The Mortis Brothers, And Mrs. Rodriguez...

I live a fairly busy life. I work home health, and this puts me on the go a lot. I spend far too much time in the car. Unlike times when I'm all alone cruising, belting out some "I Want It All" by Queen or a random Slipknot tune-  when I'm in a client's car, I find myself day dreaming and reveling in the silence. Since I've started this blog I've thought of topics that would really properly introduce my fascination with death, and why all roads I travel seem to wind me up in it's path. I don't live my life as one may think of someone who has a death fixation. I'm not a recluse. I don't typically wear all black. I don't sprawl across elaborate tombstones. No vampire fixation. No suicidal thoughts. I don't go looking for death, but it certainly seems to be a theme in my life.

My Buddy Death, Misunderstood and Alone

Working in medical settings for going on over 10 years now has certainly molded the way I see things. I have seen death in its most devastating fashions, and even in its most peaceful. Most people hearing a dead body was in a room, may u-turn and opt out of the viewing. Me on the other hand would be the person, most likely to ask if anyone needs a helping hand in moving it.

As I talked before on my previous entry, I began training and working for a local hospital around 2004. I started in skilled nursing, which put me in an old folks home. I remember my heart beating rather quickly when I was told my first resident had passed away. They were my responsiblity. Along with this, I quickly learned the procedure of "tending to the dead". Post mortem bath, fix them up to look as natural as possible, so the family could come to say goodbye. When that first patient of mine passed, the flash backs of unnatural gruesome deaths from my childhood swiftly washed over my thoughts, and I admit, I was a bit nervous.

Entering the room, I see my patient, simply sleeping, as it would appear. I stood over him looking down, waiting for his eyes to open, or the normal "Hello" he would give me in a meek confused voice. His dementia had sat in long before he knew me, but I swore in brief moments he remembered me. He hadn't given me the usual hard time he did in the first months that I took care of him, in quite some time. I grew rather fond of him. The nurse spoke to me from the bathroom, I can hear water running, the clunking of what I assume to be a bathing pan and soap. She was robotic, matter of fact, and methodic about the situation. I was still very new to this. I did what I only thought was right, I ungloved my hand, reached down and held his hand. Still warm, I was relieved but my heart continued to race. He didn't reach back as usual, and this was an odd sensation.

This was my first bout with death in my career. Uneventful and peaceful. It wouldnt always be this way over the next 10 years.

The Mortis Brothers

These guys have all visited me more than once. And there's no doubt they're definitely what makes the organics of death a little more nerve racking to deal with. I've met them all, although one more frequently than the other two. Witnessing death on hundreds of occasions in a hospital setting, normally death is clean and uneventful. But other times death throws us a curve ball to keep one on its toes. Before I go further, I guess I should introduce these 3 guys.


Algor Mortis: This guy is the one I've had the pleasure of hanging out with the most. Being a hospital, or even a home, he always shows. Many think that a mortuary or coroner swiftly swoops you up when you die, but this is far from the truth. Sometimes this procedure can take hours. (I will go into that by the end of this) As the blood flow stops, temperatures decrease. The body goes to an ambient temperature, then cold. The beautiful depth and black of the eyes began to fade into a pearlescent white.

This is Algor. Hello Algor.




Livor Mortis: Now Livor is someone I've probably had the least dealings with, but believe it or not, he has come to visit occasionally. Especially when someone is hanging onto their last breath for quite sometime. Death can come slow in the hospital world, no thanks to life sustaining drugs and equipment. On those rare occasions I have witnessed, "keep grandpa alive until Johnny from Istanbul gets here". Livor is known as the lazy brother. He just manages to settle and nestle into the lower portions of your body and extremities. He is the pooling and stagnation of blood, that has no where to go. You will notice this in red to purple fingers, legs, feet and buttocks. He isn't kind to our looks. I have seen him even turn a pretty face into strange muted purple tones. This is where my thoughts of zombies and grotesqueness kick in. Lividity kinda bothers me. He can really make a human body take on another persona.

This is Livor. And a hello to you, Livor.

Rigor Mortis: Boy where to start? This brother. The prankster. Rigor is defined as, "the stiffening of the body, the depletion of adenosine triposhpate in the muscle fibers." My run in's with Rigor have always been unwelcome, although after falling for his pranks more than once, I have learned to avoid this through simple techniques; A towel roll under the chin, keeping the body flat, arms to the side, etc. He is usually the last one to the party. 6 hours or so after Death makes his first appearance, Rigor comes to stir things up. You'd think, "6 hours? how can she know of 6 hours? She's worked in hospitals, no one dead stays in a hospital for 6+ hours." Contraire mon frère!!! You would be surprised. People's customs often leave a family member in their beds for hours on end. And even on occasion when the family has left, the on call mortuary is slammed and their arrival times can be delay. So yes, Mr. Smith who just died? He could be your roommate for the next 8 hours.

