The Mansion and Her Twenty-One Grams

***Warning this essay deals with suicide and the mechanics of the deed.***

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June 14, 2022

I was 16 years old for a seemingly very long time, I like to kid about and say I was for at least five years. Those last two or three years before mom and dad died were tough, a lot of what happened tends to blur together as one long bad memory that occurred during the same year, They did not of course, but there is only so much that you can process before you lose perspective. My mother’s family blames my father for the Greek tragedy that was the end of them. I see it a little differently. We could spend some time debating values, ethics, responsibilities, and influence, but no matter how many hairs we split, and how many buts we enter into the conversation, the bottom line comes down to the individual choices that we make. Those choices are the ones that we have to live with, and can not be taken back no matter what we may wish otherwise.

My parents were addicts, some confuse that word with an individual who only uses drugs. It applies equally to both alcohol and drugs. As much as the disease is about whatever the user is abusing, the substance is only the symptom of the true issue. In most cases but not all, substance abuse relates back to some type of trauma experienced by the user. In my father’s case it had much to do with his relationship with his father. My mother, her husband, and lack of basic maturity. Over the course of their marriage, their marriage was on course to crash and burn, due mostly but not entirely to my father’s addictions. As his addiction took precedence in his life, mom and us kids were sucked into it’s swirling shit-filled vortex. She needed to make some choices, and she had almost no information to do so with.

During the mid early 1980s, there was of course no internet, and the common misconception of an alcoholic was an individual, who was homeless drinking mouthwash or cough syrup out of a paper-bag. This of course was only one possible outcome, and it fails to tell the individual’s story, where it was likely that the individual likely had a family, a home, and some type of spiritual grounding, that was all lost through addiction. This was where my father was headed, and it was damn closely averted mostly by his suicide. But mom went first, eleven months and four days earlier, on my 17th birthday. The unfortunate part about suicide is that, it leaves the survivors with more questions than answers. It is evident that she decided that she was going to try to play with the big dogs. What she should have done was, called her mom and sister and asked them to come get her and us kids out of there. The problem with that was, she would not have been able to hide her incestuous relationship with her eldest son, her neglect of her youngest son, or her own alcoholism. Not necessarily in that order. Of course had she made that call, none of that might have happened.

Her death was weird as she used her own body, she was a type 1 diabetic. She simply layed down and allowed her blood sugar to drop to the point where she became unconscious and from there without intervention death is inevitable. My father was the one who found her. He called EMS but to no avail, she was brain dead, and a ventilator did nothing for her for the next 48 hours. The Catholic Church considers suicide a mortal sin, an attack on God which disallows the individual access to heaven. We were not Catholics, and the protestant church’s position is not much better. With my understanding of spiritualism at the time, that bugged me. At the same time though, I was not at all sure if she deserved to go to heaven so the point was sort of moot. There though the thing was, that she believed fervently in Christ and as the church says, those who believe unto him are all but guaranteed entry to heaven as long as they are repentive. I was sure of one thing, that she would put on a big show and dance for Saint Pete at the gate, and hopefully he would see through her hypocrisy and give her a big thumbs down. I thought that would be unfortunate but, after all, she had brought this on herself because of the choices she had made.

One of the reasons that I was with the leprechaun was because she was an alcoholic, a woman, and had come from an alcohol fuelled abusive relationship. I had hoped to gain some insights into my mother’s behaviour from the leprechaun, there were insights, but nothing that can excuse her reprehensible behaviour. Mostly what came from those insights were the possibilities as to why my mother suicided. All of which to one degree or another made sense, but none of which touched on my mother’s nature, which was high and mighty holier than thou. The act itself was committed out of spite I believe. My relationship, with my family, was so fractured mostly thanks to my brother, that I did not learn until nearly 15 years after my parent’s deaths, that the night of mom’s suicide, dad had been out looking at apartments to rent because they were separating. I believe that my mother’s nature was so selfish that she decided to suicide to punish my father, without thought as to what that action might cost the rest of us, her kids, soon to be ex-husband, her mother, sister and brother in-law.

