Dear dead people, please do not visit me. I am not an information point on your way between the worlds of the dead and the ones who still hang in here.
This is the sign I would like to place by the entrance to my mind.
Way too many times deceased friends and relatives visited me in my dreams. Why? You tell me. Is it my knotty imagination? A developed coping skill to deal with the loss? Mental disorder? Brain`s processing the information?
Or just dead people themselves?
Whatever it is, here are the three most memorable “contacts” that I had.
I raised my head, but it was too late
I make my way through the emerald bushes. I pass by garages covered with swear words and nasty drawings. I come out to the railroad hidden by the giant trees. My best friend`s brother is sitting on the railway tracks. He covers his head with his arms, swings his body and studies the dust on the ground. I sit next to him on the tracks and put my hand on his shoulder. He pushes it away. We sit next to each other. The silence is dropping from the trees, swimming in the greyish air, crawling between our feet.
‘You know…’ he says, ‘I raised my head, but it was too late!!’
The engine whistle hits us hard. I turn my head just to see the ominous yellow eye of the approaching train.
I wake up.
But granny, you are dead!
Our old flat in the provincial town feels dusty and stuffy. I enter the room and witness my grandmother sitting and talking to some plumbers. She is alive. They all turn their faces to me and I look down and put my hands into the jacket pockets.
‘What?’ asked my grandmother.
‘But…you are…’ I mumble.
‘Come help me in the kitchen!’ says she and leaves the room.
I stand in the kitchen and stare at her, ‘But, grandmother, you are dead!’
She doesn`t pay any attention to my words. I run into the room and say to the plumbers, ‘But she is dead!’
My grandmother appears at the door, ‘Don`t be silly! Dinner`s ready!’
I wake up.
I see this dream every week for a year.
‘But you are dead!’ I scream and look around. I can`t wrap my mind around it. ‘Why doesn`t anyone see that? She is dead!’
I glance at my grandmother and can see that her skin becomes dry and paper-like. It starts to fell out of her face.
I look her in the eyes and say, ‘You are dead!’
She looks angry and disappointed.
I wake up.
This is the last time I saw her.
Shut up and take it!
I stroll through the streets of my favorite city. Turn around the corner and bump into my gran grandmother.
‘Nan, what are you doing here?’
She grabs my hand and puts something in it.
‘Nan, where are you going? What`s that?’
She looks at me and says nothing. Out of nowhere, the crowd of people surrounds us. I turn around to see where they came from and when I look at my gran grandmother again, she`s gone. The crowd vanishes as fast and as unpredictable as it appears. I open my hand and look at the golden ring.
I wake up. This day I`ll discover that my gran grandmother is dead.
This article is part of the series “Deadly funny” scattered across the publications. I explore the relationship with death when you first get introduced to it. It can be funny. Deadly funny.
Do you remember the first time you met Death?
Check out other stories of the series “Deadly funny”.