All is blackness. I can see no light. All I’m aware of is a splitting headache. I feel that I’m lying on some kind of bed. I come to realize that I have a tube down my throat that’s making me breath. I hear voices in the room with me. I hear the beep of a heart monitor which means I’m not dead yet.
The last memories I have is of lying in my bed snuggled warm and comfortable in my down comforter, my head buried in my pillow. I was sleeping so well. Not a worry in the world. Now my reality seems to have changed.
I hear a man speaking to my wife: “you should considering pulling the plug, his electrocardiogram shows no sign of brain wave activity. He’s been clinically dead for over an hour.”
My wife, crying loudly objects “But doctor, are you sure there is no hope for a recovery.
“The the 38 caliber bullet through his temple has destroyed much of his brain and there isn’t anything we can do to repair it.”
I am unable to speak, move or blink my eyes yet I am aware of everything going on around me. I can’t see nor feel but my hearing is still working. I have become aware of being attached to Intravenous bag filled with something and a mechanical breathing pump which keep my lungs filled with oxygen. I can only guess that it is the only thing keeping my heart beating.
I hear the doctor talking to the police that my death is an apparent suicide. That the only reason I’m alive is the machine that‘s pumping oxygen into my body.
Suicide my ass. I have never even considered suicide. I lead a happy successful life in the suburbs and have no money problems nor problems with my marriage. My business is going well so why would I want to end it all on such a successful note.
I hear as my wife tells the Doctor to go ahead and pull the plug. She sobs loudly as he does. The beep on The heart monitor starts slowing down and eventually stops. The nurses disconnect my intravenous lines and remove the tube from my throat. Now I hope I can speak and let them know I’m not dead but nothing comes from my mouth but the last gasp of breath that was pumped into me by the breathing machine.
I quietly lay there while my wife kisses my face and strokes my hair bidding me a loving good bye. Then I’m aware the sheet is being pulled up to cover my face.
As I lay there in this state called death I wondered why I was still conscious of what’s going on around me. I always thought death was the end and that I would be taking hold of an angel’s hand and led to the promised land. I guess that was all a myth taught me as a child when I attended church regularly.
I was eventually taken downstairs to a refrigerated room where I remained until the undertaker came for my body. I wasn’t aware of the cold, I wasn’t aware of anything except time passing and darkness.
Eventually the undertaker arrived and put me into his van and carried me to his mortuary. There I was placed in another refrigerated vault to await my turn on his stainless steel table.
Later that evening, a mortician pulled me from the refrigerator and he and his assistant placed me on his stainless steel table, removed my hospital gown and started washing my body. After I was thoroughly clean to their satisfaction, they plugged all my body orifices and made an incision under my left arm to get at the artery and vein through which they would exchange my blood for a formaldehyde formula to preserve my remains. They injected formaldehyde into my stomach and chest cavity then they stitched my mouth shut and made sure to glue my eyes closed. Nothing so frightening as a dead person who eyes pop open while people are viewing the body.
A makeup person came in and touched up my now ashen face and hands so they would look somewhat normal to any viewers that came to visit me before burial. I was then dressed in a white shirt, tie and my blue suit, I can only assume because that was my choice long before my death. They gently lay me in a coffin and pushed it back into the cool room until viewing that evening at 9 pm.
Time seems to have lost all meaning now but I keep trying to remember what led to my death. It surely wasn’t suicide so someone must have killed me....murder?...it’s hard to imagine anyone I know wanting me dead, but someone must have.
The next night I was rolled out and placed in a viewing room for friends and family to come by and give their condolences—pretty much as I have done myself in the past. “Sorry for your loss” and all those comments about him being such a good friend. “He will be missed.” I recognized a lot of the voices as they filed by. It was kind of a surprise to me that a lot of my old friends found the time to come by.
Next morning I was carried down to the Mausoleum where a preacher stood by my coffin and delivered a stirring eulogy. Had he only known that I could hear every word he said, he may not have said so many nice things about me.
After the proceedings were finished, the undertakers pulled my coffin around to where my mausoleum was located and slid my coffin in, bolted the door shut and placed a floral arrangement in front of it for the family and friends to come and pay their final respects.
Now all is quiet again. The undertaker left my casket partially open so my body would mummify. That’s the main reason I bought a mausoleum to begin with. I didn’t want to lay in a sealed vault buried six feet under simmering in my own juices for eternity.
As I lay here with only my thoughts to keep me company I wonder how long will this go on. Will I be entombed with my many thoughts for eternity or will I eventually fade away? Only time will tell.
