I saw my grandad's corpse when I was about nine.
It was in the hospital mortuary. I'd been given the option to go. I didn't have to but I wanted to go and see him. I had come to terms with the fact that everyone dies at some point when I was about seven.

He'd been suffering with cancer but it was kidney failure that finished him off. He was yellow and some a couple of his fingers were purply-blue from where he'd had drips in. He looked exactly how I remember him, only yellower, obviously.

It didn't scare me. It really didn't. I don't know what I'd been expecting. I'd been more scared before I'd actually gone in to see him but when I saw him, I was okay. It's weird and I can't quite explain it.

Death is a part of life. Having nearly died when I was three from meningitis (I'd had the last rites), I'd sort of always had some sort of interest in death (LOLOLOLGOTH).

I realise this isn't particularly interesting or funny but there we are. Sometimes death just isn't funny.
( Blue Star was working part time at the 5 and Dime, Thu 28 Feb 2008, 17:25, 1 reply)

It's not that odd being interested in death.
Having nearly died twice, once when my mum miscarried my twin and she went on a massive bender, which nearly succeeded in making me a natural abortion too.

I was also born jaundiced due to a gene defect on her side, so I also have a pretty keen interest in death, and have seen my brother *almost* die on several occasions, I'm also really suprised he doesn't have brain damage.
(Maccy Divided by 0 on, Thu 28 Feb 2008, 17:54, closed)