This is Rigor. Say hello Rigor. Hello!

That Prankster

Now here is where I go into my story telling portion of this entry. Her name has obviously been changed for the protect of my patient. God rest her soul.

Mrs. Rodriguez was a colorful lady. She spent her time on my hospital floor for months. She spoke little to no English, but her and I seemed to hit it off well. As with most of my patients she appreciated the fact I did my patient care unrushed, for the most part. I had no problem taking the extra few minutes to talk, or to make sure you had your tooth brush and such. My job, you have to understand, was fast in nature.

Being a nursing aide, I had days where it was solely my responsibility to do vital signs, pass trays and bathe in excess of up to 30+ patients a day. Most days weren't this way, but there were certainly days that were JUST LIKE THAT. The floor Mrs. Rodriguez and I met on was especially busy. I worked on a Med-Surg floor where we had patients from fairly long term, to isolation, to 51/50 holds, to pediatrics, to ETOH (ethanol alcohol withdrawls), to surgical prep, to...well....you name it. My floor was the place to be if you had something major going on. Parked right next to the ICU, we had no shortage of excitement. 

Mrs. Rodriguez's room sat at the quiet end of the hall. I used this room often to stop in for 5 minutes, catch up on whatever talk show was on, or scores for the football game. Despite the language barrier, she would pat her bed, offering me to sit. I would sometimes gladly oblige her and do so. I knew enough Spanish, her enough English, that we would hold conversation enough to understand how each other's days were going. I really liked her, and she was a bit of a comedian, much like myself. She had a fantastic sense of humor. We would make silly faces about the stiff doctors who would come in. Aides, Physical Therapists, Dieticians; no one was safe from our jokes.

One afternoon an overly helpful dietician brought in a huge plate of food and insisted opening everything for her, despite her protesting the meal. Mrs. Rodriguez waved her hands and repeated herself till she was blue in the face "No! no, no, no, gracias, nooooo" I witnessed her reach over her bed rail, grab a trash can, and toss an entire plate of hot lasagna into the trash all the while smiling. Nothing kept her from smiling and no language barrier could block out a good sense of humor between two comedians. I laughed so hard. It's as if she found her state amusing and no one else was allowed in on her joke, except me.

One thing loomed over our comedy, and that was the fact she was dying. There were no if, ands, or buts about it. Mrs. Rodriguez had made her decision. No more tests, no more huge meals, no more needles, no more prodding.....just let her be. Anytime someone would come in and try to persuade her one way or the other, family or staff, her demeanor would change from happy-go-lucky to stern. Her wishes were granted.

It was apparent she was a woman of strong faith. Although I do not consider myself a religious person, I am undoubtedly spiritual. She clung tightly to her rosary and prayed often, and on occasion I bowed my head and prayed with her.

Wisdom 1:12-14 "Seek not death in the error of your life, neither procure ye destruction by the works of your hands. For God made not death, neither hath He pleasure in the destruction of the living. For He created all things that they might be: and he made the nations of the earth for health: and there is no poison of destruction in them, nor kingdom of hell upon the earth."

The morning of her passing, just before her time, I noticed a change. She was quiet, and non-responsive. She was peaceful, and she had a slight smile on her face. I let her be and only moved her when necessary to keep her comfortable. She never moaned or complained. I spoke to her as I did everyday. I explained what I was doing despite our language barrier. I decided that she felt chilly, so I went to fetch an extra blanket for her. When I returned, Mrs. Rodriguez took a deep breath and she was gone. Just like that......

Her passing was so peaceful. And I felt happy for her, it's what she wanted. She still bore the smile she gave me all morning. The phone calls began. I went about brushing her hair, washing her face and propping her up beautifully, still wearing her natural smile. She actually looked very pretty in her state. Natural. Its as if she were peacefully sleeping. This is the death state I loved the most. The content one. Unlike most deaths where the light goes out, I felt as if she still lingered in the room, possibly cracking jokes with me and rolling our eyes at the stiff doctors who marched in and out. I felt as if she had left me a gift, a thank you. 

Family began to pour in. We couldnt find enough chairs to accomodate her large family. I thought to myself how lucky we were that her roomate had left only a day or two prior. We brought in tables of water, coffee and snacks. People sat around and laughed. Its apparent she was loved. This went on over three-fourths of my 12 hour shift. People would come, people would go. I was actually shocked by how many people came. While many cried, many laughed. It was apparent that her beautiful sense of humor was passed down to the many children that came after her. Laughter was a big part of their family and I felt blessed to be in the middle of it. One lady who introduced herself as a grandchild of hers, shook my hand and thanked me. She told me her grandmother truly appreciated the discretion and time I took with her. She knew my shift and she knew her bad days vs. not so good days by when I would be at work. I choked up at this. I hadn't realize how much my time impacted her in her last months in my hospital room.

