Memory of Death
This is something that I do not
usually tell people. Open as I am, for some reason there are things of my past
that I wish would just go away.
It did go away, and so did other memories.
I don’t know what happened; maybe I did try to repress some memories, or maybe I do have a terrible long-term memory. The outcome of whichever is actually true is that there are very little things I can remember below
the age of 12.
However, now it’s coming back to me - mostly
bad memories, and I am just itching to share it.
This goes way back when I was
little, probably in my elementary years. I am not exactly sure, but I think I
was around 10. But then again, what do I know.
Here’s the thing:
I used to be deathly
afraid of death.
Don’t get me wrong, as much as I tease myself by
saying that I want to die, I still am very scared of the thought of it. What so
different about it was that I cried, and cried and cried because of this. Moreover, I seriously do not think a 10 year old crying himself
out of the fear of death is normal.
If you were wondering; no, I did not know anyone
that died around that time. I do not even think I had been to a funeral before
that time. The source is still obscure. But the fear was clearly there.
At first I was just afraid of the thought of
myself eventually die. It expanded. Explored further. I started to be even more afraid of the
thought of my parents dying. So much so that I prayed I would go before them.
And I was just 10.
It was always in the bathroom. Under the shower.
The water was hot (I enjoyed that). Red. The tiles were red (they are still
red). It was always during my afternoon showers.
I used to say "No", "Please
God, no",asked "Why?", eventually it became "Please
take me first" and "I do not want to see them die."
Surprisingly(?):
Nobody knew.
As far as I am concerned, no one in my
family knew. I would get out of the shower looking freshly showered,
invigorated, not at all showing emotions. They did not hear, I did not tell. I did not think it was necessary.
What bothered me even more now is that I have no
recollections of me coping with this. My theory is that I grew up and learned
to except the fact, and just forgot about all this. As if nothing ever happened.
The truth is:
Nothing happened in that red bathroom.
There were no prove of tears - the steaming water
washed them away. There were no sound of strained wails - the splashing of the water was
louder
But a lot did happen in my mind, my heart. Yeah. Hmm. I think
I still had one then.
