My irrational and extreme fear of death and how it all started (Part one)

Here, I intend to tell you stories that shed some light on living life as a minor stroke. I want people who struggle with the same issues feel less lonely than I ever did. In this particular post, I am gonna reveal one of the darkest secrets about myself which kind of fired up the engine that drove me here. This story, my dearest readers is about death and how it changes everything around us (or at least how it changes everything around me) forever.

I didn’t realize death was such a big deal for me up until five years ago. I thought death happened to people I didn’t care about, or people who I slightly cared about but were really really old. But then it happened to someone close to me and messed me up for good. I blame my current status of minor strokism on death. Yeah, because the fear of death has left me partially paralyzed forever. And even when I want to reach out and break the spell (wanna know about the spell story? have a quick look at this one), I am physically unable. You know how it feels like? It feels like you are in one those nightmares where you are stuck in a pool of mud and the more you flounder, the more you sink in. that’s how death makes me feel. Now I tell you how it all started, the infinite battle between me and death.

 My Uncle Died.

My uncle (my mom’s brother) was 55 years old. He was a very nice big-hearted man. he helped a lot of people in his life and was very popular in the family. He had big plans for his life. He was planning to move to Canada with his family. So, no one expected him to die, especially not in the middle of a wedding party.

It was my cousin’s (my mother’s sister’s son) wedding party. As usual, I was no big fan of weddings because I had to put on a dress and act like a lady. I felt especially hideous, not the usual due-to-the-low-self-esteem hideous, but especial hideous, due to the unbearable amount of mascara on my eyelashes (which made my eyes look like two horizontal cockroaches) and the stupid peach dress and the flowery sandals I was wearing. I compared myself to my beautiful cousin (my uncle’s daughter). She was so elegant in her short black cocktail dress and those red high heels seemed to be made specially for her tiny marble feet. One quick look at her and I felt even more miserable in my peach dress.  Hopefully the part where you have to sit silently and elegantly in the bright florescent light and wait for the absurd matrimonial rituals to take place ended quickly and soon the florescent lights were off and the flashing red and green laser lights were on. As soon as I realized that people can’t see my stupid outfit and my cockroachy eyes, I felt better. I went on to the dance floor and danced the social anxiety out. The floor was pretty crowded; therefore, I was happy to be physically limited to the three or four dance moves that I knew. I danced with my sister, my cousin the groom, my other cousins, my brother-in-law and my uncle. I was pretty excited to see my uncle on the dance floor doing the crazy dance moves with us, jumping up on down. I remember clearly that at that moment, I admired his high spirit. In a moment as brief as a flash of light, I saw my uncle clearly under the red laser lights. He seemed very pale and I could count the big sweat drops on his forehead. It was the last time I saw my uncle. He oddly disappeared after the red flash of light and left me wondering whether he was dancing “too hard” or he had too much to drink. The party time was over, someone announced that the dinner was ready to be served in the adjoining hall. there it was, the florescent light and my special hideousness. My sister and I headed down to the dinner hall and waited a considerable amount of time in line to get to the stuffed chickens which was no longer stuffed when we got to it. When we were heading back to our table, I saw another of my cousin’s speaking to another of my cousins (I have too many cousins, okay?) warily. I read his lips: “perhaps he had too much to drink.” When we were heading back to our table, my sister and I realized that the main hall, especially the part where the groom’s relatives were sitting, seemed oddly empty. “They can’t all be in the dinner hall” I thought to myself. When we got to the table, my sister asked me to wait around the table in case someone came back and headed out to the garden to check and see if everything was okay. None of us touched our food. I waited there for a long time, not being able to sit down, fixating my eyes on the entrance door. I saw someone running through the hall, grabbing a coat and a bag, and running back out. It only took her 3 seconds to do all that. My heart was pounding against my chest. “why is she not coming back?” I constantly repeated in my head. Why wasn’t my sister coming back? The guests who sat around the table next to us were bunch of groom’s friends. They were laughing out loud and being noisy all the time I was standing there watching the door. One of them who just came through the entrance door approached them and said: “guys, guys, someone just died out there.” My feet could no longer handle my weight. I stumbled on one of the chairs and looked at the guy. He looked like and asshole. It seemed like a dog with a lot of extra saliva just licked his hair. “what a dumb fuck” I thought to myself, “who dies of having too much to drink?”. No one came in through the entrance door. The people around the next table went on saying the unfunniest jokes of human history and laughing out loud at each other’s comments and taking countless numbers of selfies. I mustered all my energy in my feet and stood up and walked right to the entrance door. I passed by a bunch of guys standing around and smoking cigarettes without noticing anything unusual. My heart was just about to slow down and my flood of all the ugliest and dirtiest swearing words was about to flow towards the stupid guy with the fake news and the dog-licked hair that I saw it. I saw a red high heel shoe in the middle of the pathway in the garden. It belonged to my cousin. the flood stopped and my heart started racing again. It was left there as if it was suddenly dropped out of someone’s feet while running. “Just like Cinderella” I said to myself. As I reached the garden’s entrance door, I saw the ambulance leaving. I looked around. Everyone I knew was out here and everyone I knew was crying. Mascaras were running down the once pretty faces, leaving a fade black trail behind. The fancy frim tie knots were now all loose around the necks of my cousins, my brother, and all the men waiting near the door. “he had a stroke” my sister came up to me and said, “they took him to the nearest hospital”.

On the way back home, we had not heard a word from hospital yet. I was scratching off my peach nail polish thinking that there will not be enough time to wipe them off when we were going to get ready for his funeral. I was right. Not about the nail polish. About him. He died before we got home.

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