My son, Andrew, is the youngest of my 5 children. He has two nicknames that I call him: Sunshine (on my shoulder) and Monkey. He got his first Curious George stuffed toy when he was very little because he was always incredibly curious. I called him "Sunshine","George" or "Monkey" so much I wasn't sure he would even know his real name.
He has always been a very curious monkey.
He was about 10 when he started coming to the funeral home to hang out with me on weekends. This continued until he was 13 years old. Everyone loved having him there, and he liked being there as well. Most of the time he was playing his video games, but sometimes he would help me out with funeral stuff.
I was fine with him wanting to see the other side of life.
Death.
And he embraced it with such incredible bravery. Sometimes he would help me arrange service folders, or run and get something I needed from downstairs, as well as other tasks. But always, if there was a deceased person in the funeral home, I would ask him to come and meet them.
I would tell him their story. _____________________
(The photo to the left is Andrew and me at a "Walk for Diabetes". We were a part of the team from the funeral home. Andrew was about 12 years old)______________________
If there was someone who had died by means of a cautionary tale, I especially wanted him to hear their stories. Suicide, motorcycle accident, or drunk driving. Of course I didn't enjoy the fact that they were dead, but I sucked up every moment to teach my son that his life was precious and not to throw it away. We had some very deep discussions about how someone reaches the point to take their own life, about drinking and driving, and about how much I hated motorcycles. He also greeted the elderly who had amazing lives, and how and why we honor Veterans. He learned to honor death, and the dead themselves. I would like to think that if the person laying in the coffin were still alive, they would like that I was telling my son some of their stories and cautionary tales that would change the way he viewed and valued his life.
Many times, if I was touching up the make up of someone in our chapel, or helping the un-embalmed look more presentable for their family, I would call Andrew in to get his opinion about how they looked. Did they look alive? Too much blush? Do they smell? (I have no sense of smell). It was nice to have an unbiased opinion. And Andrew would always rise to the occasion and tell me what he thought, and what I might do to make them look better.
**** Let me stop right here for all of you that are disgusted with me right now. I can hear you. "How could she make her 10 year old look at dead people????"
So I'll add this disclaimer so you can keep on reading without judgement:
Andrew was never forced to approach the dead. I did not want him to fear death so I encouraged it, but never forced him. If he didn't want to, he didn't. He was a willing participant. And it actually wasn't until he was 13 when he decided to say, "No" on a more regular basis.****
There were, however, a couple of young people that came through our funeral home whose stories he needed to hear in spite of whether or not he was up close and personal with the casket. So if he didn't want to see the face of the teenager that was dead because of drinking and partying with his friends, or the 25 year old who (according to his friends) was a "risk taker" on his motorcycle, that was okay.
But I did make him stand at the other end of the chapel so he could at least see the open casket that their families had to see. I would, as always, tell him their names and what kind of loves they left behind. He would ask incredibly mature questions and then would go back to playing video games.
Andrew always was, and is, such a balanced individual. He has learned lessons from the dead and from his siblings. He has taken in the stories of others and informed and formed his own life. I was discussing this Blog with his just today (at 16 years old now) and asked him what hanging around the funeral home and seeing the dead meant to him. He said that he learned that you could die at any moment, and that you just never know. So he lives his life to the fullest and doesn't waste a moment. He also said that he won't ever drive high or drunk nor will he get into a car with anyone that is of an altered state. He has seen what can happen. He is a remarkable human being.And much braver than I am.
As I said in the last Blog, I had spent many hours alone, at night, with a deceased person in our chapel, and felt no fear. But in 2015 I was sadly leaving the Burbank funeral home to go work at another job. At that time I had been doing a lot of reorganizing and cleaning out closets etc. because there were plans to renovate the funeral home in the works.
The back room used to be where, many years before, they would embalm and dress, and make-up the deceased. Now, there was a "care center" off site that handled all of that and the loved ones were brought in when they were ready.
