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Ask a Funeral Director

2011.09.01 21:02 OKfuneraldirector Ask a Funeral Director

Welcome to AskFuneralDirectors! A place to ask questions or post information about Funerals, Embalming, Cemeteries, Cremation, or anything in the Death Care Industry. Please check out our FAQs and helpful information below...
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2014.02.13 22:31 artisurn Cremation: Discussion & Cremation

Respectful discussion on the topic of cremation for your loved ones and pets.
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2023.06.02 16:37 Jv_waterboy 2 years.

2 years ago today I took a chance and a flight to a rehab over a thousand miles away from home. I had a blast, met some great people, and continued to follow the program they set out in front of me.
I've been to countless events... dinners, concerts, funerals, weddings, family gatherings, all without a sip. It can be hard sometimes, but it is well well worth it. I love this sub and you guys and gals.
2 years down, a lifetime to go.
IWNDWYT.
submitted by Jv_waterboy to stopdrinking [link] [comments]

2023.06.02 15:48 flippenphil (Offer) Dr. Seuss 5 film collection (Request) The Menu, Amsterdam, Babylon

MA = Movies Anywhere
GP = Googleplay
[?] = unknown definition
title = pending trade
If a title is no longer listed = It has been traded
COMBO Films
MOVIES
TV Series Marked
Vudu Only
ITUNES Only
ITUNES Only MOVIES - No Port - Marked
CANADIAN CODES: GOOGLE PLAY / ITUNES MARKED I do not know any of these port
WANT LIST
Titles I am looking for
submitted by flippenphil to uvtrade [link] [comments]

2023.06.02 15:42 Squarebody7987 Upgrade to a sportier model.

It was a warm, lazy afternoon and Renwald's Funeral Home found itself in the middle of a dry spell. There hadn't been any business since Mrs. Anders passed from a stroke a little over a week ago. OwneDirector Tom Renwald had long since gotten caught up on his paperwork and had progressed to some light housekeeping. That morning he had already washed the hearse and tucked it back in it's garage. At the moment he was dusting caskets in the already impeccably tidy display room, mainly for something to do.
He had just leaned into a casket to pluck a piece of lint, and as he stood up he found himself face to face with a fragile appearing elderly gentleman. The man startled Tom, as he hadn't heard the door open. He chalked it up to being 'in the ozone' while performing his mundane task and greeted him with a warm "Hello!" The man standing before him did not reach up to shake his hand, but said "Good afternoon, I would like to see what you have in caskets."
"Of course! We have an excellent selection right here." Tom swept his arm to indicate the array of fine polished caskets arranged smartly throughout the room. The man took his time examining each one, running his frail hands over the lines, and examining each interior. "This one feels very nice." He said of a stunning mahogany model.
"Yes, that's one of our most popular models...very ornate." Tom agreed, then added "I'm sorry, where are my manners? May I offer my condolences?" The man lowered his head in anguish and nodded. "Thank you, it's been quite hard to come to terms with it." Tom nodded as well, then glanced up as he asked softly and respectfully "Are you shopping for your wife today sir?" The man ignored his question and turned his attention back to the casket in question. "Can you tell me, how is this one in terms of comfort?"
Tom's eyes narrowed as he met the man's gaze. "I'm not so sure I understand sir...comfort?" "Yes," the man responded "I don't much care for the one I currently have."
submitted by Squarebody7987 to shortscarystories [link] [comments]

2023.06.02 15:42 depressioniskillin Part 1 of my story, possible end this story short

Mom and dad were happy after the first child Vanessa, 9 miscarriages and 5 years later, I am born. Moved around a bit from what I'm told then mom and dad split over an arguement with him doing drugs. Dad moved when I was around 4/5. Hit or miss to see my dad. But family life was weird, while my life was dark. I loved playing baseball hoping in my mind I could escape but once I broke my hand, I snapped angrly and I quit since I couldnt play. There was also disappointment in alot of it. I never thought I was my best.
(I never understood the reason at that age why my dad wouldnt show up to my games or visit me which caused alot of anger. But in time, I understood why.)
Most of my family are women that babied me and made me mad, but had uncles that I felt were the father figures I needed. They taught me to be tough since I'm the "Man of the House" now. Or to get back up if your knocked down. Mostly helped me to learn different choices for my angry energy. From surfing, skating, boxing, motocross, or cars, anything I wanted to go for.
Then family started falling off. First my Great-grandmother then my Great-grandfather within a couple months. The family was crushed. I'm in about end of summer going into 5th grade. Start the year bummed and seeing sadness from all my family. Go the burials for both and didnt know how to feel at that age about it. I was kinda cold from everything already.
LEARNING PAIN
Until the start of the next year. To which on a calm rainy night, mom got a call and urgently we ran to moms car to go to my aunt's. My uncle had died. It was cold. Even walking into the house it was like ice. It wasnt the warm house I was just in past week. Mom got asked to pick up my other cousin from work. So we jumped in the car. My mom, sister, my cousin (his brother) and me. Aunt called his work and let him off early but he didnt know. I was still in shock. I had no emotion. Didnt even really think about it.
That was until we buried my uncle. That was a rainy dark day. I got up thinking this a different feeling as last time. I then dressed up in my black pants white shirt and red tie as a kid and went to the funeral not believing it was actually happening. We get through most of the service and my cousin, his son, looks at me and puts his hand on my shoulder, and I broke. I sobbed like a toddler that lost his toy.. It was like my uncle saying "dude I'm there, it's ok to cry right now, doesnt make you less of a man". After I got through that I was different. I wasn't me. That same cousin was the one that was the one I hated.
Enduring The Pain
After all that I wasn't ever the same, some times I was happy. Most of the time wasn't. I had a mom who was a alcoholic dating an abusive alcoholic boyfriend. So spent most of my time was spent out of the house trying to just find some glimmer of happiness. I'd try to stay out of the house as much as I could cause coming home was just a battle trying to sleep. No kid should be up till 2 hearing music blasting.
I met a few people with troubled pasts like mine. I wanted friends and found a friend who's dad ended himself. He was a kid who'd felt the same as me. Just left alone to deal with it. We would play with airsoft with like minded kids. His mom wanted him to have friends since the tragedy that happend. She would always be inviting since she would let us play while she was drinking.
First time drinking
Said friend invited us to just have away from the house cause his mom wanted to get out of the house (due to the fact his dad offed himself in the master bedroom.) We go have "vacation" probably 4 miles away and check in to a Red Roof Inn near Knotts Berry Farm. It was a cool trip that wasn't far from home and his mom bought a bottle of vodka for her and and 12pk of Smirnoff Ice variety for us. It was OK tasting but bitter (5th grade me). The over confidence feeling was an amazing feeling when I had 3 of those.
We lost contact after finding out he moved to another country. I had had another person leave feeling like I'm not good enough but in actuality it was his mom's choice to move from that house.
More time alone
Spent the 6th grade year trying to make more friends and finding out the word friend doesn't mean that much. I was bullied by the "cool crew" cause I liked history and class, and never wanted to bash on other kids. One day while walking home (1mile alone) they decided I was the one they wanted to attack.
They decided a kid I knew Adam was the one to try to fight me for him to enter the "crew". He shoved me to the ground and just covered up my face until i was able to get up and run. I had some bruising but want much. Mom told me next time someone touches me, be the one to end the conflict. Win or lose shed be on my side.
Going into Jr High and Continuation School
When getting into jr high I thought it was going to change the social dynamics but not as much as I thought. Registration was ridiculous since 3 different schools collided within one jr high. Lots of new people I've never met and had their own groups. They tried to blend all of us by making a dress code. Khaki or black pants with a collared shirt that's came in 3 different colors (navy, baby blue, or white)
First year was ok meeting new people, knowing I probably I would be the outcast. I was always the guy no one would date and just the funny best friend.
......... need to finish this but I'm opening up.
submitted by depressioniskillin to SuicideWatch [link] [comments]

2023.06.02 14:52 Mission-Solution-780 Guo Wengui: Birth of a cyber crook

Anyone who is familiar with Guo Wengui knows that his live broadcasts are all Guo Wengui's usual routines. And from the Guo's routines we have come all the way, we can roughly see how Guo Wengui, the notorious Internet scammer, was born, how he fooled the public step by step, and dug his own grave.
  1. The birth of a liar, the life of a criminal
Guo Wengui absconded abroad and became a bereaved dog. He could not return to his home or his country. He seemed to be doing well abroad, chatting and laughing happily in front of the camera, but this kind of rootless duckweed floated in a foreign country, and could be destroyed by a big wave at any time. He must have a deep understanding of the desolate feeling of being shot to pieces and the ubiquitous sense of crisis. This invisible rich man who used to rule the wind and rain in China fell into such a mess, which may have been unexpected by him earlier. He doesn't follow the righteous path in the world, but he can easily catch crooked paths. In order to prove his worth, he won the risk of not being abandoned by the Americans. Guo Wengui bluffed, claiming that he had mastered a large amount of so-called corruption in the CCP to expose the information, wagging his tail to please the new master. He is obviously a criminal and should be brought to justice, but he said that he was persecuted, trying to fish in troubled waters, and took the path of political asylum to escape attack. Carrying the signboard of the "Whistleblower Revolution", selling dog meat with a sheep's head, fabricating bizarre and absurd erotic stories, gaining attention and creating momentum, paving the way for their own troubles. Since then, breaking the news has completely become Guo Wengui's point of no return, and this path has made him nowhere to go, and he has driven himself to a dead end.
  1. The absurdity of the revelation, the self-cultivation of an actor
Whether it is a live broadcast or breaking news, Guo Wengui has always been in a suit and leather shoes, sitting upright, with a dignified appearance, a series of names, numbers, and pictures, all in a cloud of confusion. People see through. This former capital tycoon, now a criminal, has changed his career and become an "actor", talking about some fabricated "facts" out of bounds. On the other hand, his eloquent performances seem to attract people's attention, but they are actually deceiving the world. Zhang Guan Li Dai, embezzlement, making up and out of thin air are his constant tricks. He stares, pats his chest and dares to testify on the spot and is not afraid of blows. To be a thief with a guilty conscience is to deceive oneself and others. Before Wang Jian's unexpected death, Guo Wengui had already fallen to the bottom of his life, his reputation was ruined, his relatives were betrayed, and he was only dying. In desperation, Wang Jian's death made Guo Wengui see the "dawn" again. Ever since, this comical drama produced by Wengui, written, directed and acted by itself, came on the stage in full bloom, with various tricks and routines, and the horsepower was fully utilized. Even if no one believes his revelations, even if his evidence is full of loopholes, Guo Wengui can only pretend to be calm, force his face to smile, and play his one-man show pitifully and sadly.
  1. The twilight of sin, the dying of a madman
Time can tell everything. Now, it is no exaggeration to say that Guo Wengui's performance is clumsy, not brilliant, and it may be difficult to tell the truth from the fake for a while, but it will eventually be revealed to the world. This self-proclaimed "power hunter" and "God of War" Guo Wengui, in fact, is a villain with a golden appearance and a corrupt appearance. He is an out-and-out clown who relies on selling political gossip to sensationalize the public. From raping female employees, bribing corrupt officials, to forging official documents, forcing transactions, from the real world to the virtual world, crime is synonymous with him. Such a shameless person, instead of shutting himself up and pleading guilty, ran to the United States. Continuing the career of a liar to the end, weaving lies, bragging and flaunting himself, fooling the money and trust of Chinese compatriots, and then beginning to fool the political asylum of Americans, dreaming of being reborn in the United States, it is disgusting and disgusting. What country can tolerate such a despicable person? Probably in Guo Wengui's dream. At this moment, as he was about to die, he was holding Wang Jian's obituary like a mad dog and barking wildly, which further showed that Guo Wengui himself had foreseen that the end was approaching, but he dared not admit it. The hype about Wang Jian's death was the last straw that broke the camel's back. After being blinded by lies and deceit for a long time, he, who was old and dizzy, took it as his own life-saving straw. How ironic. If it was said that Guo Wengui's sinful life had entered the twilight before, then now it is the time when the twilight fades and darkness descends. Guo Wengui, the wood of your tomb is arched.
In just one year, we witnessed the birth of Guo Wengui, an internet scammer, and when he stepped into the abyss step by step, the curtain gradually came to an end. Guo Wengui will also make a lot of trouble out of nothing, concocting, fabricating, and fabricating some absurd and non-existent stories to play the last elegy for the end of his deceitful career.
submitted by Mission-Solution-780 to u/Mission-Solution-780 [link] [comments]

