I was quite young when I saw my first dead person. A Mr Wurm had a hardware store in the building my grandmother had a beauty shop on the 2nd floor. His son committed suicide and for some reason my parents took me to the funeral home. He had a bandage over his forehead but other than that it looked like he was asleep, and his chest wasn’t moving. It felt weird being close to him. The odor was of flowers in the room, and the lights were dimmed. I kept wondering why he did that. His Dad closed the store and I never heard of him again, but I still remember his name.
I was about 11 or 12 and was delivering some kind of flyer for the boy scouts. New Bethlehem used to be on a railroad line with for real steam engines. The tracks went by my house by maybe 100 yards. I can still hear all those sounds. There was a siding before the railroad moved out and there must have been about 8 sidings. I’m not sure of the language here. Anyway, in delivering the flyers, I decided to take a shortcut across the railroad sidings. It was about 9 o’clock in the morning and I went to cross the tracks, I noticed a leg with a shoe on it. I had problems comprehending that it really was a leg….and as I got closer, there was an arm, all dirty with railroad gravel on it, and then a torso with the other arm and leg, and then the head. I suddenly realized it was the head of the father of one of my scouting friends. I’ve since been informed that Bimp is not the guys son but it’s in my replies/comments somewhere if you’re interested. Bimp Musser. I’ve forgotten how he got that nickname and now I don’t even remember his given name. I got help and left after police arrived. It was the first real trauma I ever saw and I can’t say it let me to my profession, but the shock value of seeing a torn up body may have. I had dreams of sewing him back together. Some years later, his son, my boy scout buddy…now of age…drank a full bottle of Vodka at the VFW, and died of acute alcohol poisoning. I was gone from New Bethlehem by then.
So, in continuing on the subject of death. For some reason, depression runs strongly in the Hayes side of the family. I sure hope I have not passed it on. The first time I was diagnosed with depression, I know damn well I was not depressed. The doc however, took priority. I may or may not write of the results of that…I’m just lucky to have survived and gone on to be a successful surgeon. I now fully admit I’m depressed. Have been so in the past with usually long intervals of “normal” between the bouts. I also feel I have plenty reason to be depressed now and guess I may have to go back to the doc. Dr. Antone Pitone M.D. was so very helpful but he had to leave me to take care of his father. Wish I had known him earlier. Then he passed me to a young Dr. Bass ? or Ross? I can never remember her name tho I saw her 4 or 5 times. Black lady, very nice to communicate with. Thought I was doing well on the meds but it’s getting worse. I know where all the guns and ammo are in the house. I know where all the drugs, esp. the right ones, are. I’ve even hoarded them for a while. It is starting to get scary to me. Not sure why it should be scary. In computer terms it’s little more than a toggle. A switch. Emotions run high. Little things set me off. Knowing I’m depressed and that it can get better is all that keeps me from hitting the toggle. I just realized this is published. Being new to blogging and my cynical nephew who is so intelligent it seems sad, won’t be there to answer any questions. (His choice) So, I guess I’ll just hit update and watch the wheels turn. Maybe if I write of something more interesting.