As the late afternoon came, people began to leave. Mexicans and their culture are accustomed to long vigils for their dead. I just had never seen one take place for so long from with a hosptial room. She received hugs, kisses, and prayers as each left. She still sat as beautifully as ever, smiling, only looking slight pallor than the earlier morning hours. I gathered a collegue of mine who had just came on shift to assist me in prepping Mrs. Rodriguez and doing the painstaking task of putting her in a body bag, for her final send off. The nurse made the appropriate calls to have her picked up.

Behind me was the bathroom were another nurse took the bathing bucket and wash cloths. I grabbed the remote to lay the bed down and began to lower the head of her bed. The nurse still in the restroom asked me a question about how long she had been deceased now and I turned to answer her. I told her about the large group of family who came to say good bye. Hearing the bed stop drew my attention back to my task. As I turned, I was startled to see the Mrs. Rodriguez was still sitting straight up, despite her bed being flat. I was horrified!I stopped talking mid-sentence and I just stood and stared at her still smiling. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. How did I make this mistake of letting her sit up for so long? Apparently my sudden silence prompted my help to stop what she was doing in the restroom and she came to ask me what I was doing and she stopped mid-sentence and stood beside me. We both just stood and stared. Unbelievable. Damnit Rigor.

My partner gushed,"Oh my God!" and I couldn't think of anything more appropriate to do than laugh. She turned and squared with me alittle, "How can you laugh at that?" I shook my head and all I could say was "Holy shit". I knew her personality. She was funny in life, and funny in death. Her present situation couldn't have been more appropriate. I went from giggling, to slightly hysterical. I could only respond at how funny she was, that it would figure that it would be her to throw me for a loop despite my years of experience with death and rigor mortis, she really showed me. Pretty soon we were both laughing. Once we had it out of our system, we fetched the head nurse to figure out how we were going to get Mrs. Rodriguez into her body bag. THAT is awhole 'nother blog entry.

Honestly, I had never seen such a thing before or since. You can't make this stuff up. Thank you Mrs. Rodriguez for your humor, and allowing your beautiful spirit to show me not to take life so seriously. She was yet another factor that changed my view on death, forever.

I Corinthians 15:51-58 "Behold, I tell you a mystery. We shall all indeed rise again: but we shall not all be changed. In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet: for the trumpet shall sound and the dead shall rise again incorruptible. And we shall be changed. For this corruptible must put on incorruption: and this mortal must put on immortality. And when this mortal hath put on immortality, then shall come to pass the saying that is written: Death is swallowed up in victory. O death, where is thy victory? O death, where is thy sting? Now the sting of death is sin: and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, who hath given us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. Therefore, my beloved brethren, be ye steadfast and unmoveable: always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that your labour is not in vain in the Lord."

Dia De Los Muertos: Day of the Dead is a Mexican holiday celebrated throughout Mexico and around the world in other cultures. The holiday focuses on gatherings of family and friends to pray for and remember friends and family members who have died. ...

Memento Mori: remember that you will die

Where to begin....

Introduction, a Rambling...

It's funny how some of the things I detested most, are the things I find most comforting now. Writing. Writing was a painstaking chore for me, well, at least any type of thought evoking school work was. And Death. Death horrified me. Anytime someone so much as mentioned a death in close proximity to me, geographically or on a personal level, it somehow manifested in my head as a gruesome zombie-type monstrosity.

I had a great imagination, and I loved to tell stories, but the strain of any classroom setting, stole the joy I found in little things such as writing. It wasn't until I was about half way through grade school, did I realize my potential. I was actually quite a decent writer. Usually most of my creative process came from spurt of the moment, dream like thoughts I had in my head. I often found myself day dreaming, and would find myself quite content in the quiet confines of my own mind. 

I grew up a nervous child. I feared pretty much anything. I was a firm believer of the Boogey man. I had an older brother who was sci-fi and horror flick obsessed. I can recall the numerous amounts of nights I'd awaken to a rubber mask Wolf man or a Creature from the Blue Lagoon sitting at the end of my bed, only to have arms reach out and swipe at me. I terrified of the Elephant Man, thanks again to my brother. His idea of baby sitting was watching "The Thing" with his 8 years junior sister. I would grip my eyes so tight they hurt. My body would protest to bloody curdling screams of these films, heart pounding, nerve shattering. I feared ghosts. I feared aliens. I feared demons. I feared the deformed. I feared pretty much everything. 