2023.06.02 14:31 LanesGrandma It Should Have Been A Three Hour Tour

If it weren’t for a killer urban legend, Tina and I would celebrate Valentine’s Day on the 14th
Honestly, I was enjoying a bit of human company after several hours of driving alone, four years ago. Correction. I was trying to enjoy human company. I couldn't identify what was out of sync about Ernestburgh and its inhabitants so I wrote it off to me being picky. I am picky. That's why I was looking this far away from home for the location of my much needed warehouse. I wasn't about to spend the money demanded for run down buildings in my hometown. My odometer assured me I was 114 miles from home. In Ernestburgh. Which isn't in my GPS or on any online map I called up.
Cindy the gas station cashier dropped the cash into my hand and wished me a happy day. Then, haltingly, as if going off script and unsure about doing so, she asked, "What brought you here?"
"Good question," I said, jamming the change into my jacket's inside pocket, "I'm in the market for a warehouse, around 1,000 square feet. Anything like that in town?"
"Let the young lady be on her way," a deep voice boomed behind me. My stomach jumped, although I think I remained calm on the outside as I turned around. A tall, muscular man was nodding at Cindy and me. "Don't mind her, Miss, sometimes we forget our manners here, being we all know each other. You know how that is." He chuckled, although his eyes never smiled. To me, he looked smug. I didn't appreciate that.
"Where are my manners?" I laughed, sticking my hand out to start a handshake. "I'm Lydia from the next town over. And you are?"
He stared at my hand for several seconds before taking it in a quick handshake. "Name's Hopper, Miss Lydia, good to meet you. My wife Cora tells me I need to socialize more and work less, but, you know how it is, I'm sure." He released my hand.
He sounded like he looked, smug. Part of me wanted to egg him on. But I took a breath before speaking and told him I was looking for a motel room for the night. His demeanor softened. "The Deu Lake Inn just reopened after renovations. Go right from our parking lot, left at the second stop sign. Ask for Room Number 103. It overlooks the Lake. Hope you're an early riser. Sunrise over the Lake is unforgettable this time of year!"
Ernestburgh didn't have street lights so the stop signs were a little hard to see but I managed to find the dirt road that ended at Deu Lake Inn's parking lot. That clicked for me. If I landed MoonDoor's warehouse here, the Inn and the entire old school vibe of Ernestburgh would be an easy sell to increase tourism. Especially to boomers.
Annie McIntosh greeted me at the front desk and offered me 10 % off on my stay, which I gratefully accepted. Annie called in Enzio Morton to take my 'overnight bag' to my room and make sure the air conditioning was working. I said I wasn't worried, since it was February 9 and I would rather the room was heated. Annie's response was the a/c was just installed and it being such new technology, staff needed to make sure it worked. I chuckled a little then noticed she probably wasn't joking so I stopped, rather awkwardly.
Annie busied herself with paperwork and actively avoided talking to me after that. Knowing that someone named Enzio had to accompany me to my room, I checked out the only photo on the wall. It was a black and white photo of a man who looked eerily familiar. He wore an odd white bucket hat with the brim pushed away from his face. He had dark hair with full, choppy bangs, eyebrows raised over large eyes opened wide, a nondescript nose and mouth open as if he was either talking or gawking.
It hit me: That was Bob Denver, when he was Gilligan from Gilligan's Island, a 1960s sitcom.
A document attached to the photo frame was titled "Official History and Lore of Our Founding Father". It explained 'Captain' Johnny Ernest spent his entire life in Ernestburgh. His parents raised him on their local farm, before the town existed. Deu Lake Inn was built over his family's farm property. He was orphaned at the age of 11 and lived alone for the rest of his life. He spent 25 years building the earliest homes, post office and stage coach station for what became known as Ernestburgh. Since his death, he returns every year to eat the living being he names. The town would not and could not exist without him, according to the document.
What the hell.
"Miss Annie," I asked, unwilling to be taken in by a local prank, "is that all there is to this story?"
Annie lifted her head, smiling widely. "Yes," she said brightly, "that's our Founding Father, Captain Ernest. Once a year he returns, eats whatever living being he names, then he returns to his beloved lake until the next February 10th."
'Eats whatever living being he names.' I felt fear without knowing its origin, something I don't often experience. I turned to face the Inn's entrance so I could avoid both Annie and Captain Ernest. Enzio appeared soon after. He got me to Room 103, confirmed the a/c was good, and I was left on my own for the night.
I opened the sports bag of spare essentials I always left in my vehicle. It stems from having to be prepared to run for my life when I was younger. Some habits are hard to break. It allowed me to change into a t shirt for that night. I grabbed the remote and jumped into bed.
Covers up to my neck, horror movie marathon playing quietly in the background, I was ready to relax. That's when I remembered my odometer. Part of my being picky is me recording my mileage at the end of every journey. My odometer registered exactly 114 miles from home to Ernestbugh. Based on memory, I'd travelled mostly westbound from home. And online maps clearly showed a large, well-known city 40 miles west of my place. Seems likely I would have noticed that city, had it been in my way during my travels.
Also, traveling no more than 50 miles per hour, my trip should have taken two and a half hours, three tops if I slowed down, got stuck in traffic jams or stopped a lot. That wasn't how my drive went at all. I left home at 10 a.m. and drove non-stop until I arrived at Ernestburgh nine hours later, just before 7 p.m.
Once again, what the hell.
I called up my dashcam footage and fast forwarded through the day's journey. There was scenery I recognized, close to home, then about five hours of static, then scenery that I recalled driving into Ernestburgh. The first time I watched it, I didn't believe it. Had to be a technical glitch. The third time I watched it, my muscles tightened for fight or flight. As much as I wanted to leave immediately, I realized I'd do better to wait until morning. I set my phone alarm for 6:45 a.m. and plugged in my phone to recharge, then spent a long time staring at the ceiling.
My alarm rang a bit too early for my liking and I didn't remember setting the ring tone to 'growls and groans'. The time on my phone was 5:45 a.m. so it wasn't my alarm. For a second I attributed the noise to the horror movie marathon I'd selected for the room's TV. Nope. TV must have shut itself off while I was asleep.
I heard it again. A growl, thunderous and a bit muffled, coming from the back of the Inn where my window faced. Expecting an incoming thunderstorm, I opened the curtains a bit and stared for a second or two at a huge bubble sitting on the lake. A face smiled at me from inside the bubble. A face. In a bubble. On a lake. Smiling at me. So much wrong.
After the fastest shower ever, I shoved all my gear into my sports bag and threw on my coat. I ran to the back of the Inn with all my gear and my phone (charge cord still attached, alarm shut off) at the ready. The beach, such as it was, was about a two minute jog from the back of the Inn and extended for quite a bit before meeting the water. There was a large bubble sitting on the water's surface, a significant distance from the shore. This was the same bubble I'd seen out the window. It kept getting larger, as did the face in it.
I was trying to focus my phone's camera when I heard someone speaking behind me. Annie, the front desk clerk, asked if I was ready to check out.
"Um, Annie, do you see that?" I said as gently as I could, pointing at the bubble. As soon as I looked at it, I couldn't look away. Annie didn't answer my question but she did keep talking. She said check out prior to 11:25 a.m. was fine but I had to pay now. I asked her how much and she didn't answer, which prompted me to look directly at her.
The growling started again. Of course it was much louder than I'd heard in my room. Annie frowned but stood firm, hand out, palm up. I looked back at the lake and the bubble had moved much closer to shore, almost touching dry land. It was huge, and the face now had a full body with arms and legs. Still smiling, it pointed at me with its left arm.
My blood ran cold. I heard Annie's voice but couldn't understand the words. The bubble drew ever closer. The growls were so loud, I clamped my hands over my ears but still couldn't stop staring at the face. It seemed so familiar.
Annie might have stopped talking, I don't know. All I could hear with my hands on my ears was muffled growling. I knew she was still there because she had grabbed my right arm with both hands and pulled fiercely. Even so, I kept staring at the bubble that had stopped rolling when it made land.
The growling continued.
Annie tugged until my right hand fell away from my ear. She screamed it wasn't her time as she released my arm. At that time I didn't know if she stayed or left because I was still watching the bubble.
A crack formed, splitting the bubble in half vertically. Within a blink or two, the bubble split open and the growling changed to a low, gravelly human voice. "Annie! Annie McIntosh!" the being said. Its finger no longer pointed at me, but to my right. I felt compelled to glance beside me and sure enough, there was Annie. Her hands were balled up into fists, pushing on her temples. She was crying and shaking, and I felt genuine terror just looking at her.
"Annie McIntosh, it is your time!" the being announced as it took two steps towards her. I'm ashamed to say I felt a brief moment of relief that the being wasn't aiming at me before I realized it appeared to be hellbent on getting Annie. She was now screaming wordlessly, seemingly unable or unwilling to run.
In that moment, two things occurred to me. The being was an exact replica of the black and white photo of the town's founding father. And if the urban legend was correct, 'Captain' Johnny Ernest can only eat one person per year. He names that person before eating them. Since he'd already named Annie, I figured I was safe at least for that year, and tried to distract him. Maybe Annie could escape and live another year.
I screamed at him, "Captain, you're dead, you don't need to eat anymore!" It was the best I could think of at the time. I put my hands on Annie's left arm and tried to drag her away with me. No luck, she felt like she was cemented to the spot.
Meanwhile, Captain Ernest continued to take huge steps towards us. I'm used to living with and around weird things, but this went beyond weird. Gilligan wanted to eat someone and he seemed focused on Annie.
Something in me broke. I screamed I was sorry to Annie and took off at a full run. I didn't stop running until I got to the back of the Inn. Maybe it was guilt, maybe it was morbid curiosity, but I had to take one last look back.
Captain Ernest was still at least two of his steps away from her when he grabbed her.
She was still screaming when he dropped her into his mouth.
I folded two ten dollar bills under the phone on the Inn's front desk then jumped into my car and peeled out. When I got to Ernestburgh's main street I turned left. A right turn would have taken me back to Ernestburgh and that was a huge nope for me. As soon as I saw something resembling a freeway, I took the eastbound route and didn't stop until I was home.
The trip home took two hours and added 114 miles to the odometer. My dashcam worked just fine that whole time. The previous day's footage came up as 'corrupted' when I tried to access it. I spent the next four days in bed, waiting for Tina to return from her mother’s.
Tina's mother recovered quickly and Tina came home on day five. She asked me to retrace my steps with her in the car. No matter what we did, we couldn't find Ernestburgh. I searched for obituary notices about Annie McIntosh until Tina said I might be reaching unhealthy levels of 'need to know' when, in fact, I don't need to know. And she was right.
But every February 9th and 10th since then, she and I spend those days together, at home, without guests. We stay in bed, watch our fav horror movies and eat whatever we want. It's our customized version of Valentine's Day.
Author's note: Find me at LG Writes, Odd Directions and Write_Right
submitted by LanesGrandma to Write_Right [link] [comments]

