Forever Changing Death

Are you scared of death or dying? What about death curates fear for the inevitable? Can you overcome it so you can be at peace when your time comes? What was your first encounter with death?

The day was sunny and warm. Your typical summer day filled with cars buzzing by on the street beside our po-folk cinderblock house. Still to this day I can clearly recall the officer pulling up by the mailbox to check up on my mother. She had been creating problems for herself with my father for years and wanted to play victim, treating my father as the bad guy.

Standing by the idling, scorching hot car I listened to my mother answer Mr. Jeffreys probing, but caring questions. "Are you ok Sue"? "He been by lately"? He didn't know the difference as he had been lied to. As my mother answered she almost made me wonder if she was sleeping with a married man.

Mr. Jeffrey had been married for at least two years. His wife, Billie Jo, was beautiful with her long dirty blond hair and pale skin. They had two children a little girl, Sarah, that was a spitting image of their mother and a little boy, Jeffrey, that was born in January of 98'. They never really got to know or meet their father. Just as beautiful as both parents in every way. My mother had a knack for attracting younger men. Never the less He still came by.

She had told him that my father had not been by and that she was indeed ok. They went on to have conversation about other things, as I at all of seven years old stood there swatting the pesky gnats and mosquitoes from my face, arms, and legs listened intently to the adult conversation. I eventually ran off to play and get a popsicle and come back to be waved at as Mr. Jeffrey was driving off. Little did I know that was the last time I would see his blue eyed smile again.

July 17, 1997 he was only 24 years old. Mr. Jeffrey was traveling eastward on SR 35 (US Highway 24). He was traveling toward his home in the Funiak Springs area from the Police Department, where he had just finished up his shift for the day. Driving just a little below the posted 55 mile per hour speed limit as it was raining, he was wearing his seatbelt.

Mr. Washington was traveling westward from Funiak at his office working with the Department of Transportation. Washington was only there to pick up his co-workers paychecks and bring them to the Crest offices to be distributed.

Mr. Washington was driving a 1995 Ford F-150 pick-up truck that was obviously owned by the Department of Transportation. Mr. Jeffrey was driving his personal vehicle a 1987 Ford F-150 pick-up truck. You have to understand that it was pouring rain this day. It was like God had let out a monsoon. A tsunami of rain, if you will. Jeffrey was behind an 18-wheeler when Mr. Washington lost control of his vehicle. He never had an opportunity to react before Mr. Washingtons vehicle swiftly crossed over the yellow centerline and smashed into him.

There was no way to stop it from happening. The road was worn and cracked which caused standing water to form. This was the cause of the accident. It didn't help that Mr. Washington was exceeding the speed limit by about ten miles per hour. Neither of them had any type of intoxicants in their system at the time of the crash. Seems like this would be a no-brainer as they were either working or just getting off. There was no mechanical failure on either vehicle which were both in good repair. The only thing that was found to be of an issue was the fact that Mr. Washington's tread depth was of minimal tread.

He died that day. He died because someone couldn't exercise caution and slow down. He died because it was his time to go. He died due to cranial cerebral injuries from blunt force head trauma. He was never going to make it.

I do not recall my mother telling me that he had died. What I do remember is the day of the funeral being asked if I was going. My two older brothers had decided not to go which allowed me the option. I went back and forth for a while as my mother was getting ready, to ultimately decide to go. I didn't want to feel the pain of losing somebody. But most of all I didn't want to see him.

I of course can't remember the ride to the big white block style Baptist Church. But I do remember the loads of people that were there in remembrance of Mr. Jeffrey. The pews were green rough cloth that made my skin itch beneath my dress, with wooden caps on the exposed ends and top of the back rest. the floor was carpeted a pink/tan color and all I could think of was laying on it for comfort.

The first glimpse into the sanctuary, its huge! Riddled with people mourning. We sat all the way to the left in the fourth or fifth pew to the back. I looked down to the center by the altar to see loads of flower bouquets and the casket covered with an American flag. As I scanned the massive room some more, lights were lighting the stage behind the casket with a primary spotlight on the casket itself. The rest of the room was dimly lit. Just enough to see your feet so you don't fall. The wall behind the casket about twenty foot up had a screen in the center and then one on either side so the congregation could see everything. Behind that was the ugliest of tan/white paint.

Then it started. The bustling of people to their seats. The loud chatter coming to a halt when the preacher started talking asking everybody to bow their heads in prayer. Once everybody had sat down I realized that Billie Jo and her daughter were nowhere to be found. I asked my mother where they were. My mother had said to me that they would be brought in to sit in the front row by an escort. Services continue. A few minutes later... The doors to the sanctuary opened and as my mother had said, Billie Jo was escorted. She was Wailing at the top of her lungs. I had never seen or heard anything like it.

She was thrashing her body about as if she was a kung fu sensai in a fight scene. Fighting to keep her husband alive and with her. Fighting, reality. Her hands clung to her escort as she screamed in pain. Her face full of grief. She made it to her seat. Only then did she quietly sob. I do not remember everything that was said while we were there but I remember that Mr. Jeffrey came to me. While the service was going on I saw movement above and ahead of me. I looked up just to see a see through version of Mr. Jeffrey floating above us all.

He didn't say anything to me. He was just watching over all of us. This is when I started crying. I knew ghost were real because I could sense them and see the dark ones all around me. But this was my first kind spirit/ghost. He just came and went like a flickering light but, showed back up periodically. He never had to say a word. I just understood the assignment. I spent the rest of that funeral with my head buried only looking up to find him. It would be later when he would come back to me and talk to me and show me different things.

Weeks after the funeral, I was asleep and had a dream about a gruesome car crash where I saw a man die. Mr. Jeffrey was driving and I was a passenger. I was seated up high almost like a back seat middle view if his truck had a back seat. We were behind the semi and it was storming. This forced us to travel slower than the speed limit. He looks at me as if to say "see, this is what happened to me." As I look into his eyes trying to figure out what that meant we were hit on the drivers side. We were hit hard and I was feeling it all. Flung in the car I look up after it stops and Mr. Jeffrey is bleeding. He is hunched over on the steering wheel. Then, I see him outside his truck and I get out with him and look back as he told me to. The left side of his truck is crushed with mangled metal. We never went to see Mr. Washington. This was all about me witnessing what happened to Mr. Jeffrey.

Of course this was my first actual experience with seeing the other side of life and death. Naturally, it scared me. I never really spoke of it to anybody. Unless, I was testing the waters and telling truthful things that I had witnessed to someone. I needed to know I was not alone. Sadly, I was my mother could not relate and I never spoke to my brothers about it until we were grown. My only interaction I got with people like me was people on tv or my daycare lady who knew I was gifted with a third eye.

My daycare lady wanted me to hone in on my gifts and see what I was capable of. My mother was just jealous. From that point on I spent a lot of time working at understanding my gift and turning it into something good. Having a third eye has blessed me with the ability to not fear death anymore but to understand that there is something coming after.

If you enjoyed this story please leave a comment and a like. Tell me what I can do to improve my writing skills to draw in more readers. This is based on a true story of events that happened in my life when I was seven years old. I have always wanted to right about it. Thank you for reading!