I have always had a problem with "death" and specifically any dead being...human or animal......they absolutely freak me out. I am writing this article to see if anyone else can relate, or tell me if this is "normal" or not. I am writing this article to get so much bottled up emotion out of my system and this is as good a time as any to do it.

I think my problem goes back to when I was a little girl in the Philippines. My first experience with death was when an old lady who was either a relative or an old friend of my mother's family passed away. There is or was (I dont know if it is still the same today) a custom in the Philippines when someone dies, they do not go to a funeral parlor. In the Philippines, the body lies "in state" in the living room of their home, so friends and family may come and pay their last respects.

This old lady lived in a huge house only a few streets away. I was always frightened of this house, it was huge and very old and looked like a haunted house to me. She also had a huge parlor just inside the front door...and she had wall to wall cages and cages of exotic birds...parrots, macaws and parakeets. What frightened me the most back then was how noisy they were. I dont know why I was very frightened of the noise, but to me they were so loud I used to put my hands over my ears to drown out the noise they made.

When this old lady died, my mother took us down to her house to pay our last respects. The first thing that stunned me was how quiet the birds were....I thought that was really spooky.

The second thing is...what I didnt know or realize at the time was, one of the things that is "common" is... you kiss this dead person on the forehead. Back in those days they didnt go through the same protocol they do these days, of making the dead person look presentable. Well not in the Philippines anyway. I remember my first vision of this dead person very distinctly even though I was only about 5 years old at the time...because I remember the fear that gripped me. I remember she had cotton balls stuffed in her nostrils, I remember she had a very slight smile and her teeth were very barely showing but there was cotton in her mouth too, and in her ears. I remember she looked very, very scary.

My mother picked me up by the waist and shoved me into the dead lady's coffin to kiss her forehead. I remember being so scared, I think I wet myself.....oh my God, it still creeps me out when I re-live that moment. It is probably one of my most horrendous experiences as a child (including when my Dad made me eat my pet pidgeons for dinner one night....have I mentioned that before?....that's another story).

The next experience was when I was in second grade...I was about 6 I guess....I went to a huge school that was from first grade right up to college in the one school....St Bernadette's....and the High School and College students used to try and scare us "little ones" every opportunity they got. I remember there was a huge field in the centre of the school grounds where we had assembly every morning....the primary school students (the "little ones" we used to be called) right up to the college students....it was HUGE!!

The older students used to tell us "little ones" horrible stories about this field being once a graveyard and there were many dead bodies buried there and during the night these bodies would come out and walk around. Even in the bright sunlight at assembly, we "little ones" used to freak out having to stand out there on this field.

One morning, the Mother Superior was up on the second floor balcony speaking to the assembly...the little ones right in front and gradually the older students lined up behind us. Mother Superior was standing in front of the microphone and was saying a prayer when all of a sudden a big gust of wind coming from inside the building, flung the huge double doors open behind her, and knocked her and the mic down the stairs in front of her. She fell all the way down and being quite elderly, unfortunately she died...almost right in front of us little ones....me among them. The horror was compounded by all the screams and for the little ones....well you can imagine the fear.

The next day assembly was called (there was no grief counselling back in those days, and you certainly dont get to take the rest of the week off, or anything like that, inspite of the tragedy that just happened) and we had to all go up to the school chapel where Mother Superior was "lying in State" in her coffin, a mass was being held and then we (the students) were to line up and pay our last respects. Well, there was no way on God's green earth was I going to kiss another dead body...not if my life depended on it...my fear really overwhelmed me and I took off. I  went and hid in the toilet block for what must have been a couple of hours, I remember I was shivering even though it was really hot. I did  get into trouble when they found me, but at least it was all over and I didnt have to go up to the chapel to pay my respects.