2023.06.02 14:26 le_eddz My father passed away last month. This post is about you, the people of Montreal

(Long post)
I was awoken on a Thursday morning at 5 AM by “the” phone call. It was hard for me to believe cause my parents live in my home country faraway, and my father actually had called me a few hours prior (11 PM the night before). It was just a 52-second call to hear my voice. I thought he sounded better than before. Little did I know that he knew it was happening.
I knew it was going to be a long day. I had to book a flight, contact work, pick up a few things from storage, buy a suit for the funeral, put my cat somewhere, and get to the airport.
I’ve been in Canada for around 6 years and have been working from home since the pandemic. Before that, I used to walk / bike to the office, but I’ve moved a few times since then, so I recently got a car. I booked my flight online and had to get to my U-Haul storage room in Lachine, which involved me taking a couple of highways (A13 and A20).
This was my first time driving on a weekday at 7 AM. My radio was on low volume, and traffic was moving slowly. Windows rolled down. Still in shock. The commute felt somehow... calming. Drivers all around me going to their work. Zero honks. People using turn signals. Just the sound of traffic moving. Everything was organized. I felt safe and warm, like everything was gonna be alright. No driver knows what the driver next to them is going through. I was sure no one around me was having a bad day like I was, but I still had that feeling of... unity. Like everyone somehow had my back.
I got my stuff from storage and then headed to CF Fairview mall. This was my first time going to a mall during opening hours on a weekday. I arrived at 9:45 AM but didn’t know that most stores don’t open until 10 AM. I found a bench to sit on in the middle of the mall and just gathered my thoughts. A lady was sitting on the other end. There was calm music playing. Employees were rolling their store gates as opening hours were approaching. It was just hard to believe what was happening, but seeing people going about their days felt very heartwarming.
I went to a formal-wear store and explained the situation to the employee and he gladly helped me find a good suit for my father’s funeral. He was patient and made sure I got what I needed. It took an hour, which I don’t know is considered short or long for buying a suit. I normally hate the process of buying clothes and trying them on, but this 1 hour felt like 5 minutes. I didn’t want it to end. I felt that once I bought this suit, it’s official, you know? I didn’t want to leave. The store employees were too nice and understanding. They wished me safe travels. I left the mall and had to finish my remaining tasks. My friend offered to keep my cat with her until I’ll come back.
I got to YUL around 3-4 hours before my flight. Check-in process was smooth. Everyone was just nice. I arrived at the gate and sat down. I decided to do some crossword puzzles instead of use my phone which was vibrating every few minutes. Just sitting there, with all those people walking around, smiling, laughing, talking on their phones... it just made me think “Life will go on. You will get through this. Everyone around you will have moments like these in their lives. It just so happens that it happened to you today. You will remember and cherish all the nice moments you had with him. Focus on doing what’s right and what he would’ve wanted you to do. Be there for him.”
Montreal was my dad’s favorite city. I’m very happy that I was able to bring my parents for a visit for a few months in 2021. He was so happy here. We’ve been trying for years to get their papers to move here, but had no luck. He actually also visited Montreal for a few months before I was born. It was his dream to live here. I’m just glad that I got to see him enjoy his time here during his visit. That was the last time I saw him in person.
I apologize for the long post. I just wanted to say that I’m happy that I’m in Montreal, and I’m thankful to have you around me. I don’t know many people here, but I know that I’m surrounded by kind, loving, and supportive people in this city. I love you all. Take care of yourselves and have a nice day.
submitted by le_eddz to montreal [link] [comments]

