By: Marcia King-Gamble
www.lovemarcia.com
I’ll tell you. I have the most incredible fear of anything
that is dead. Not in the sense of ghosts coming alive, more like a paralyzing
fear of anything with blood no longer running through its veins. I simply
cannot look at the dead, much less touch them. It’s creepy and scary to me,
regardless of how much I loved that person or animal.
How did this all get started?
If you’ve been following me, you know I grew up on a tiny
Caribbean Island where superstition and folklore was rampant. After sunset, old
wives tales of Rounces, Jumbies and half human creatures were said to come
alive. It didn’t help that back then I lived in the main town, and not the
country, though truth be told, many of the roads and streets were poorly lit.
It also didn’t help that at the age of eleven, my
grandfather died in the home. He had been ailing for a long time and bedridden.
I knew immediately something was wrong when I came home and found all the
windows wide open, something we seldom did because of the bugs.
Back then, dead bodies were seldom sent to funeral homes. The
one existing that I knew of, catered to the very wealthy. Average Joe/Josephine
had the embalmer come in; minimal as his job was
and certainly an antiquated process. I will spare you the graphic details.
Because of my grandfather’s death, my usually cool, calm, and collected grandmother, had many things to do. I was dispatched to run errands. One of my chores was to purchase as much ice as there was. Few people had central air conditioning, not sure if such a thing existed in our world. The ice would be used in combination with fans to keep the home cool. The body would be displayed in the living room so that friends and family could say their goodbyes.
My grandfather laid in state for exactly three days. For a child
my age, nights were agony. Neighbors and friends would gather to sing hymns and
say prayers. They would exchange stories of seeing the dead live or hearing his
footsteps come down the long hallway. I was scared to death every time I had to
walk by the coffin on the way to my bedroom. I made sure to keep my eyes
straight ahead. At one point, a cousin fell asleep. They wheeled the coffin
next to him so that when he woke up, he was staring into my grandfather’s face.
His screams are something I will never forget. It’s a memory
I still live with today. This is where
my phobia of the dead began.
Today, I will attend a wake or a funeral, but sit in the
back row. It is with difficulty I walk to the front to pay my respects. I’m not
being rude or uncaring, more like paralyzed. That embalmed face will haunt me for
weeks.
Flash forward, five months ago, I stepped out of my house with
my twelve-pound dog on a leash. Out of nowhere comes a pit bull who attacked my
dog and killed him. To make a long story short, it was hours before the police
would allow me to remove the body from my neighbor’s lawn. By then, I could not
look at my dog much less touch him. I had to have someone else remove him.
While some might think of me as selfish, I cannot hold a
favorite household pet while they are being euthanized. The thought of Fido
going limp in my arms has me breaking out in hives. Believe m,e I want to do the
right thing, but if the right thing involves a dead body, I just can’t.
What’s your phobia? What keeps you up at night? How do you
deal with your heart-pounding source of fright?
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About
Marcia King-Gamble
USA bestselling
romance writer, Marcia King-Gamble originally hails from a sunny Caribbean
island where the sky and ocean are the same mesmerizing shade of blue. This
former travel industry executive has spent most of life in the United States. A
National Bestselling author, Marcia has penned over 34 books and 8 novellas.
She has contributed to Michael Fiore’s DigitalRomanceInc and served as a
moderator on the now defunct eHarmony advice boards. Having witnessed the bad,
the ugly, and the not so good in relationships, she still prefers to write
about happily ever after. Caring for her animal family keeps her grounded and
sane.
Visit Marcia at
www.lovemarcia.com or “friend” her on Facebook: http://bit.ly/1MlnrIS
Be sure to join
her newsletter mailing list.
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4 comments:
Oh Marcia, I am saddened at the trauma your 11 year old self went through. In my family, the decision was made at my generation that we did not have to view the body. When I was in my 20's and my Aunt Ashley died, it was open casket. I sat in the back and did not go up. Same for my paternal grandfather.
However, my chosen profession had me in frequent contact with people who were disabled or elderly. I have reached the point where I can sit with someone and hold their hand as they pass. It took some doing, that's for sure.
And I do not think I could have reached this point if I'd had your growing up experiences. It takes supreme courage to know ourselves and to take care of ourselves in the face of other people's disregard. You are a shining model to me of how to do that.
What a sweet thing for you to say, Judith. I wish I could get to that point to hold someone's hand and comfort them as they transition.
Marcia - I can totally relate. I stand in the very back when there is an open casket funeral - terrifies me. I can't imagine being frightened like that as a child. Those experiences carry forward with us forever.
I am so, so sorry about your dog. How terrifying and sad. Thinking of you.
Deb
Thanks Deb. Yes, today I still have nightmares about both my grandfather dying and my dog being killed. Really should seek therapy. It's scarring.
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