Friday, April 01, 2005

I've been thinking about death some more.
About how people wake up during heart attacks and can feel it as they die.

When it happened to my mom, she was alone in her room. I was at work, so was my dad. My sisters were asleep. I wonder if she tried to call out for help. If she thought, "No, I can't go yet! I have 3 kids that need me and I just got promoted at work." or if she was happy about it, once she realized she had been handed a pass to leave her confining life. What was the last thing she looked at? Is it in the room still? She was sleeping before it happened. Did she think it was a dream? How bad did it hurt? For how long? My sisters found her. I've never asked them what it was like. To shake her shoulders and try to wake her up and have her, their very own mother, hang in their hands like a mannican. Were her eyes open? That would've been freaky. Her eyes were big and bulgy like mine, but brighter and blue. Were they sunken in? How long does it take for the water to drain from someone's eyes once they die?

I also wonder about Mitch Hedberg, since I read that his wife was in the hotel room when he died. Did she see it happen? Did his eyes bug out and did he gasp and cough and what is there to do in that situation but watch? Did she tell him goodbye? Or was she sleeping when it happened? Did she wake up to find him collapsed and dead? Right next to her? Then what? There is the just-dead body of someone she loved, still warm. Did she want to hold him and sweep the hair from his face and did she expect to see living Mitch look up at her and smile? And what was it like once she finally realized he was a corpse, something scary? What was the last thing he said before his heart attack? Was it funny? Or something mundane like, "I'm hungry. Let's go get some dinner soon."

I wonder what mine will be like. I have a feeling I'll die in a similiar way. My heart forgets to beat sometimes. I hope it will give out before I get old and ugly. The only way I know how to relate to people is through flirting. And once I get too ugly to flirt.. I don't even want to think about how lonely I will be. Where will I be when I die? At home? What kind of home? A tiny, cluttered apartment I share with my cat? Or will I have a husband or a friend to live with? If not, who will find me? Will my blood run from my pores and through the floor and into my downstairs neighbors' apartment and that will be how they notice I'm dead? Or maybe I'll be rich and loved and have lots of friends and they will find me before I reek too badly. Will I die on a train? I bet I will.

Enough.
posted at 6:06 PM |