Shortly after that, my family moved to another city where we lived in a compound of 6 homes surrounded by a huge concrete wall. There was one massive iron gate leading to the centre of the compound which was a very pretty garden, shared by the occupiers of the 6 homes within that compound. Just outside the big iron gates...a few paces to the left of the wall, there was a little wooden shack where this little old man lived. He was very old and hunched over and I'm not sure if it was my over exaggerated imagination at the time or he really did have a hunch back. I can still picture him with a hunch back....so I dont really know.

Anyway, this old man ran a business from his little shack....he made coffins...of all things. On our way to school, my sister and I used to walk out of these gates every morning...and it was a very short walk to our school, but we always stopped to take a peek inside his shack if he wasnt around and peek at all the coffins made of wood, stacked up against the wall.

One afternoon, on our way home, as usual we didnt see him around so we snuck up to the shack to peer inside through one of the wooden slats and as we were peering inside, we saw two little coffins...obviously made for kids....and suddenly this man was behind us.... he tapped my sister on her shoulder and scared the very poop out of us. He told us the coffins were made for us....well that was it....we ran like heck  through the gates of the compound and never again went anywhere near his shack. I had nightmares for weeks after that, waiting for the day I was going to die and be placed in one of those little coffins.

These experiences had a profound effect on me and ever since, even in my adult years, I have not been able to go near anything or anyone that's died. Pets I had like birds, cats and dogs....when they died, I couldnt say goodbye because I just simply could not make myself go anywhere near them.

When my brother Christian passed away, I felt terrible because I couldnt go near his coffin to say goodbye...the fear made my legs like jelly and I just couldnt do it. The same thing happened when my father passed away, and when my mother (my very best friend in the whole world) passed away, I was with her and at the hospital, I couldnt go near her. That thought of not being able to say goodbye still haunts me today...I wish I was brave enough but I dont know where my courage was....I just simply could not do it.

My mother actually died at the ten-pin bowling center, not at the hospital.

Every Thursday night, she and I used to go league bowling. We had been members of this league for something like 5 years and she was actually the treasurer/secretary of the league. It was a mixed doubles league...meaning each team was a lady and a gent and we competed against each other for trophies at the end of the season. My Mom's partner in her team was the manager of the bowling centre, his name is Bo...and he and my mother were one of the best teams...my partner and I were somewhere down the bottom...lol.... It was my mothers job as treasurer to collect everyone's weekly fees which went to pay for the lanes and the trophy fund.

One Thursday night, as usual we did our thing and went bowling. I remember asking my mother why she was all dressed up and looking very pretty tonight...I joked about her having a "date" with someone after bowling. She just laughed and said, she'd just been to church that afternoon, which was very unusual for her, but she explained that she went to the church rectory to help with making the communion hosts (she used to do that quite often) and afterwards, the priest  held a very short mass for the people who volunteered. She came straight to the bowling centre from there. I was still surprised that she would do something like this on a Thursday...usually it was a Saturday morning thing and she and a few of her friends would do this and then have breakfast together after mass....anyway, I just let it go and thought nothing more of it.

I remember people commenting on how pretty she looked this night as they came up to pay for their bowling fees.

She was bowling on the lane right next to mine and after they finished their first game, she was happy because she and Bo won that game by a huge margin. I went up to congratulate her as usual...and the next minute she started fanning her face with both hands, saying she was feeling really hot.

Okay this is the menopausal hot flushes I hear so much about, so I told her to sit for a minute and it will pass, as it usually did it the past. Suddenly she slumped to the floor and passed out....and naturally I freaked. One of the other bowlers pulled me away and Bo went down on his knees to check on her and she had stopped breathing. He started CPR almost straightaway while someone else called an ambulance. I was so terrified, all I could do was sit there and watch what was going on. The whole bowling centre had come to a standstill, everyone was quiet and just stood watching, some were praying and some were crying...I cant remember whether I was doing one or the other or both...I think I was just stunned.

The ambulance finally arrived, Bo never stopped for a second with his CPR, and all I could remember thinking is how slowly the ambulance officers were walking towards my mother. I would have thought they would be running to her but instead it seemed like they were walking in slow motion.

