Skip to main content

And the beat goes on... somehow

I've been out of the blogosphere for a few days. Seems there are times when I can't focus my mind on the task at hand, as it were.

Or, like now, something happens that gives me pause--- a pause that often interferes with my mental day-to-day workings.

About 5 days ago, riding home with my husband and father, we happened upon a traffic back-up. For the fifteen minutes or so that we crawled along the highway, we speculated about what had caused it. Minutes later, we were deafened by the sound of sirens flying past us--- and we knew it was a wreck.

We pass them everyday...cars pulled over on the side of the road, fenders dented, doors crushed... rubber-necking passers causing more of a hold up than the wreck itself.

The wreck that day was different.

As we finally came upon the scene, my stomach sank. It wasn't a "car" wreck. Sprawled across the two-lane highway--- a motorcyclist lay--- his twisted bike in one lane, his twisted body in the other lane. And as I live in an unfortunate state where there is no law requiring motorcyclists to wear helmets, his body laying without a helmet.

It's easy to shrug death off when we read the papers or hear the news clips. It's easy to become desensitized to tragedies when they happen a million miles away to people you'll never know in towns/countries you'll never visit. When you hear about death after death... day after day... it's easy to shut your mind off or close your ears.

But, when you're close enough to stare death in the face.... when you're close enough to see the last expression a person will ever make.... and when that expression is seared into your mind, how can you ever hope to shut your mind off.

There was a reason I didn't follow the line of my family into the medical field......


Comments

  1. A sobering and thought-provoking piece .
    The topic of death always leads me to ponder on Donne's classic poem : Death Be Not Proud . I suppose it's like a sort of life-line when thinking about the pain/despair associated with death ...

    ReplyDelete
  2. "sobering" is exactly the word for it.... Death is one of those subjects that can potentially drown a person--- can't bear it, can't avoid it, fascinated by it, petrified of it.... *sigh*

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Share your thoughts!

Popular posts from this blog

I is for...

... Iron Maiden


The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins? ---Edgar Allan Poe


---and not the English heavy metal band from East London...

Day 2 in the realm of morbid/macabre torture devices finds us back in the Middle Ages (there was definitely a fashionable trend of imaginative torture devices during this time). Though, the Middle Ages isn't really when we should be turning our attention when we discuss the Iron Maiden. In fact, there has been some debate as to the exact appearance of this monstrous creation.

It's probably easiest to relocate such a torturous thing back to a time when it seemed everyone was as skilled at exacting a confession as they were at creating the tools to exact those confessions. It's easier to blame ancestors from several hundred years ago than to accept that anyone of civilized disposition would be capable of doing such horrible things with such terrif…

Y is for Yeth Hound.....

Yeth Hound--- one of the incarnations of the "Black Dog" myth, this one located specifically, in Devon, England.

"Black Dogs" appear in myths across the world, most are associated with death and bad omens... i.e. Hell Hounds.

The Yeth Hound is said to be the spirit of an unbaptised child that takes the form of a headless black dog. The Hound wanders the woods at night making pitiful wailing sounds (though, I'm unclear as to how it makes wailing sounds without having a head).

The Black Dogs were possibly one inspiration from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's ghost dog in The Hound of the Baskervilles-- "an enormous coal-black hound, but not such a hound as mortal eyes have ever seen."



Heed Not, the Lonesome Cry
Heed not, the lonesome cry, the baleful wail echoing through the woods. Seek not, the black hound's sigh, look not where the headless creature stood.
One sound, your limbs will shake, your heart filled with the deepest dread. One glimpse, your sou…

V is for...

... Vrolik Museum



The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins? ---Edgar Allan Poe




How about a morbid museum?

Still used by the medical faculty and students at the University of Amsterdam, the Vrolik Museum is a unique collection of odd bones and skulls, pathogenic specimens, and an assortment of anomalous embryos.

The collection was amassed by Dutch anatomist, Gerardus Vrolik (1775-1859) and continued by his son, Dutch anatomist and pathologist, Willem Vrolik (1801-1863). And since Willem's death, various donations have expanded the collection even further. Most specimens are human, though a few zoological specimens have trickled into the collection. Preserved remains, plaster casts, and various models show an assortment of congenital deformities and malformations.

This is one of those places that isn't for the faint of heart---certainly not for those who are easily moved or triggered by…