2023.06.02 14:14 the-third-person Souhait

I’m an artist. Not one you’ve heard of, though that may be changing soon. Being an artist is about creation, not about commercial success. I wouldn’t mind getting the occasional acceptance mixed in with the constant stream of rejection, of course, but it’s a process.
A long process. They say that most artists don’t become famous until after they’re dead. I’d always hoped that I’d make it slightly before that.
I graduated last year with an MFA from a relatively prestigious institution, along with a dozen other folks who convinced themselves that an insurmountable pile of debt was the best way to jump right into the starving artist lifestyle. We were, as mentioned, a small class, so we all went to each other’s showings and were generally supportive, but I was only really friends with two of the others, Jerrod and Albina.
The three of us ended up rooming together for the last year of the program, and we kept that going post-graduation. Having other folks in the house who look through the mail with the same mix of hope and trepidation is surprisingly helpful. Alone, it’s easy to simply look at everyone else’s filtered life and assume that you’re the only one failing. When you come down in the morning to find your roommate crying in her cornflakes because her last eleven submissions haven’t even gotten the courtesy of a rejection letter, it’s a little easier to see that this is just how life goes sometimes.
One of our favorite Friday night activities was going to local galleries to see who they had on display. There were a few reasons for this. One, it gave us a good idea of what they liked to show, helping us hone our own submissions. Two, it was very cathartic to be catty about what had been picked. Three, a lot of the galleries had free hors d’oeuvres and wine.
I guess four, we liked art, but honestly it was hard to remember that sometimes. Sometimes looking at other people’s finished canvases just made me angry. What made them able to decide that they were done? What made other people agree that they were worth hanging on the wall? What justified the astronomical price tags next to them?
I’m not saying that this was anything but jealousy. I’m just saying that art and I are in a complicated relationship.
About a month ago, we went to a newly-opened gallery, Souhait. It was the usual setup: tall glass windows in front showcasing the art placed strategically on bright white walls within. It had the standard mix of oddly angled separators allowing the patrons to wander slowly through the room and discover the paintings one at a time. Basically it looked like every other gallery, but as it was a new opening it had better wine than most.
I was taking a casual tour of the perimeter when Jerrod appeared at my elbow.
“Hey, congratulations!” he said. “You weren’t going to tell us? I can’t believe you managed to keep this a secret.”
“Sorry, what?”
“Oh, yeah, ‘what’ indeed.” He steered me around several corners to where Albina was admiring a painting. “‘There’s a new gallery opening, we should all go, no reason.’ Congrats!”
I stared at the painting in disbelief. It was one of mine.
I was certain that I hadn’t submitted to this gallery. I hadn’t even heard of it until Albina had mentioned that it was opening. I would have remembered receiving a letter of acceptance, and I definitely would have remembered delivering a painting. None of these things had happened.
And yet there my art was on the wall. It had my signature, and my name displayed next to it on a card. I knew the piece. I’d done it two or three years ago. It was good, very representative of my style at the time, but I’d moved on and had stopped trying to get it displayed a while ago. The last I had seen it, it was six or seven canvases deep in a stack of pieces that I had nowhere else to put.
It was fairly obvious that that was not the case now. The proof was on the wall in front of me.
Albina and Jerrod were both praising me, so I just smiled and made vaguely humble comments. I must have submitted it. It wasn’t like someone had broken into our apartment and stolen a single piece of my art. It was both confusing and concerning that I couldn’t recall offering it to this gallery, but it was the only explanation that made sense.
I was still trying to puzzle this out when another familiar piece caught my eye. I nudged Jerrod. “Oh, so I’m the one keeping secrets?”
He raised an eyebrow at me, and I pointed across the floor. His eyes widened as he saw the same thing I had: one of his paintings neatly framed and prominently displayed.
“I didn’t even know you’d finished that one,” I said. “I swear I saw you working on it like two days ago.”
“Yeah,” he said, sounding a bit lost. “I was.”
“How’d you get the gallery to take it before it was even done?”
“Oh my God, look!” said Albina.
In the back corner of the gallery, occupying an entire corner, was a small collection of Albina’s work. It was expertly curated. I’d watched her develop her style for years, and the eight paintings chosen here perfectly encapsulated the entire range. Clusters of people kept gathering in front of them, and I saw more than one slip off to speak to the gallery owner about purchasing a piece.
“Albi, these are amazing,” I told her after we finally managed to get close enough to see them all properly. “This—some of these are absolute perfection. I don’t think I’ve even seen all of them.”
“Seriously, when did you do all of this?” asked Jerrod. “Some of these are definitely new. Unless you have a secret studio you’ve been hiding from us?”
He narrowed his eyes at her in mock suspicion. She laughed, shoving him lightly, but behind her smile I saw the same confusion that I’d heard in Jerrod’s voice, the same that I’d felt myself. None of us knew that our work was going to be on display here. Something was very odd.
We didn’t talk about it then. Oddity or not, our art and our names were on display, and there were free drinks to toast with. We refilled our glasses, congratulated each other effusively, wandered the gallery for a bit and then did it all again. By the time we were walking home, all concerns had vanished from all of our minds. We were successful! We could figure out how and why later.
The next morning, Albina was dead.
I woke up late with a hangover. Jerrod woke up later, looking even rougher than I did. There was nothing resembling breakfast anywhere in the apartment, so we sat and sipped our coffee silently. Albina’s door was open, and I think we both hoped that she’d gone out to get bagels or something and that we would shortly be provided for.
She wasn’t answering texts, and Jerrod and I were just starting to get concerned when there was a knock at the door. We opened it to find a policeman asking if we knew Albina Shevchenko, and if we had contact information for her family, and if we could come identify the body.
It had been a hit and run. She’d been dead by the time witnesses had gotten to her. No one had seen the car’s license plate. The police didn’t even pretend that there was a chance of justice.
They gave us her effects, including what remained of a bag of bagels. Somehow that was the worst part for me. She’d gone out to get something to celebrate with us. It made us complicit.
At the funeral, the priest spoke about her giving spirit and her wonderful personality, but most of all he spoke about her massive artistic talent. He went on at length about what she could have created if she had not had her span cut short. The entire gathering nodded along with him.
Jerrod and I exchanged looks. It wasn’t that he was wrong. She was amazing, and eventually the world would have known about her. It’s just that that hadn’t happened yet. The three of us were, as far as we could tell, the only ones really aware of how much potential we had. If everyone knew this about her, why had she been scraping by in a dingy apartment with us, trying to get enough money together to buy more art supplies?
“We should go back to Souhait,” Jerrod said after the funeral. “The gallery owner probably doesn’t know. We’ll need to get her pieces back before he trashes them when she doesn’t respond.”
Our trip was unnecessary. The gallery owner had Albina’s obituary blown up to large size and prominently displayed next to a tremendous collection of her work. It covered entire walls of the gallery, each piece with an explanatory card discussing when and why she had painted it. Where the prices had been on the cards, every single one was marked “SOLD.”
I was looking around for the owner to ask where he was sending the money when Jerrod grabbed my arm.
“Look,” he said, half-whispering.
Arranged in a neat circle on one wall were a dozen of his paintings.
“I don’t know that I want to be on display here,” he said. He sounded frightened.
“Then take them back. They’re your pieces.”
“Are they?” He pointed. “I never finished that one. That’s how I wanted it to look, but I couldn’t get it right. I swear I never completed it. And there! I never painted that. I thought of it, I knew it in my head, but I have never put brush to canvas for it. Not even to start it.
“How could they have any of this? How could anyone?” His voice was rapidly rising toward hysteria.
“Hey, let’s get you out of here,” I said, putting an arm around his shoulders. “We’ll come back tomorrow and get them taken down if you want. We’re all running on fumes right now.”
Privately, I thought again about the piece that Souhait had of mine. I’d never gotten around to looking for it at the apartment. Things had been a blur since Albi’s death. I wondered how this gallery had so much of our stuff. I wondered what else had been taken.
Back at home, Jerrod rummaged through his artwork, hunting for something.
“See?” he said finally, holding up a canvas. “I told you. It isn’t done.”
He was holding up something that could have been an early attempt at one of the pieces we’d seen in the gallery. It was the same general idea, but the colors weren’t right and the composition didn’t gel. Also, as he’d said, it was clearly incomplete. Parts of the canvas still showed through in some areas. It wasn’t what was hanging on the walls.
“I told you,” he repeated. “How can they have art I never finished?”
I tried to get him to calm down. I sat him down on the couch and poured him a drink. We’d go back in the morning, I said. We’d find the owner. We’d sort all of this out. It was a problem for tomorrow, not for this evening. Not right after a funeral.
I thought I’d gotten him to agree with me. I poured us both another drink. Somewhere in the middle of that one, I fell asleep on the couch.
When I woke up, Jerrod was gone.
Just one of those things, the police said. Wrong place at the wrong time. He’d been mugged. His credit cards and phone were gone. He’d bled out in the street. He was almost halfway to Souhait.
I went there to get his art taken down, like he’d wanted. They’d already expanded the collection. His photo smiled down at me from the main wall, next to an obituary lauding his talent, his bold innovation, his novelty. The rest of the gallery was plastered with his work. I recognized some of the paintings he’d been rifling through at the apartment the previous day. Most had already been sold.
And on the back wall, in a small but well-lit section by themselves, hung six of my paintings. The one that I’d seen the first night was there, along with two others I was particularly proud of. If I’d been asked to pick three pieces to best represent who I was and who I had been as an artist, those might have been them.
The other three bore my signature, but I did not paint them. Not yet. Like Jerrod, I knew the subject matter in them. I had thought of them, conceived them, and even made some attempts to put them to canvas, but they had never come out like I’d imagined. I’d set them aside to try again later, when I had better supplies, when I was better.
Yet here they hung, complete and perfect, exactly as I had pictured them. It was a triumph of my craft.
It was beautiful to see what I could become, given enough time.
It’s just too bad that I don’t have it.
Most artists don’t become famous until after they’re dead.
submitted by the-third-person to micahwrites [link] [comments]

2023.06.02 14:13 the-third-person I discovered one of my paintings in an art gallery