One of the cabinets had rollers on the bottom, but no one had moved it in years and years. We had heard the rumor that underneath it there was the entrance to a basement. Basically a hole in the floor that led to who knows where.
NO ONE that currently worked at that funeral home was willing to go in.
So one night...yes, I said "night", after the funeral home had closed, Andrew and I decided we were going to check it out. I was acting so cocky, like I was the Bravest Bitch in town because no one else in that funeral home wanted to go see if there were bones in the basement (We had a very vivid imagination when it came to the basement). Which only intensified our excitement and anxiety even more. WE BOTH WERE AVID WATCHERS OF GHOST ADVENTURES...
This photo you see is obviously not the funeral home. But it was the best visual of what the creepy opening to the basement looked like. Picture a very bright and sterile looking room... got it? Now in the floor of this sterile, old and kinda gross room, was a 3 x 3 foot cut out. It had latches, two on each side. We clicked them, one by one and with each click we became more anxious.
Once all the latches were open, I had Andrew stand back so I could lift the "floor-door" up. When I did that, my legs went weak and I quite suddenly became a fearful chicken. All of those times I watched Ghost Adventures wishing I was a part of their team so I could actually hear the dead answer back... Oh man! The reality is you never know how you're going to react to a situation once it slams you in the face.
And I chickened out. Big time! I guess I thought a big scary zombie was going to come out and grab me (Ugh, imagination can get away with you).
But this brave, and curious little 13 year old Monkey, said, "I'll go!"
****Now here is where you can rightfully judge me for a bad parenting decision....
I said, "Really?? Okay!"****
We tried to see into the basement but it was, obviously, completely dark. Andrew laid on the floor right next to the gaping square hole and managed to spot a light bulb hanging from the ceiling. A single light bulb. It was getting creepier.
We also observed a step ladder leading to the ground of the basement, about 6 feet under ground. Six feet........ In order for Andrew to reach the light bulb he had to step down a couple of the steps on the ladder. It was creaky and really old. Once he turned on the light, it shed a very yellow light over all of the basement area. It was a dirt floor, and there was stuff down there! Treasures!? Bones!?!
So with no obvious signs of skeletons, the brave little Andrew Monkey proceeded all the way down the stairs.
"It's not creepy at all Mom", he said casually.
Maybe for him it wasn't.
But I was, as my ever-so-colorful father used to say, "Shitting bricks", but I wasn't going to let Andrew see me sweat. I reluctantly climbed down the stairs. I didn't, after all, want some entity attacking my child. I would have had to go all "Mama Bear" on their ghostly ass...
We were finally down in the belly of the funeral home beast! A place where even the most seasoned Funeral Arranger wouldn't dare go! We conquered fear!!! But it was all led by my 13 year old.
The basement was about 12 x 10 feet, dirt floor with deep crawl space pockets at the top on all sides, so for about 4-5 feet around
There was some furniture, lamps, old framed photos and certificates, and plans. Lots of plans.
But no bones, no bodies, no voices, no little white lights traveling across the room, and no ghosts.
We were a little disappointed, to be frank.
But alas, we had gone on a really creepy adventure and the curious George Andrew Monkey was braver than I. He has shown, over and over again in his short life that he is not afraid to embrace life, not afraid to take smart chances, or enter into a situation that might be scary for most.
So you may judge my parenting styles. that's okay. I am confident with my choices. And I know that his time in the funeral home, and even in the creepy little basement, made him a better young man. Or a better Monkey, I should say.
Shelly Livingston
Youtuber, Blogger, Wife, Mom, Artist, Minister, Italian Girl
You Tube "Life Creates Art" (Click)
Facebook @artlifebyshelly (Click)
shellyslifecreatesart@gmail.com
View our Recommendation Store on Kit.com!!! https://kit.com/LifeCreatesArt?tab=analytics
Or Click on the Amazon link at the top of the page and do your Amazon shopping! It helps support us as we get a couple percents (%%) of what you purchase! We would appreciate your support! We'd like to keep doing this!
No comments:
Post a Comment