Every memory I have of those moments at the bowling centre is pretty hazy...but the one thing I remember vividly is how upset I got when they finally got her on a gurney and started wheeling her out to the side door...which meant going right across all the lanes to get to the side entrance...everyone was standing there watching...and to my horror...my mother was on this gurney...Bo was kneeling on the gurney over her, still continuing CPR...shouldnt one of the paramedics be doing it instead??  ...and they had opened her buttons and her breasts were totally exposed to everyone as they wheeled her past. My mother was always a very prim and dignified lady....and I cant believe they couldnt put at least a sheet over her, surely CPR would work through a sheet.

Should this have been the least of my worries? Should I not have been thinking about this? Well at that very moment, that was all I could think about, I felt really terrible for her, she would have been mortified at the indignity of it all. I got into the ambulance with her and all the way into the hospital, Bo kept up CPR and the ambulance officer kept telling me she was still breathing...but I dont think she was.

At the hospital, they worked at reviving her for another 45 minutes and finally they called it and stopped. Bo and I were in that little room behind the reception desk...that little room where you sit and wait for someone to tell you they did their best but......

I remember while waiting to hear...Bo kept telling me that she would be okay...she was a strong, feisty lady....and she will pull through and go back to bowling and win the trophies at the end of the year.

I remember at one stage laughing because Bo had removed his bowling shoes back at the center, perhaps when he had to get on the gurney...and he had these very bright red pair of sox on....they just looked very comical at that time for some reason....or maybe because I tend to laugh when I'm nervous or distressed.

When the doctor finally came in and told us the bad news, I remember getting really angry with Bo and telling him off for saying that she was okay when she she wasnt. Poor Bo....I havent been able to apologize enough to him for the things I said to him that night...or to thank him enough for his relentless efforts at keeping her alive until she got to the hospital. He was very distraught for quite a few weeks after that night.

The nurse at the hospital asked if I wanted to go in to see her. I started shivering uncontrollably and as she walked me into the room, I saw my mother laying on the bed with this tube they had inserted into her throat...I completely freaked out and broke down and I couldnt go near her. The nurse kept saying it was okay...she was stroking mom's forehead and saying something like...she's peaceful now...and trying to get me to come over to the bed, but I couldnt. At the funeral home, same thing....I couldnt go to her coffin to say goodbye. This is the regret I will have for the rest of my life.

When my husband died suddenly in August 2001, the same thing happened. I found him dead in the bathroom.

That evening (a Friday night), we had our usual (take-out) dinner...Friday nights were cooking-free nights for me...we would either go to our favorite restaurant or get a take-out meal.....usually his favorite Japanese meal...miso soup, Teriyaki chicken, salad and a nice dessert. We had take-out that evening because he wanted an early night. The next morning he had to meet some building supervisors on site at 6am to check on some problem that had come up at the site.

So after dinner he had a shower and came out to the lounge room to say goodnight. He told me he was going to watch the rest of the football match on tv and go straight to sleep afterwards. I was watching a movie in the lounge-room so I told him I would stay up and finish watching the movie and then head off to bed myself.  

I could hear him in the bedroom....his usual excitement when he watches his favorite game...you know, yelling at the umpires or yelling at the players to "kick the f***ing ball, already!!!!.

I dozed off I guess and I woke up very suddenly....my cat Ashie, who was sleeping next to me, suddenly bolted and raced out the cat door like something had scared the poop out of her. I looked at the clock, it was 9.30pm...so I decided I would go and look for her and then go to bed. I went outside and she had wedged herself under an old wheelbarrow right behind the garden shed and would not come out. I decided to leave her for now and went back inside. (I believe this is the precise moment Allan passed away...I believe cats are very attuned to this sort of thing.)

I started watching another movie...while waiting for Ashie to come back inside and must have dozed off again. I woke up at 11.30pm according to the wall clock, so I went looking for Ashie again. She was still outside somewhere and obviously did not want to come inside for the night.