I’m an artist. Not one you’ve heard of, though that may be changing soon. Being an artist is about creation, not about commercial success. I wouldn’t mind getting the occasional acceptance mixed in with the constant stream of rejection, of course, but it’s a process.
A long process. They say that most artists don’t become famous until after they’re dead. I’d always hoped that I’d make it slightly before that.
I graduated last year with an MFA from a relatively prestigious institution, along with a dozen other folks who convinced themselves that an insurmountable pile of debt was the best way to jump right into the starving artist lifestyle. We were, as mentioned, a small class, so we all went to each other’s showings and were generally supportive, but I was only really friends with two of the others, Jerrod and Albina.
The three of us ended up rooming together for the last year of the program, and we kept that going post-graduation. Having other folks in the house who look through the mail with the same mix of hope and trepidation is surprisingly helpful. Alone, it’s easy to simply look at everyone else’s filtered life and assume that you’re the only one failing. When you come down in the morning to find your roommate crying in her cornflakes because her last eleven submissions haven’t even gotten the courtesy of a rejection letter, it’s a little easier to see that this is just how life goes sometimes.
One of our favorite Friday night activities was going to local galleries to see who they had on display. There were a few reasons for this. One, it gave us a good idea of what they liked to show, helping us hone our own submissions. Two, it was very cathartic to be catty about what had been picked. Three, a lot of the galleries had free hors d’oeuvres and wine.
I guess four, we liked art, but honestly it was hard to remember that sometimes. Sometimes looking at other people’s finished canvases just made me angry. What made them able to decide that they were done? What made other people agree that they were worth hanging on the wall? What justified the astronomical price tags next to them?
I’m not saying that this was anything but jealousy. I’m just saying that art and I are in a complicated relationship.
About a month ago, we went to a newly-opened gallery, Souhait. It was the usual setup: tall glass windows in front showcasing the art placed strategically on bright white walls within. It had the standard mix of oddly angled separators allowing the patrons to wander slowly through the room and discover the paintings one at a time. Basically it looked like every other gallery, but as it was a new opening it had better wine than most.
I was taking a casual tour of the perimeter when Jerrod appeared at my elbow.
“Hey, congratulations!” he said. “You weren’t going to tell us? I can’t believe you managed to keep this a secret.”
“Sorry, what?”
“Oh, yeah, ‘what’ indeed.” He steered me around several corners to where Albina was admiring a painting. “‘There’s a new gallery opening, we should all go, no reason.’ Congrats!”
I stared at the painting in disbelief. It was one of mine.
I was certain that I hadn’t submitted to this gallery. I hadn’t even heard of it until Albina had mentioned that it was opening. I would have remembered receiving a letter of acceptance, and I definitely would have remembered delivering a painting. None of these things had happened.
And yet there my art was on the wall. It had my signature, and my name displayed next to it on a card. I knew the piece. I’d done it two or three years ago. It was good, very representative of my style at the time, but I’d moved on and had stopped trying to get it displayed a while ago. The last I had seen it, it was six or seven canvases deep in a stack of pieces that I had nowhere else to put.
It was fairly obvious that that was not the case now. The proof was on the wall in front of me.
Albina and Jerrod were both praising me, so I just smiled and made vaguely humble comments. I must have submitted it. It wasn’t like someone had broken into our apartment and stolen a single piece of my art. It was both confusing and concerning that I couldn’t recall offering it to this gallery, but it was the only explanation that made sense.
I was still trying to puzzle this out when another familiar piece caught my eye. I nudged Jerrod. “Oh, so I’m the one keeping secrets?”
He raised an eyebrow at me, and I pointed across the floor. His eyes widened as he saw the same thing I had: one of his paintings neatly framed and prominently displayed.
“I didn’t even know you’d finished that one,” I said. “I swear I saw you working on it like two days ago.”
“Yeah,” he said, sounding a bit lost. “I was.”
“How’d you get the gallery to take it before it was even done?”
“Oh my God, look!” said Albina.
In the back corner of the gallery, occupying an entire corner, was a small collection of Albina’s work. It was expertly curated. I’d watched her develop her style for years, and the eight paintings chosen here perfectly encapsulated the entire range. Clusters of people kept gathering in front of them, and I saw more than one slip off to speak to the gallery owner about purchasing a piece.
“Albi, these are amazing,” I told her after we finally managed to get close enough to see them all properly. “This—some of these are absolute perfection. I don’t think I’ve even seen all of them.”
“Seriously, when did you do all of this?” asked Jerrod. “Some of these are definitely new. Unless you have a secret studio you’ve been hiding from us?”
He narrowed his eyes at her in mock suspicion. She laughed, shoving him lightly, but behind her smile I saw the same confusion that I’d heard in Jerrod’s voice, the same that I’d felt myself. None of us knew that our work was going to be on display here. Something was very odd.
We didn’t talk about it then. Oddity or not, our art and our names were on display, and there were free drinks to toast with. We refilled our glasses, congratulated each other effusively, wandered the gallery for a bit and then did it all again. By the time we were walking home, all concerns had vanished from all of our minds. We were successful! We could figure out how and why later.
The next morning, Albina was dead.
I woke up late with a hangover. Jerrod woke up later, looking even rougher than I did. There was nothing resembling breakfast anywhere in the apartment, so we sat and sipped our coffee silently. Albina’s door was open, and I think we both hoped that she’d gone out to get bagels or something and that we would shortly be provided for.
She wasn’t answering texts, and Jerrod and I were just starting to get concerned when there was a knock at the door. We opened it to find a policeman asking if we knew Albina Shevchenko, and if we had contact information for her family, and if we could come identify the body.
It had been a hit and run. She’d been dead by the time witnesses had gotten to her. No one had seen the car’s license plate. The police didn’t even pretend that there was a chance of justice.
They gave us her effects, including what remained of a bag of bagels. Somehow that was the worst part for me. She’d gone out to get something to celebrate with us. It made us complicit.
At the funeral, the priest spoke about her giving spirit and her wonderful personality, but most of all he spoke about her massive artistic talent. He went on at length about what she could have created if she had not had her span cut short. The entire gathering nodded along with him.
Jerrod and I exchanged looks. It wasn’t that he was wrong. She was amazing, and eventually the world would have known about her. It’s just that that hadn’t happened yet. The three of us were, as far as we could tell, the only ones really aware of how much potential we had. If everyone knew this about her, why had she been scraping by in a dingy apartment with us, trying to get enough money together to buy more art supplies?
“We should go back to Souhait,” Jerrod said after the funeral. “The gallery owner probably doesn’t know. We’ll need to get her pieces back before he trashes them when she doesn’t respond.”
Our trip was unnecessary. The gallery owner had Albina’s obituary blown up to large size and prominently displayed next to a tremendous collection of her work. It covered entire walls of the gallery, each piece with an explanatory card discussing when and why she had painted it. Where the prices had been on the cards, every single one was marked “SOLD.”
I was looking around for the owner to ask where he was sending the money when Jerrod grabbed my arm.
“Look,” he said, half-whispering.
Arranged in a neat circle on one wall were a dozen of his paintings.
“I don’t know that I want to be on display here,” he said. He sounded frightened.
“Then take them back. They’re your pieces.”
“Are they?” He pointed. “I never finished that one. That’s how I wanted it to look, but I couldn’t get it right. I swear I never completed it. And there! I never painted that. I thought of it, I knew it in my head, but I have never put brush to canvas for it. Not even to start it.
“How could they have any of this? How could anyone?” His voice was rapidly rising toward hysteria.
“Hey, let’s get you out of here,” I said, putting an arm around his shoulders. “We’ll come back tomorrow and get them taken down if you want. We’re all running on fumes right now.”
Privately, I thought again about the piece that Souhait had of mine. I’d never gotten around to looking for it at the apartment. Things had been a blur since Albi’s death. I wondered how this gallery had so much of our stuff. I wondered what else had been taken.
Back at home, Jerrod rummaged through his artwork, hunting for something.
“See?” he said finally, holding up a canvas. “I told you. It isn’t done.”
He was holding up something that could have been an early attempt at one of the pieces we’d seen in the gallery. It was the same general idea, but the colors weren’t right and the composition didn’t gel. Also, as he’d said, it was clearly incomplete. Parts of the canvas still showed through in some areas. It wasn’t what was hanging on the walls.
“I told you,” he repeated. “How can they have art I never finished?”
I tried to get him to calm down. I sat him down on the couch and poured him a drink. We’d go back in the morning, I said. We’d find the owner. We’d sort all of this out. It was a problem for tomorrow, not for this evening. Not right after a funeral.
I thought I’d gotten him to agree with me. I poured us both another drink. Somewhere in the middle of that one, I fell asleep on the couch.
When I woke up, Jerrod was gone.
Just one of those things, the police said. Wrong place at the wrong time. He’d been mugged. His credit cards and phone were gone. He’d bled out in the street. He was almost halfway to Souhait.
I went there to get his art taken down, like he’d wanted. They’d already expanded the collection. His photo smiled down at me from the main wall, next to an obituary lauding his talent, his bold innovation, his novelty. The rest of the gallery was plastered with his work. I recognized some of the paintings he’d been rifling through at the apartment the previous day. Most had already been sold.
And on the back wall, in a small but well-lit section by themselves, hung six of my paintings. The one that I’d seen the first night was there, along with two others I was particularly proud of. If I’d been asked to pick three pieces to best represent who I was and who I had been as an artist, those might have been them.
The other three bore my signature, but I did not paint them. Not yet. Like Jerrod, I knew the subject matter in them. I had thought of them, conceived them, and even made some attempts to put them to canvas, but they had never come out like I’d imagined. I’d set them aside to try again later, when I had better supplies, when I was better.
Yet here they hung, complete and perfect, exactly as I had pictured them. It was a triumph of my craft.
It was beautiful to see what I could become, given enough time.
It’s just too bad that I don’t have it.
Most artists don’t become famous until after they’re dead.
X
submitted by the-third-person to nosleep [link] [comments]

2023.06.02 13:22 Aggravatedmomoftwo Choosing family or my spouse

I 36F am married to 38M for roughly 15 years, for 8 of those years we’ve practically lived two separate lives because of his career choices. He’s an over the road truck driver who has moved us (my kids 15f, 13f and I) to different states where I have no support system or family to only see him every few months. Last year we moved back home where my family is. He ended up quitting his job because he “wanted to go local”. This lasted a total of three weeks before he ended up going to another state to stay with a friend and find work up there. He found a job that ended up being 5 days on and 2 days off. I never agreed to moving out of state yet here we are again moving once again.
Usually I’d shut my mouth and just go with it knowing that it’s just going to be me and my kids for the most part. But we moved back because my mom is deathly ill, she may have a year or two good years left before Parkinson’s and dementia fully take over. It’s been over 8 years since I’ve lived near my mom. When I tell my spouse this I’m told “well, you can fly down, you’re not missing much yet and can be there when she’s dying.” I went through this with my grandfather and yes, I got to see him the last 72 hours of life but I immediately had to leave and couldn’t be there for the funeral. To this day it eats me alive. The last time we broke up for a few months my brother died and I was able to spend three weeks there planning my brother’s funeral, packing his things, going to his celebration of life. I’d never gotten to do this if we weren’t broken up at that time.
While my marriage has had ups and downs this choice will end it. My brain tells me to leave but my heart says otherwise and it always comes back to my kids. I never wanted to separate them from their dad as I never was around mine growing up.
submitted by Aggravatedmomoftwo to Advice [link] [comments]

2023.06.02 11:49 forkedfertilization Jacky Oh Cause Of Death, Obituary, Funeral » GhBase•com™-Everything & News Now

Jacky Oh Cause Of Death, Obituary, Funeral » GhBase•com™-Everything & News Now submitted by forkedfertilization to u/forkedfertilization [link] [comments]

2023.06.02 11:25 notyouraveragetwin I just need to talk

Its almost 4am and i don't think sleep is going to happen until I 'talk' about it.
My sister(45f) died January 7th of this year. I hosted a 'drink in remembrance' a couple weeks later when it became obvious my mother was going to drag this out. 'I want to wait til spring' she kept saying. It was not the official service by any means. There's a lot of meat and potatoes to this situation, just trying to think of the most relevant.
My mother casually mentioned she went up north to the cemetery memorial weekend to clean her parents headstone and stuff. I can't help but be upset.
The plot has been purchased, yet her ashes are still at the funeral home. There are no current plans to bury her soon. I'm starting to feel like she's doing this to 'punish' her. She died of an overdose.
In the last two years my mom and her have spoken 2 times. I talked to her weekly and saw her about 2x a month the last few months of her life. We talked Friday briefly and Saturday night she was gone. We were close.
My mother has made it clear only her feelings matter. I retrieved her personal belongings and went through them alone. I made the picture boards for the informal event I hosted. Alone. I have 2 other siblings... I feel extremely abandoned. She spiraled the past two years horribly. My family 'washed their hands off her'.
Yes she was a different person the last two years. But she deserves better than this. I need my sister to put to rest for the sake of my mental health. It's keeping me up at night. I'm so anxious, and I know its because I need to my sister to be laid to rest. Not sitting on shelf in a closet at the funeral home.
I'm willing to get her and keep her ashes with me until mom is 'ready', but I can't hear another lecture about how this isn't about my feelings.
I asked my older brother to talk to her, because his opinions and feelings matter.
I feel like my mother is being selfish. I have cousin's and her friends who kept inquiring about the official service(snow storm kept a lot of people home that day I hosted. And no, my mom didn't come to that. My dad did. He's irritated with her too but he won't say anything.
I thought my family was normal. We sure put on a good show because this situation has me reflecting on my life. And normal is the last word id use to describe my immediate family.
I don't know what I'm asking. I just had to ramble somewhere and i think I'm going to fall asleep soon now that I got this out of my head.
I miss my sister.
submitted by notyouraveragetwin to GriefSupport [link] [comments]

2023.06.02 11:15 thesheepwhisperer368 My Girl

My Girl
  1. At the vet office, may 30th because a cyst ruptured in her shoulder. She wanted to go home
  2. Laying by me at the vet
  3. Taken the day of the vet
  4. The day we brought her home, father's day 2021 5.she likes to lay on my things. She keeps my shoes for me too. Doesn't even chew them.
  5. In the backyard with Remington(he'll be 3 this june)
  6. She missed me so she slept on my bed while I was away in Arkansas for a funeral
  7. Waiting at the door.
  8. I just think this one is nice
  9. This one too.
  10. After her first grooming appointment since her adoption
  11. Playing with Remington in our room
  12. She likes laying in my bed
  13. Morning cuddle
  14. He wanted her to play, she wanted to lay in her crate. He decided he wanted the toy he tried to entice with back
  15. He gave her the ball and then was upset when she wanted to keep it so he whined and pawed at her and looked at her like that
  16. Looking at "their" backyard. They like to look over the fence unto the field behind it.
  17. More of her in my bed
submitted by thesheepwhisperer368 to u/thesheepwhisperer368 [link] [comments]

