Shuffling Off This Mortal Coil

When I was young the thought of dying was horrifying to me.  But, as I get older it does not hold the same level of fear for me as it once did.  I guess that is Mother Nature's way of preparing us for the inevitable.  But, this is not a piece about my own mortality but of all the people I've known who have preceded me in shuffling of this mortal coil. 

I think the first experience I had with some person dying was when Spicy's husband died when I was around three or four years of age.  I don't remember her last name.  All I ever knew was Spicy.  They lived on top of the hill right at the Martin/Johnson county line and that little piece of road was known as Spicy Gap.  See, back in Kentucky there were a lot of places named after someone who lived there.

I don't remember much about it except that my mother took me to the burying.  I remember this (to me) huge hole in the ground and asking my mother what it was.  She called it a 'bury hole' rather than a grave and said that was where they put people when they die.  I don't remember being upset or frightened of it but I do have a sense of unease when I remember it.

The first dead person I saw was Quiller Huff.  He was a man who lived up the hollow (holler) from us when we lived in West Van Lear.  The area where we lived was  called "Burglar Holler" though its real name was "Burger Hollow".   He comitted suicide when I was somewhere in the vicinity of eight years old. 

My mother made me go to his funeral though I cried, begged and threw a hissy fit not to go.  I did not want to see a dead person and, to this day, the sight of a corpse bothers me.  I'm not frightened.  I just would prefer not to be there. 

I really did not know Mr. Huff except by name so it was not all that personal to me except for being forced to attend his funeral.  The first people that dies that I actually knew were an elderly couple who lived across the little creek from where Mr. and Mrs. Huff lived.  I don't remember their names for sure but I think the woman's name was Bessie.  They were somebody my parents knew and my one memory of them while alive was of visiting the home with my mother and Bessie making me a hamburger.  I refused to eat it becaue she had "touched it whith her hands".   You need to put this in perspective since I loved hamburgers more than Wimpy on the Popeye cartoons. 

Anyway, one day they came home from the hospital and both lay down to take a nap and neither of them woke up.  Carbon Dioxide from an unvented gas heater did them in.  Just after the funeral my dad rented their house from some of the family.  I did NOT want to move there.  People had DIED in that house.  I threw another crying, begging, hissy fit and it did me just as much good as the one I threw about going to the funeral.  We moved anyhow.  In the end I'm glad we did.  It was the only house I lived in until I was married and moved to Paintsville that had indoor plumbing.  All in all the nicest house I lived in until I bought the home I live in currently.

From then, up through my early teen years I don't recall being impacted by death of a person.  Not to say I was not familiar with the death of a loved one but those loved ones were dogs that were pets until my dad killed them.  But, that is another whole story.

We left that nice house in Burglar Holler when I was thirteen and moved back to Nat's Creek so my mother could help my grandmother take care of my grandfather.It seems like ages but it was only around two years before he passed away.

I cannot think of my grandfather's passing without thinking of the two coffins he kept out in the "smokehouse".  See, he had Virgil Boyd to cut a large poplar tree on my dad's land and then had it sawed into boards and Virgil built two coffins from those boards.  One for my grandfather and one for my grandmother.  They were lined and cushoned and had a little pillow on one end to support the head.  I was told my grandfather even climbed into his to test it out for comfort. Sounds exactly like my family.

I don't remember the funeral though I do know where the grave is and I do know he did use that homemade coffin.  When my grandmother passed away though they gave her a "store bought" one.  Fancy coffins seems like a wast though.  Just going to lie under the dirt and rot away with time.  Its not like we believe, like the ancient Egyptians, in the need to preserve the body to ensure an after life.

I was fifteen when Poppy died.  I'm trying to remember who was the next to go in the line of people I've known but I think it was my aunt Burnice.  She was a diabetic and in her days there was not much in the way of treatment.  Then it was called "Sugar Diabetes" or just "The Sugar".  It was not as well understood then and there was very little treatment except to not eat things with sugar in them.  The country people did not realize all carbs turned into sugar in the body so she did not stay away from gravy and biscuits and other breads and starchy foods.  I recall she lost one foot and before she was released from the hospital she died.  I don't recall how old I was but according to my dad's bible she was sixty-six at the time of her death.

After I got married when I was nineteen there have been far too many deaths to go into detail about.  Trying to think of just how many.

Both parents.
Both Grandparents I knew.  My other grandparents died before I was born.
Both aunts and uncles I knew.  The ones on my dad's side I never knew.
Two of Aunt Burnice's children I knew well and another two or three I really did not know.
Two of Aunt Dixie's children and two of her daughter-in-laws.
One sister.
Three cousins in my age group I can remember.
One brother-in-law.
Ex father-in-law and mother-in-law and some assorted sons and daughters-in-law
A few of Aunt Burnice's sons-in-law.  I can't think of just how many.
One kid I went to grade school with in West Van Lear.
One high school fellow student I know of.  Could be more.
My best friend from high school's father.

Quite a few.  I'm probably leaving some out whom I'll remember later.  Comes from being born to aging parents and living to get to 59 1/2 myself. (So far).  Even the ones who are still living from my cousins are pushing anywhere from sixty to eighty.  Should I make it to eighty myself I'd say there are going to be very few of my family left to go to my funeral.  Does not really matter though as I won't know if there is anyone there or not.,

But there is going to be no "bury hole" for me when I go, however old I might live to see.  Even though I know I would not be aware at all I just cannot stand the thought of being confined in a small box under the ground.  Just give my body to the clensing flames when the time comes.