My hair would raise on end at the most unexpected times. Even when no Wolf Man was at the end of my bed, no horror flicks, no dark fall. I would feel my heart race suddenly with fear, when I least expected it. I would simply be walking down the hall and I would feel the sudden urgency to move quickly. I didn't understand. I was afraid of something I couldn't see, but I could only feel.

With every single ounce of my body, I could feel it. Like every fiber of my soul was on alert, the only way I could react would be to MOVE.

At 8 years old, I had my first experience of true terror, when I awoke to a man at the end of my bed. This man was definitely not my brother. He was a luminescent figure. No distinguishing features, just a glowing silhouette of light. I was frozen with fear, I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. I could only sit, paralyzed with my eyes wide open from the confines of my bed. He never advanced, only stood and observed. This opened a whole new world for me. From poorly done Hollywood horror effects, to a tangible figure. My level of fear catapulted into full on paranoia. This man appeared to me on several occasions. Sometimes not for months, other times for nights on end. It seemed the more he visited, the closer he would get, until finally felt him upon me; suffocating and choking. I tried to talk to my parents, but of course, no one believed me. 

They must have thought I was crazy...

The home life I lived was less than the Cleavers, but to me it was all I knew. I wouldn't realize until much later in life, that the way I was raised was less than conventional. If anything some might say it was completely abnormal. Without getting into the jest of my upbringing....I will just say, it was all I knew. Maybe on another day I might wish to delve deeper, but today I will just concentrate on what's brought me to writing today. 

I lost my mother at 13 years old. As a young child I was exposed very quickly to what death was about. The organics of it, the sorrow, the funeral, the smell of a mortuary, the buzz of a urgent hospital room, the loss, the pain, the overwhelming empty promises of "if there's anything I can do's", to the never heard from again. I felt it all, much too young, but amidst this chaos, I realized something. With all the darkness and sorrow with such a loss, somehow this odious experience, I felt alive. 

This set the frame work for my life in motion. The loss although wretched, the pain made me feel exhilarated. The pain in my chest from the loss, horrible, but I felt my heart beating wildly. The tears that fell from my eyes, burning, but yet I could see clearly. The overwhelming ocean of anxiety in my stomach, nauseating, but I was still breathing. Each gasp for air, I pulled in more life. I was alive, I was living. I was undergoing the human experience. Every emotion. Painful but I was living it.

So began my obsession. Here I am this kid who had survived the most devastating thing a child could; the loss of a parent. I had friends who experienced loss, and I found myself gravitating to them. I felt the exhilaration again. I became curious. I felt at my best when helping a friend deal with grief. I went from being the kid who feared death, to the kid who wanted to be the first to peek in the casket at a funeral. The morbid thoughts in my head of zombies subsided. Death wasn't scary for me anymore. 

Somehow almost by destiny, I became a nursing aide. This put me at the bedside of hundreds who were dying. First with the old, then as my career blossomed, to the bedsides of the young. I felt the pain and the sorrow again, but this time as an observer rather than a victim. On that rare occassion I felt that victimization again and it would break me. But somehow, I felt a comfort in helping people through this transition. Death was not a grotesque thing anymore. It did not appall me anymore. It became a thing of beauty. A transition of life here on earth, to that of which we are meant to go to...the afterlife. 

I also discovered later into my 20s, by accident a condition called sleep paralysis. I was watching Montel Williams one day and these people began to talk about figures at the end of their beds, sometimes advancing on them, terrifying them. The paralysis that set in, and how they discovered they only had sleep paralysis. For once the illuminating man at the end of my bed made sense, or did he?

With an intelligent and curious mind, the human spirit began to fascinate me again, as it did when I was a child. But, I did not fear it anymore.

Death has become such a huge part of my life, Ive found myself seeking for answers of the afterlife. The ghosts I once feared, I felt a kin ship with. I felt them upon me, surrounding me at times. Peeking at me curiously from dark corners of the room, and occassionally I would hear them. They were no longer something I feared at the end of my bed. I began to pursue them. I began to find myself in graveyards, seeking these spirits. I then found myself founding a team of investigators who sought them. 

My obsession has lead to something productive. This crazy little thing that sits in the back of my mind, a morbid fascination that I can't ignore, finally has found its way of comforting me again. The beauty I find in death. The serenity I find in graveyards. The curiosity I have about the organics of the human body. The mystery of the human brain. The delicacy of the human soul. 

I feel exhilarated again, so I write. A collection of the macabre world that I adore.

Memento Mori, 'remember that you will die'. 

We will all experience it, We will all wish for it to never come, we may all damn it for robbing us, we may even beg for it to take us home....

But not matter what, we will all face it, inevitably....