jones.

Who’s Afraid of the Big Bad Pregnant Lady?

~ Kiki Writes ~ 1 Comment

As a human being, I have my quirks and my fears and my quirky fears. I chose to forego any of the typical phobias like bugs and snakes and decided to jazz up some of the more traditional fears like heights and death. I can only guess at the sources of some of these out of the ordinary hang-ups. Friends and family have no desire to understand them. They just filed them in the “weird” column of my personality and moved on.

So, what scares me?

Mascots- Okay, lots of people have this one. I’m definitely not alone. And it’s more of a love-hate thing with them. I think mascots can be a lot of fun and very funny. I just don’t want them close to me. I don’t want them coming at me. I don’t want them interacting with me. Mascots are fine…over there.

The big headed mascots really freak me out. The bobbleheads at Chase Field, the Presidents at Nationals Park, Rosie Red at Great American Ballpark. I don’t even like seeing them on TV. I don’t think I could handle them so well in person. There’d be a lot of walking in the opposite direction.

This is a late blooming fear, as I don’t remember ever having a problem with mascots before my twenties. Even at DragonCon, people in certain mascot-like costumes caused me concern. The Pennywise Clown, complete with balloons and evil grin, in the elevator, however, did not.

Pregnant Women- I think this is a product of seeing Aliens at a young age. While I fully understand and recognize how amazing it is that you can grow a living creature inside of your body, you’re growing a living creature inside of your body and it’s going to want to come out. I see a heavily pregnant woman and I think it’s just a chestburster incident waiting to happen. And no, I don’t want to feel the baby kick because I don’t want to be too close when it decides it’s done incubating and claws it’s way through your belly button.

Okay, that’s ridiculous and I know it and considering the fact that people close to me have been bearing children pretty regularly for the past ten years, I’ve had lots of opportunities to plaster a smile on my face and pretend not to be creeped out by the fact that there’s something MOVING in my friend’s gut.

I imagine that should I ever get pregnant, I’ll spend the entire time pretty skeeved out and possibly flapping my hands like a girly-girl that’s just seen a spider every time the kid moves.

Wait. Why would I even consider getting pregnant if I’m scared of pregnant women? Hold that thought. I’ll come back to it.

Falling- I don’t mind heights. I don’t mind being in high places, looking out over the land, taking in the view. I don’t mind working on roofs or climbing ladders. I love ferris wheels and the Power Dive at Great America. I have no trouble with heights.

It’s the falling from heights that bothers me. I don’t get too close to the railing. I don’t like other people to get too close to the railing. We were sitting over the bullpen in Kansas City and this guy carrying his baby boy stood next to us and the whole time I was in a highly tense state because his baby was too close to the edge. Logically, I know that Daddy isn’t going to drop the baby, but on the other hand I have this overwhelming desire to not risk it and please step back, sir, you are making me nervous.

And it’s not just high places that this bothers me. It’s stairs, too. I am quite careful going up and down stairs because I’m terrified of falling down them. I think the last time I actually fell down a flight of stairs I was probably three or four and I wasn’t hurt. But be sure that if there’s a bannister, I’m hanging on.

Corpses- Yeah, I don’t like dead people (most people don’t). I’m not big on dead things in general, but I really have a problem with dead people. This means that I don’t do funerals. Period. End of story. Why? There are dead people there. I find it really disconcerting that there is a corpse laid out like a Thanksgiving centerpiece in the room.

I realize that this provides comfort to most people (for some odd reason), but it does nothing for me. As far as I’m concerned, the deceased person in question is already gone; their spirit or soul or what have you has left their body and all that’s left is a hunk of spoiling meat. And I don’t want to be in a room with it.

This goes for ashes, too. My grandparents both chose cremation and no funerals, which I thougth was great, but so long as Dad had their ashes in the jeep, I wouldn’t get in it. There are dead people in there. Nope. (Grandma and Papa have since been moved to Dad’s closet and I have no desire to get in there any time soon.)

Surprisingly, most of my family are very understanding about my funeral-aversion. They understand my problem with being in a room with a corpse and I’ve been given a free-pass for most funerals. Other people don’t understand it and think I’m just a selfish, uncaring bitch. And that’s fine. So long as I’m not in a room with a corpse, you can think of me what you like.

Fears are considered a sign of weakness in my family and I do my best to face them.

I spent most of the Cornbelters season getting used to Corny so I could get within two feet of him when I took my nieces to get his autograph (I still used the children as a shield). I like Corny. And he seems to respect my need for extra mascot personal space and I appreciate that.

I challenged my fear of falling by going on the Mine Drop ride at Great America (it takes you up a gazillion stories and then drops you straight down). Sure, I screamed all the way down, was shaking so hard I couldn’t get my harness off, and would never do it again, but I did it once and that’s what counts.

Same with getting pregnant. If the opportunity to have children arises, I would get pregnant despite that fear just to say I did it. Nine months is a lot longer than thirty seconds, but the reward would be greater for all of the time I’d put in.

The dead people thing I’m kind of stuck with. That’s going to be a tough one to get around. I’ve basically made a deal with myself that certain funerals I have to attend. I will probably sit as close the back as I can and do my best not to be anywhere near the casket, but I will go.

That’s right. If you’re really special, I’ll go to your funeral.