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| this picture is ten years older than this post |
I have been looking backward a lot lately. I find myself today, thinking on the past and attempting to attach it to my present. A day of reflection I suppose....
So, reflection. The first dead body I ever had to "deal with" was in a quaint little neighborhood in _______, Oregon. I must have been about 19. My mother and I had travelled from ________ to ________ in order to help my uncle take care of his small children while his wife was away. I think that was also the first time my mom and I had ever been on a trip together without my father and brother. It was high summer and very hot. As I write this I am realizing just how long ago this seems. I will be turning 40 in January. 40. I can hardly believe that I can say, "20 years ago..." and not have that place me in grade school. It certainly does not seem like "only yesterday" the day that my uncle's pager went off in his living room to alert him to a death does NOT seem like 20 years ago. The pager beeped, my Uncle made a phone call, and he then turned to me and said, "do you want to go with me?"...my destiny was born at that moment in time.
We arrived in a minivan at a house not unlike any other house. A quiet neighborhood of tree lined streets and sidewalks complete with children riding bicycles and laughing. The two uniformed police officers in the front yard with oxygen tanks and masks changed the mood considerably. My uncle was perplexed, he did not know that there was a fire involved with this death and he told me to wait in the car until he had figured out what was going on. He came back after a brief chat and simply said, "no fire. do you still want to do this?" I just nodded and got out of the car and headed towards the house. When we went through the front door we were immediately greeted by the most incredible odor. I had never even imagined such a smell. In was truly inconceivable. I would smell this fragrance many times in my life from this point on but I will never forget the first time. I really can not describe it properly with words but I suppose it is like cheese and meat and mold all gone incredibly wrong. It has a weight to it, a heaviness about it. Your body immediately understands that something is not right and that it is in your best interest to get the fuck away from it as fast as you can. It is almost genetic in the way it repulses your very core. I loved it. The cops were gagging and freaking out and we had not even gotten to the body yet. After snaking through the living room and through a kitchen with our cot, (a wheeled contraption not unlike a lightweight hospital bed with a zippered cover ) we finally arrived at a bedroom. That is where it was. I say "it" purposefully. This thing that was in a bed, covered in blanket was not a person, it had become something much less than that. Approximately 300 pounds of human flesh, covered in maggots, flies and grease. It was bloated past the point of having any real distinguishing features and was utterly still despite the fauna that moved frenetically across its girth. At this point one of the police officers gagged and eventually dry heaved his way out of the room. He simply could not take it. I loved that. I however was struck with awe. I had never imagined something so strange. I was reduced to absolute bewildering wonder at the sight of it all. Perfect little bedroom with books on the bedside table. A glass of water, half consumed, waiting patiently. Fly eggs pouring from a nostril.
Suffice to say it was a lot to deal with. What is amazing to look back on now is how pedestrian that has become to me. I am not sure at this point in my life if that is good or bad really. I see that sort of thing all the time now. It no longer has any effect on me other than being work. A job. Get it done and go to lunch.
So, the blog has changed. It will be varied. So what? Life is short and can tend to get ugly fast, savor every second.
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