I noticed there was a light coming from the bedroom ensuite window, so I walked into the bedroom and the ensuite (bathroom) door was closed. I found that quite unusual...Allan (my husband) never closes the bathroom door....I used to complain about this a lot...but tonight it was closed. So I went back out to the lounge room to turn all the lights out, called Ashie a few more times, but she wouldnt come so I went back into the bedroom. I knocked on the bathroom door and asked Allan if he had fallen asleep in there.

After a few knocks with no answer, I opened the door and I found him, he was actually kneeling down in front of the toilet bowl like you would if you were throwing up. He had his arms crossed across his stomach and I could see the tips of his fingers had turned bluish. I noticed his ears were bluish too. Absolute panic hit me...I was alone, it was almost midnight....I grabbed the cordless phone and raced outside to my front yard and called the ambulance. They tried to get me to go back inside to check if he was still alive...and start CPR or mouth to mouth resuscitation but I kept screaming that I couldnt do it...I was scared beyond belief and there was no way I could go back inside the house, let alone go back into the bathroom.

If I had, would I have been able to resuscitate him? I will ask myself this question to the day I die, and I will always wonder and regret that I didnt do it. In fact I feel quite sick thinking about it right now.

One of my girlfriends lives about 5 minutes away so I called her and she came over. She tried to calm me down and told me she would go inside and check. She came back out and looked like a ghost. She said he had died and there's nothing either of us could do for him now. So we waited for the ambulance for about half an hour.....they said they were usually busy on Friday nights....and after two more calls, they came and confirmed he was dead, but they couldnt touch the body until the coroner got there. They said they had to report it to the police, the police would come and investigate, and the police would organize for the coroner to come and take Allan's body away.

The police got there at almost 1am, they asked me quite a few questions, my girlfriend must have answered most of them because I dont remember saying much except thinking I hope they werent thinking that I had killed him....I mean to say...what a stupid thing to think about....of course I didnt kill him...but I kept thinking that if I had gone in and tried the resuscitation, maybe I could have saved him.

The coroner didnt arrive until almost 3am and they placed his body in a black bag and as they were wheeling him out, they asked me if I wanted to say goodbye.....whereby I once again froze and couldnt go near him.

That is about all I can remember of that night, my girlfriend gave me a valium and I fell asleep in the lounge room....I couldnt even go into the bedroom and it took weeks before I could go into the ensuite bathroom.

The funeral was the same....not much memory....I couldnt go near his coffin, the service was so sad...he was too young...many of his friends were devastated and I just stayed very quiet to stay as calm as I could.

The coroner's report came back a few weeks later, he had died from a congenital heart defect, something that was never detected during his life...but over the years apparently there was scarring that finally blocked an artery and caused myocardial infarction or something along these lines....I dont really understand the report, I dont need to keep reading it to make heads nor tails of it.....it wont bring him back and it just upsets me everytime I have to think about it.

Death and taxes...they say are the two things you can always be sure of in your life. It happens to everyone yet it is such a difficult issue to deal with. I have not been able to talk to anybody at all about these experiences....this is the very first time I have opened up about it. A grief counsellor from the Organ Donor's Association (Allan was an organ donor) tried to help me, she got me to a grief psycho therapist but none of it worked for me. I couldnt talk about anything...any of it.......this is the first time, and I find it so "relieving" to finally lay it all out in the open. It seems easier to tell strangers or people I have not met face to face, so this is why I decided to write this article.

I will probably regret posting this here afterwards....but I think I've pretty much layed out quite a lot about myself already anyway...so what the heck.

For now, I am feeling a kind of relief I guess...from all these bottled up emotions, so this is like a sort of therapy for me. I dont even care if nobody reads it, I just feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders....and now someone knows that I feel very guilty about not going back into that bathroom to see if I could have saved Allan with CPR or mouth to mouth resuscitation....and I dont feel so alone with these feelings anymore....for me it is good that someone else knows.

The End