2023.06.02 10:52 Mr2W This funeral home has a drive-thru for cars but not a bike lane...how dare they

This funeral home has a drive-thru for cars but not a bike lane...how dare they submitted by Mr2W to FuckCarscirclejerk [link] [comments]

2023.06.02 10:22 Plushytoonz There is a town called Necro town

An old friend of mine once told me never to go to Necro town. I asked him why but he just never gave me the answer. Looking far from my home town, Necro town looked abandoned and was never owned by anybody nearby. Whenever I look out into that town, I wonder about it. The unknown and its many mysteries.
My old friend seems to have lived in that place but he never did. It's as if he was making up a horror story about Necro town. But, I did what he told me to. Never go there. Ever.
I asked my parents about that place. They never knew anything about it except it's just a wasteland. Grandpa never knew about it either. Such a mystery as to why would my old friend prohibit me from entering but my dad said otherwise. "If you want to go there and explore the place, I guess you can. But you better be careful from strangers alright kid."
By the time I turned 14, the bully in my school keeps getting worse on me. I get slammed into a locker, get my head knocked out, and even beaten up. I really don't want to go back to school but how am I supposed to convince my parents that?
The reason I don't have any friends at school was mostly because they don't like me as a person. I expressed myself for who I am and yet I get mocked by them all the time. calling me many names like freak, loser, norm, or even Melvin the idiot. Was it because I'm different? I have no clue about them at all.
I tried to fight back but they just keep winning every time. So then, I run away from school in the middle of classes, lunch breaks, and activities but every time I do, a teacher always caught me down and send me to the principles office. I lied to them and said "Because I wanna get candy." Or "I forgot my books back home.". I don't want to tell them the truth because I knew how much big trouble I'm going to have if I do.
I tried escaping all over again and finally I made it one day. And whenever I escaped, I always go to my old friends house. We go into the woods to go fishing in the pond. I love seeing those shiny blue fishes in the waters because they're just so beautiful when I look at them in the afternoon.
My old friend's name is Brandon West. He's of course much older than me because he's about 64 years old and for some reason he got so much energy to keep himself moving. He always have his brown firm cane with him everywhere he goes. He tells me tales of ancient beings, heavens and hells, the Sturgeon, and the blue turbo.
I've asked about the blue turbo and all he said was. "He's a sad man." Sad man sounds like he's been through a lot.
The blue turbo was born in a world where flame people live. They all have special powers depending on their shape and colors of their bodies. Green flame, blue flame, red flame, etc. He grew up with lovely parents who have similar powers to his. His power is both his parents powers. In his childhood, he grew fond of his friends and family that he devoted his life to protect the good in life.
In his teenage years, he became an officer. Protecting the people who are in danger. It was starting to get dangerous for him, but that never means he won't give up.
In his late 20s, he became a well devoted guardian, fighting against the evil dark powers from beneath the world's surface. He loved everything that is good in life. He had a wife and son while being a guardian. Their relationship was strong and they did whatever it takes to enjoy life. But then one day, the world around them turned into a warfare. The evil dark powers are killing people whilst they fight back. He fought hard and won. But it was at a huge cost. He lost his wife and child right in front of his eyes. Lost what's left in the world. He fell to a deep depression, which he quit being a guardian and was never to be seen again.
Brandon always looked sad whenever he told me the blue turbo. It's as if that felt real and it did happen. But, it is compelling. I asked him about where did the blue turbo go. He said. "Don't know. But wherever he is, he'll still devote himself in life."
One day when I was 16, I escaped school again and this time it didn't go well. By the time I walked behind the basketball court, I was caught by the bully and his gang. "Well oh well. Looks like Melvin the idiot is trying to leave the school all by himself. You're really going to leave again just so that you'll get away from us? That ain't happening norm." They were going to beat me up badly, so I didn't waste anymore time as I ran away from them. I didn't know how fast I was at this point.
They kept following me as I ran on the sidewalk. I didn't want to look back because I knew very well that if I did, I'll slow down. The running footsteps behind me kept pacing towards me. I can hear the loud steps as if they're like the golem's foot. My breath is getting shallow the more I keep running and my legs began to grow numb and sore. But I never slowed down nor stop. I just kept running until I finally lost them.
"Get back here you freak!!"
"We're going to kill you loser!!"
Then, a road towards Necro Town appeared before me. The words from Brandon echoed inside my mind not to go in there. My heart beats in fear. The bully and his gang chasing behind me like I'm their food to eat. My legs are about to surrender to my exhaustion and I can feel every pain coming from my muscles.
I can hear the footsteps behind me as I think of any other options. There are no other ways to go except into Necro town. I don't want to be beaten up or killed. Then, every memory of myself being bullied by them flashes into my mind, making me very angry. I'm sick and tired of being their punching bag. It's time for me to fight back!
I stopped at my tracks and turned to face them. Face to face. They stood on their grounds before me. Laughing at me with mockery. I stood my grounds and prepared myself for the worst. "I'm tired of being your punching bag! It's time for me to stand up for myself! I'm not afraid of you!!" But I lied. I'm still scared of getting beaten up. All I want is for them to stop bullying me forever.
The bully rushes towards me and I was ready to punch him at any moment given. By the time he's in front of me, I missed my shot. The punishment for my failed attempt to punch him was getting knocked out by getting punched in the face. I fell to the ground, knocking my head against it. My body passed through the limits of entering Necro town. My head and shoulders lay on the Necro town grounds.
I was then slowly dragged into Necro town by the bully's gang. I can feel the painful sting on my back as I get dragged. Suddenly, before I went to sleep mode, I heard screams. The bully's scream fades far away and his gang gets slowly decreasing. My arms are dropped down. The hands that held me tight are loosened from my arms so fast. I can hear each of them screaming in fear as piece by piece they disappear. Then I blacked out.
I woke up to find myself in an empty dark room. While my vision was getting clear, I slowly stand back up. When I got back my conscious, I gagged from the awful stench that just came from inside this room. I looked around to see where's the door for my escape and there, I see the shining golden knob reflecting my sight. I ran and grab hold of it, then twist it to open the door. To my very eyes, I've witnessed the most insane horror I've ever had in my life.
The sources aren't just in the room I was in. It was also in the living room because there are 5 dead bodies hanging like pig meat. Their flesh cut and sliced so disgustingly brutal that I can see their organs and tissues beginning to slip out of the sockets. Blood and bones are spread around the floor, shining the cold light that shines through the curtains of the outside. When I look at the top of their corpses, there are eyes looking directly at me with fear. Then I realize that they're still alive.
They suddenly screamed everywhere with the pain they share. I blocked my ears with my palm as I felt the twist in my stomach getting worse. Tears rapidly escapes out of my eyes that I shut my eyes tight. I quickly ran out of there and arrived to a room that is full of random colors. The colors are wrong. They're all wrong in many different ways that I can't describe so well about it. The screams and the colors made me vomit all over the floor. I nearly fell to the ground but I kept myself back up in hopes of leaving this place. I want to go home. I want to see Brandon again. I wished I'd rather get beaten up in the basketball court than coming here to lead my bully and his crew to their unholy demise.
I spun around in a frenzy and saw the bright and weird door before me. I quickly opened it and I was met with a freezing atmosphere. The world turned into some sort of hell. There are large stone spikes all over Necro town, crushing through the houses. The sky all grey and the sun is smiling at me with an empty mouth. Its eyes glaring at me in those sockets. The Sockets are too big for the eye balls that I thought it'll fall to the ground but it didn't.
I don't see anybody else outside. There's only the deformed flesh like trees and broken homes. My heart begins to panic. The world is making me crazy and horrified at the same time that I froze in place.
Something was walking behind me. They felt wrong, all wrong like it's not human. I turned around to see nothing. Literally nothing. There's no room filled with colors and the screaming stopped. Far away from myself is the darkest room I've ever seen. All dark. No light. Nothing.
I closed the door behind me and checked the room that was hanging my bully and his colleagues but they're all gone and the wall is stained with blood. The writing gave me enough chills and fear that drives me mad. There is no god to save you, Hermit
I spun around in a frenzy as if someones looking at me. I can feel the eyes are at me and I don't know where it is until a stomp noise can be heard right in the room I woke up in. At first, there were loud footsteps, and now it's banging on the door like a maniac. I didn't wait for it to come out of course. So I ran away, outside in the hellish Necro town.
I'm running on the road now and something is coming for me. Thoughts popping inside my head about whatever is coming for me, it won't lose my tracks as it can smell my very soul. Until I was very far away from the house I was in, a loud scream booms from that house. The scream is like the thousand souls tormented in hell for all eternity. I can feel its gaze at me with its hellish intentions.
I didn't stop to look back. I just kept running until I get into my home. How far is this town? Because I've been running for much longer and the town shouldn't be so far. The footsteps are getting closer as my heart beats faster with every second of its footsteps getting closer.
My legs became so sore and numb, and my lungs became so shallow from the burning air. I suddenly coughed so much that I fell to the ground, hitting my elbow. I tried to crawl away but it was already too late as the thing behind me has already come to get me. I rolled on my back and looked forward to see a tall hideous figure.
It was a tall humanoid with coal like skin. Its skin tightens its bones and I can see its red blood veins pulse around its deflated muscles. Its legs are of a goat's legs, resembling the creature to be something demonic like the devil. The arms are so long that its length is from shoulder to feet. Snd its fingers are way too long that it's like a monstrous claw. Its head is not human, more like a hood connecting to its shoulders. It's not the long and impossible stretched jaw that made me scream. The eyes are because there's nothing in them. Nothing but darkness of Sheol.
It's reaching me with those hideous claws while screaming like a wild demonic animal ready to pounce on their prey. Is this really how I was going to die. To be brutally mauled by its claws and jaw. Will I share the same fate as the bully and his comrades? I don't want to know and I never want to live like this. I'm scared. I don't want to die.
By the time it reaches me, something bright hits it. It's like I'm looking at a fireball? It was big. Bigger than my torso. I looked upwards to see a bright blue figure approaching me. It's like I'm looking at someone from the afterlife because its whole body is in flames except for a recognizable coat, pants, and a cane.
"It's been so long since I've fought these creatures." It was a voice of an old man I recognize clearly. But this doesn't make any sense at all. It's so strange for this guy to sound like Brandon but his voice matches him.
The creature growled at him like a dog and I didn't waste anytime to get away from it. But the smoking smell in my lungs prohibit me to get away. It's like I was dying. But my eyes are alright.
The creature jumps over me, attacking the savior of my life. He shot another fire ball at it and that makes the creature soar back. The creature stands back up wildly before the stranger appeared before it as if he teleported in a blink of an eye. He wack his cane at its head which rips off from its neck. This stranger killed that creature like its nothing but when he turned around I can see fear on his face.
His face, I can see his eyes and mouth. There's also 2 triangular scar at the sides of his chin and they're not burning in flames. "Melvin. I can explain later but right now we have to leave." He said my name just like Brandon does. This is insane, I don't know if I was dreaming or it's real because everything is going mad.
"Let me help you up." He held me by the arm, pulling me up from the ground as I tried to take a breath. My legs are too tired for me to walk. But when he pulled me from the ground, I felt a great sensation of cleansing in my lungs and my legs and muscles began to relax. His hands doesn't hurt nor burn me as if it's a regular hand with no effect on me. I look at him and still he's in fear. Why would he be scared too?
"Brandon?" I said with fear and question in my voice. He looked at me with defeat as if he can't hide that away anymore. That's how I knew he's Brandon. "Well. Looks like you figured it out. But come on. Lets move now. You don't want the fish and chips cold." As he ran, I followed in pursuit. My legs felt reborn and my lungs have increased somehow. This felt so real. Everything does. I'm not dreaming at all. It's really happening. I kept asking Brandon with many questions from my head. "You're the blue turbo?"