I am a firm believer that the soul resides in our brains, some have it that the soul resides in out hearts. My mother died, or at least was brain dead, for 60+ hours, before dad told told them to pull the plug on the machines that were breathing for her. They had done brain scans and there was zero activity, technically dead and gone, and yet, at the moment of machine death, there was a burst of activity in the spiritual realm. Out of all the shit that went down in our family, this last moment or so confuses me most of all. It could have lasted for a moment or an hour, I have no proper frame of reference for it, or vocabulary.

It was the afternoon of November 19th, 1984. Mom was in hospital brain dead, but being fed oxygen from a machine, she had suicided the night of my birthday. I was not interested in being at the hospital, nor did I know or care that they would be pulling the plug on her that day. That afternoon I had left the house with no particular destination in mind, I was walking and just letting my feet take me where they did. At about 1930 hours I was close to the intersection of Orton Park Rd and Ellesmere Ave. It was one of those cold and miserable damp November nights, and I was considering getting the bus at Ellesmere since home was still a good 45 minute walk, and being a typical teenager, I was under-dressed for the weather.

As I approached the intersection, just some 100 meters south of it, I had the strangest experience of my life, one that 37 years later I am still trying to figure out. They pulled the plug at 1932 hours, that was her official TOD (Time of Death). At that moment or very close to, was when I had my experience. The church offers terms and words that suggest close approximations to what took place, but are wholly lacking in being properly descriptive of the experience. In this case, the church word would be possession, which is an entirely wrong way to describe what took place. Most folks are familiar with the idea that when a family member dies, a surviving member will claim that the departed member came to him or her, and reported that they were fine, and please try to live peacefully without them. This sometimes is embellished to include, previously deceased members of the clan, and messages from beyond. My experience was a whole lot less kind, and certainly a lot less lovey dovey.

I do not believe in ghosts and goblins. I firmly believe that our transition from one state of energy to another is a fairly simple affair, that is guided and controlled, by our pan dimensional friends the Mothman and their colleagues. The idea of ghosts is a church inspired nonsense designed to play on the very superstitions that they have taught. The average weight of the human soul is 21 grams,

something that weighs almost nothing, as such it should have had an almost negligible ability to influence my physical surroundings. So what we had 100 meters south of that intersection, was a streetlight. Being stood below it, the area was reasonably well lit. My first indication that something was wrong was when the light around me dimmed by 80% or more. Taking immediate notice of this, I quickly looked up at the streetlight to see if it had gone out, or if some other mechanical issue was taking place. As I looked up there was a black gauze like veil between me and the light, as if someone had thrown a shawl or some other light opaque material over me. Which was impossible because I was alone, and the neighbourhood was known to be peaceful, so an external assault was highly unlikely.

As I struggled to understand this phenomenon, there was an ever increasing sense of psychic weight, getting heavier by the second, weighing far more than 21 grams, but crazily not more than. I do not remember exactly what I was thinking except for thinking repeatedly, what the fuck is happening to me?! Had I finally lost my mind and this was what insanity felt like? I do not know if it is possible to put up psychic defences, but if it is, I had them up in full panic mode. As that sense of weightiness increased, there was the sense of whatever this thing was working incredibly hard to get past my defences. The only way I can describe it is, think about how a regular wooden door might feel as a 100 LB dog scratches and lunges against it’s surface, to get thru it and get to you when it’s pissed off.

As I stated above, during these types of encounters the survivor hears the deceased one’s voice, in my case, there was absolute silence. If this thing was indeed my mother, she had nothing to say, and if she was speaking in the tongue of the Kundalini, it was lost in the white noise of the struggle we were locked into. The tactile feel of the opaque whatever it was, felt like raw silk and spider web, unpleasant and weird. The experience ended as quickly as it started, the effort to get to me being as powerful as when it started, and the light returned to normal, and there I was left standing still as cold, and now very confused.

If this thing had been my mother, I do not understand why she came to me, she had many others she could have gone to, four other aunts and uncles, several cousins, her mom or sister, hell even her incestuous lover, and why not even her soon to be ex-husband? I will hazard a guess as to why she came to me, seeing that she was so high and mighty with holier than thou attitudes, it could be that she came at me one more time to try to slap me silly for not being there when they pulled the plug.

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