It was never about my grand-aunt's asphyxiation

After the death of my father I had to grow up and become head of a family. I could not take any photographs at all until I was reminded of a story about my grand-aunt, who was buried twice. It became my passkey to the idea of dying without feeling guilt.

This was supposed to be about my grand-aunt, who got poisoned with carbon monoxide in the 1930s. When she was being transferred to the family chapel, the coffin fell off the wagon and opened. The body had disheveled hair, her fingernails were ripped off and covered in blood, the inside of the coffin was horrifyingly scratched. She must have asphyxiated twice then. This tale has been revolving around my family as well as my hometown.

I would often talk with my dad about how we would like to be buried - I think it was because of our nostalgic nature. His wish was to be cremated and so is mine. In 2019 I had this unpleasant duty to honor his wish.

It was out of a blue. Mom asked me to go to a local hospital because my father was taken there few hours before, during the night. At 6:30 a.m. I got to the place with the plastic bag full of hospital’s must-haves and accidentally witnessed my dad’s sloppy resuscitation. In the movies the staff is always in hurry and they would fight for the person’s life. It was nothing like that in this case, but I did not realize it at a time. They simply did not seem to care.

Doctor passed me „the news” like he was telling me what he had for dinner. I could not believe it, I have curled myself up and dropped the bag on the floor. I asked if I could see my dad to his surprise.

There was another patient in the room, scared to death, with mess surrounding us all over the place. At first, I took a picture and then started to check if „the news” was true. I cried. I was kissing and hugging him. I begged him to come back. All of this happened in front of this other poor patient.

In 2024 I figured this story is not about my grand-aunt and the very same chapel my father lays in, but about my trauma, this experience I described a few lines above, about longing and about the guilt caused by not longing after some time. This way I could explore my feelings and fantasies in a safer manner for my mental health.

Over the course of time the idea of dying has ingrained in me, became a natural part of my being and I feel like I can breathe again.