"Yes. I am."
"Where were you after you quit being a -"
"Melvin. Now is not the time. We have to go. I'll answer them until we reach home ok."
We were suddenly blocked by 5 more of these creatures. They're just like the one I met before when I was being chased. I hid behind Brandon for safety as the creatures screams. I stepped far back from them, not wanting to turn into their puppet or something worse. I looked around to see more of them approaching us with hungry mouths. We're surrounded.
We stand with our backs facing each other. I'm horrified to see more of these demonic creatures all around us, ready to pounce at any moment. When I turn to see Brandon I thought he would be scared but he looks like he knew this would happen. "Melvin, when I say go, run away and don't look back. Keep running no matter what."
"What? But I don't want to leave you."
"I know. But this is the least I can do for you to live. You know my story Melvin. You know why."
My heart sank from the message. Leaving him here with all these creatures, I don't even know if he'll live on after this. But what can I do against these creatures. I'm just a human. I felt so much fear and guilt. After for what I've done to myself and Brandon. I wished I never had run away.
The monsters are creeping in. I can hear the chatters from their jaws and the footsteps around us. The creatures are ready to kill us because their backs are lifting up as a sign of predatory nature. Then suddenly when Brandon pierces his cane to the ground a loud boom vibrated around us as blue circular waves from the cane emerges out. The waves created a gravitational force that the creatures started floating in the air. Except we weren't floating. "GO!!"
And with that, I ran away as fast as I can, far away from this hell, far away from the only friend I have in my life. I can hear the sounds of vibration turned shut quiet and the screams of the demonic creatures so loud I ran even more faster. Tears are falling from my cheek with the guilt squeezing my heart with pain.
When I finally escaped and was on the clear road, I cried. I cried so much that I can feel everything around me started to fall. I've lost my best friend in Necro town and it's all my fault. If I hadn’t ran away, none of this would’ve happened. I've lost him. I was lying on the ground with the deepest depression in my soul hurting me. I can't bare to lose my friend. I just can't. What am I even supposed to do? I can't save him. I'm not strong enough. I'm just scared.
I'm now sitting at the front porch of Brandon's home. Waiting for him to come back for days. I haven't eaten anything nor come back home or school. I just stayed there waiting for him to come back. I'm alone and scared.
I kept being bothered by random people. They ask why I'm still outside. I never did answer until they called the hospital or the cops. I told them there's nothing to worry about but they don't believe me. If I tell them the truth, they'll die in Necro town and I don't want that for them. I don't believe the cops would understand.
From every hospital or cops I went through, I just kept coming back. Even my parents told me to stay home, I snuck out in the night waiting for my old friend. I did eat sometimes but not really much. I just went to my room until night time arrives.
Then, one day, at midnight, he's back. He's really back. I was so happy and glad he's alive just the way he is. But when I approached to hug him, he collapsed down to his knees. I was exploded with fear and worry. I helped him up and asked him what just happened. "I don't have much time Melvin. Lets go inside, we have a visitor I think you would like to meet. Meet Judith Wednesday." Behind him was a girl who's the same age as me. Her hair is black and she wore a grey hoodie with a logo I've never seen in my whole life. She was covered in dark red blood. The blood that is definitely from the creatures in Necro town.
We all went in and I gave Brandon a seat on the couch. Judith sat next to his left. And me, I sat next to his right. "Brandon, what happened?"
He looked at me with a smile on his face as he begins to change form in front of my eyes. His body changed like he was glowing and the flames form around him. His form now just like the form I saw while at Necro city. "Well. With the help of this young lady, we've defeated all the monsters. But, for me, it didn't go well for me. I'm slowly dying you see. I'm not going to have much time in this world."
"But you can't die. You're like spiritual aren't you?"
"Yes. But that doesn't mean death can't happen to me. I don't know where people like me go when they die. Nobody does."
I can feel my heart race as the tears slides on my face. I can't help myself but to cry before him.
"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have ran away. I shouldn't have."
"Melvin. It's not your fault. I saved you because I wanted you to live a life I protected. It's my choice. And I'm glad I did. And you didn’t do anything to get there on purpose. I would’ve done the same thing by running if I were you. Now. Lets go fishing together. One last time."
I wiped my tears away, trying my best not to ruin this very moment but I just couldn't help myself. He reached out his arms and I took it. I hugged him tightly whilst crying so deeply that I don't want to let go. We've stayed like this for couple of minutes until I finally let go with my soul finally relaxing but with small sadness. My guilt is free.
We grabbed our fishing equipment and went to the river in the forest. Judith follows us with a fishing rod in hand. I don't feel anything like talking to her but at least we both have company. To share the moment together I guess. But this is for Brandon and I hope she knew that too.
When we arrived at the jetty and started placing worm food at the hooks. Brandon was the first to throw his fishing hook. The fishing hook was glowing blue, just like his flames. The pond glowed so bright like a lantern. It was beautiful. The fishes shine so bright from the light. It's as if the world around us is gone and all that matters was this very moment before death.
Judith was struggling to put the worm food at the hook. I went to help her but she said. "It's ok. I got it." By the time her finger was nearly stabbed by the hook, the tip of her finger turned into metal. But that didn't bother me because at this moment, it felt like home. We just laughed. I don't know why we were laughing and it's like being a kid again.
We threw our fishing hooks in the pond, waiting for a fish to bite. The shiny blue fishes. They're more beautiful than I'd remembered. The stains of my tears fades away. "Melvin. You promise me that you'll stay strong?"
I heard Brandon said and I didn't believe it at first. How can I be strong for those that really need help or even myself? "I'm not strong."
"You are. You're strong the way you are. It's ok to be scared because that's a part of how we live. You're a good man Melvin. You just got to believe in yourself."
"How?"
With a smile on his face, he replied. "You find ways to make yourself better. Achieve your goals. And enjoy life." His words are so convincing that I begin to believe that. My eyes caught my attention to Judith with a warm and sad smile on her face. For some reason, that helped me believe too. I think I can be strong if that's what he said. "Ok. I'll be strong."
"Good. Remember Melvin, you're not alone." And with a sad and free smile on his face, he faded away before my very eyes. His body evaporated into nothing as the last bits of his flames disappear. The tears in my eyes slowly fell as I look into the the pond and the sun beginning to rise.
"I know how it feels." I heard Judith said.
"Really?'
"I've lost my mom and dad to cancer. My mom died when I turned 8. My dad died when I'm at the age of 16. I felt so depressed when my parents die right in front of me. I can't do anything except watch."
"I guess we both got the same moment then. I wish I could just get him back." She looked at me with sad eyes. This very moment makes us feel so calmly sad like its a funeral or somewhere quiet.
"I know. But there's nothing we can do. We just have to move forward with the memories."
It was nice to have someone with me who had similar stories like mine. She was right, we can't do anything about it. We can't get them back. It was hard for me, I know well. Like she said, I had to move forward and keep the memories I had with Brandon. I looked at the sky and prayed that wherever Brandon is now, he's at peace with his wife and son. In a good life he deserved.
It's been a few weeks. I stopped trying to escape school because my bully's are gone. But that didn't make me feel better at all nor felt good. Their parents looked everywhere for them, even the cops but they're not found. Some of the cops went into Necro town and was never heard of again. I wished I could warn them but they don't believe me when I did.
Judith came to visit me every now and then whenever I left school. We exchange stories of our past lives and other stories shared by others. We became close as friends as we kept hanging out with each other. I'm very glad and happy to have a new friend. She's not like any other teenager I've ever met. She's really good with cutting wood. She even shot an arrow directly at the fish in the river.
She's really cool but also depressing. She doesn't have any other friends and doesn't even go to school. Her mom died first, which is the reason she stopped going to school. So that she'll spend more time with her dad just like with her mom. She didn't want any friends. She only wanted her mom and dad and they're enough for her. Until she lost them. They were everything to her. But as time goes, she moved on and came here.
I knew how she fought the creatures with Brandon. At first I thought she was lost like me too but she's much stronger than I'd think. She told me she got a robot spirit within her spirit. A fusion. She can form into the form of her spiritual companion. Her name was Athena and in every single dream she kept coming over in her dreams, babbling random stuff. She's inside of her head, which means she's the everyday annoying voice in her mind that she cannot get away from. I felt bad for her at first but she shrugged it off, saying. "But hey, we got along with each other. Even that I don't like her at first, she's a person too."
One day, we went to the woods at night with our flash lights. It was horrifying for me because we could get lost so easily here. Sweat poured down on my forehead as we kept walking into the woods. Until suddenly, a bright blue light in front of us glows in the night. When we approached the light, it was the pond.
The pond was glowing the same light as Brandon's. This never happened ever in every night or day. Unless he did something or he somehow resides there. But I don't feel like he's there. But I can feel something else.
We walked to the jetty until we stopped near the edge. The pond is as beautiful as I remember with the blue shiny fishes swimming around it. I wonder what happens if I put my hand in the pond. Will I feel something warm or something else. Maybe my arm will glow. I don't know. But then something grew within my soul. A connection. As if the pond wants me to put my hand in. It felt amusing.
So I did it without hesitation. It felt warm as I swim my right hand in the water. The water suddenly jumped on my arm. I thought I was going to panic but I didn't flinch. Instead I let it do what it does. Judith tried to pull me away but I told her not to. She then watched as the glow of the pond gathered around the water that is holding my arm. I felt a great sensation of warmth and heat. I felt a stinging pain all over my arm but it quickly turned into a cold feeling.
All of the glow of the blue flame from the pond is now on my arm, glowing as small flames flew up from my arm, just like Brandon's head of flames. As the glow fades away, I can see clearly that my arm is stained with bright blue.
The pond is now empty of normal water and the fish swims peacefully. We were both shocked as to what happened. Did the glow of Brandon's flames just fused with my arm? I can definitely feel the power from my arm coursing with my soul. "How did it feel?"
"It felt like, painful at first but went normal. I don't know." A realization hit me that I forgot where my flashlight was. I looked to find nothing. Judith helped me out by lighting around the place but it wasn't enough. Suddenly, I felt something in my arm. I lift my hand up and gripped tight, making a bold fist. When I opened my hand, a bright blue flame appeared before me. A bright orb of blue flame glowing our surroundings.
It's as if I knew what I was doing. It's like my soul is connected to this power. When I looked at Judith, her face was a surprised look. I'm surprised as well. So I think I have Brandons powers now. I think I know the reason the glow came tonight. Brandon gave me his powers because what's the point in keeping them when he's living in a peaceful life. I understand now.
I looked around and found my flashlight dropped in the pond. I was frightened that it could've electrocuted the fishes but it didn't. I wasn't paying any attention to it. Accidentally dropping my flashlight. But it looked to be drained off somehow. When I was grabbing in for it, the pond created a vortex beneath the touch of my right palm.
It was shockingly beautiful to watch. The vortex flows so smoothly. I then put my foot on the ground and the pond made space for me to be able to move around. The fish swims all around the pond as I stepped on the ground of the pond beneath me. It was dry. All dry. I grabbed my flashlight and looked up to the jetty. To Judith. With a smile on her face, she said. "This is so cool."
I smiled back as the pond begins to glow and my right hand glows with blue the blue flames. I stand on the ground of the pond my old friend and I loved going to. I have the gift from Brandon and now, I think I'll use this power for good.
I looked up into the night sky, watching the stars shine above whilst a shooting star appeared with them.
I'll be strong Brandon. I'll overcome every obstacle I come across and overcome the suffering. I'll be strong for who I am. And no one is going to stand in my way of doing that.
submitted by Plushytoonz to nosleep [link] [comments]

