Have you ever thought about death? Was it during your teenage years with all its inherent drama? When you married or had your first child? Or when your grandmother was dying of cancer, living out the last days of her shortened life? It’s only human for the living to think about dying. In my case, it began last summer.
I thought about death during my teen years, which were mostly spent at school. From 18-30 I raised my child and stepchildren. I remember summers at the beach and dark winter nights under our quilts, in front of a roaring fire. I remember their laughter, but now it fades away and out of my mind.
Lucy, time to make myself another cup of tea , I prodded myself. I watched the old kettle and listened to the old wall clock in the hall. I listened to the soft strokes of time and wondered about the last twenty years of my life. Where has all this time gone? Tick/tock. What will happen to my frail old body now?
The local postman skidded into my driveway and crossed the front lawn, leaving his daily tire mark in the same worn out grooves of dirt. It’s morning. The neighbor’s dog continuously barks—a daily routine—but the noise fades as the postman leaves.
I look out and see a pink envelope sticking out of my letterbox. Opening the seal, I find a pretty flyer—an advertisement for the local funeral parlor. How did they know I had cancer? Which doctor’s database did this company buy? Does everyone know that I’m going to die? I wondered as I slowly climbed the stairs.
I decided I would call them, but as I reached the top step my ankle twisted and I fell, hitting my head on the banister. “Oh it hurts,” I groaned. Everything’s blurry and I’m having trouble breathing. Will someone ever come? Did someone see me fall?
I lay there, waiting, until it became cooler and the shadows disappeared.No one came. Does anyone care? Why am I alone? Where is everyone? I was disoriented. I must have passed out cold. I heard the Kookaburras and knew it was another morning. The milkman arrived.
“Ms Lucy? Everything okay?”
I couldn’t reply. My tongue was dry and swollen. I presumed my mouth was open all night. I could hear an ambulance siren. It was coming closer. It was coming for me.
I felt myself being lifted up, but not into an ambulance. It was a hearse. I heard someone say “funeral.” The driver turned. It was him. He just shook his head with sorrow. His eyes were still the same. He snarled at me.
I reached for his mutilated hand but couldn’t find it in the dark. I love you, sir. Is that what you want to hear? It’s never too late. I really love you.
I heard him tell the milkman that I was finally dead. How could anyone let him anywhere near me? I can’t be dead. I can hear. Someone has to know!
Again, I tried in vain to reach out.Decisions = Destiny
Please don’t be sad. It’s not the end. I’m still here. I can see you from inside this box. Please, sir, don’t close the lid. Why can’t you see that I’m alive? Please don’t leave me. I don’t want to be buried alive!
Ends