2023.06.02 10:15 MilkbottleF Two Stories

The Castaway

The man on the raft had only hope to keep him alive now. The bones showed through his thin face. An endless moan escaped his trembling mouth. His eyes were bright with fever. He had been clinging to life for more than a month now on this wretched collection of planks.
All at once a new sound reached his enfeebled brain: a buzzing noise imagined in his delirium no doubt. But it wasn't —it really was a helicopter approaching slowly, flying over the raft. Saved! He was saved! The castaway danced about clumsily.
In the meantime a rope-ladder had been lowered from the helicopter. A man dressed in rags, his emaciated face overgrown with a coarse beard, was pushed brutally on to the top rungs.
The helicopter turned away and disappeared.
Now there were two castaways on the raft.

Happy Are Those, Like Ulysses...

Some people feel an unhealthy attachment to their native town; and if circumstances force them to settle down away from home they cannot bear the thought of dying so far from their birthplace. Alas, things are not always easily remedied. In the past, many unfortunates realized, too late, that they would breathe their last many miles from the consolations of home.
Fortunately, progress has changed all this. Nowadays, the dying are conveyed to their home towns by express train. A miracle of devotion and organization now makes it possible for them to die at the very spot where they were born; but few are aware of the altruism and self-sacrifice required to enable the near-defunct to make this last journey.
Let us make a brief survey. The dying are collected from hospitals and homes and loaded into an ambulance coach. As the departure time approaches, the coach is taken from its siding and coupled to the train. Old people brought in by van keep arriving. At last the whistle goes and the train starts.
This marks the beginning of a period of real torment for the ambulance men. The express runs at full speed. The ambulance coach is connected fore and aft to other coaches and its weight, together with that of its contents, reduces the cushioning effect of the springs so that it waltzes madly with each piston-stroke of the engine. Despite all this jolting and bumping, the ambulance team have to complete the sorting which was only partly done before departure. Their job is to arrange and classify the bodies into compartments, each carrying the name of a station. Crowded together and almost unable to move their arms and legs because of the obstructing stretchers, the unfortunate ambulance workers forage in the enormous heap of the moribund, feverishly classifying them, breathing air that is wholly noxious.
During the seven-hour run from Paris to Bordeaux each ambulance clerk must sort, on average, fourteen thousand old people without a break. Since most of these special trains run at night, the work has to be done in the smoky flickering light of wretched oil-lamps. New coaches lit by electricity have been put into service but the bulbs often prove defective. Only last September a team making the return run to Paris in one of these coaches had to use candles fixed on syringes.
And sorting is not all they have to do! The bodies for each station have to be put into sacks, tied and put aside. There's not a minute to lose. The hands of the clock turn relentlessly, the thermometer mounts inexorably, the end of the journey approaches. Furthermore, an express does not stop at every station along the line, so when it passes through a station the sack or stretcher must be thrown out of the coach. Two or three minutes before the expected time an ambulance man pressed against a door peers questioningly into the distance. Opposite him a delivery man stands doubled over against another door, clutching a bulging sack to his chest, ready to throw it out at the word of command. 'Now!' shouts the first man, and the sack is catapulted into the darkness on to the platform or track where it is soon collected by employees of the local funeral service.
This expeditious method of delivery is not free from its dangers and risks. Accidents are still common. Only recently a policeman on duty on a station platform was knocked down by an old man falling on top of him. Another time, at the spot between Abbeville and Calais, where the train runs over a series of bridges only a few miles from the sea, the ambulance man, misled by the darkness, tumbled a stretcher into the mouth of a river. This only came to light the next day when the stretcher was recovered floating in the open Channel several miles away, ripped open with three-quarters of its contents pillaged.
-- Roland Topor [Tr by Margaret Crosland and David LeVay]. Published in Stories and Drawings (Peter Owen, 1968.) See also: "Feeding the Hungry"
submitted by MilkbottleF to Extraordinary_Tales [link] [comments]

2023.06.02 09:58 RevealDisinfo Officially confirmed losses of Russian army officers as of May 31, 2023 (statements, funeral certificates, memorial plaques, obituaries)

Officially confirmed losses of Russian army officers as of May 31, 2023 (statements, funeral certificates, memorial plaques, obituaries) submitted by RevealDisinfo to UkraineWarVideoReport [link] [comments]

2023.06.02 09:22 ArticulateAquarium Car tax and change of owner issue solved

Sorry if this doesn't go here, mods please delete if inappropriate.
Recently my elderly father passed, so I quit my job and came to stay with my elderly mum for a few months (to relieve my brother as he'd recently taken weeks off work to do the same when mum and then later dad was in hospital). The car's in dad's name and the tax, MOT, and service are due around now. Mum was really worried as dad had zero charge road tax for being disabled, and she thought she couldn't drive it until it was sorted - as the log book part can't be found it would be up to 4 weeks to get it in her name and taxed properly. First thing I did was call 111 and speak with them about the situation; after a long chat with experienced officers they said because we're trying to sort it we'd not be charged if found driving on dad's road tax. I had to go to a couple of post offices as it's more complicated and the process took nearly a week, but now the road tax is paid fully and the car should be in mum's name in a few weeks.
While we were out the other day, another visit to a PO being one of the reasons, we parked up as mum wanted to pop into Greggs for a couple of sausage rolls. She fell last December and broke her hip and had a replacement fitted, so I parked as close as possible which meant it was on a business's drive and she walked over with her stick. I sat in the car in case the business needed me to move, and saw a guy bend down in front of the car and pick something up then walk off. As he walked off, he had a big red thing in his hand which looked suspiciously like my mum's purse. Took me longer to process than it should've but after a few seconds I got out to see what he'd picked up, by then mum had come back and said she'd left her purse in the car. I ran in the direction the guy had gone and there was a big DIY independent place there followed by a row of houses, so went in and asked the 'keepeowner if he'd seen a guy with a big red purse. Mum followed and as (they said) he hadn't entered the place I went out to see if I could see him.
By the time I got back, the shopkeeper was leading mum to the CCTV screens in the back while she was explaining dad's funeral expenses were in her purse - in cash. I called 999 and they spent at least 10 minutes on the phone with me and then mum, telling her 2 cars and several 'spotters' are in the general location now. The CCTV showed the guy walking past, then walking back with a red thing in his hand. After we'd gone through everything we could, we got in the car to go home for a coffee but the Police called again for questions so we pulled over. After a few minutes they called again and said they'd got her purse - we were only 2 minutes away and headed straight back. As we were pulling up outside the DIY place the police car was too, the (very!) young officer handed over mum's purse and it had everything inside it - completely untouched. Apparently the owner of the DIY place found it in the alley next to the building, even though he'd taken mum there earlier to look to see if the thief had dropped it. Mum went in to the DIY place to thank the guy, and I had a little cry as her luck has been so shitty for the last year.
First time I've called the police since the Bradford Manningham riots back in the 90s, when I witnessed from my flat a police van crash and topple over late at night. Very helpful and kind people!
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Jacky Oh Death Reason, partner of DC Young Fly died at 32, what happened? Funerals and obituaries! submitted by bowedsiding95 to Restutore [link] [comments]

2023.06.02 09:11 EventuallyPlump RIP: Jacky Oh Death Reason, D.C. Young Fly’s Partner Dead At 32, What Happened? Funeral & Obituary!

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2023.06.02 09:10 EventuallyPlump RIP: Jacky Oh Death Reason, D.C. Young Fly’s Partner Dead At 32, What Happened? Funeral & Obituary!

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2023.06.02 09:00 forkedfertilization RIP: Jacky Oh Death Reason, Partner Of DC Young Fly Died At 32, What Happened? Funerals And Obituaries!

RIP: Jacky Oh Death Reason, Partner Of DC Young Fly Died At 32, What Happened? Funerals And Obituaries! submitted by forkedfertilization to u/forkedfertilization [link] [comments]