Tag Archives: death

2225. Fewer deaths on Sunday

Alexia used to joke – and goodness knows it was the same joke every midday Sunday – that there were fewer deaths on Sunday so she would indulge in a wine or two and a cigarette.

They always had the main meal at midday-ish on a Sunday. On other days of the week the main meal was in the evening. Alexia’s little joke was undoubtedly because the list of names in the death column of the Sunday paper was a lot scantier than the list of dead people during the week. In general, all Sunday news was scantier. Of course in reality the number of dead on a Sunday was averagely the same as every other day.

None of this stopped Alexia from her little weekly joke as she settled in an armchair during pre-prandials, pouring a wine, and lighting a cigarette. “It’s safer to drink and smoke today because there are fewer deaths on Sunday.”

When Aunt Ethel called from the kitchen door that “Dinner’s ready!” (Aunt Ethel always cooked the Sunday meal) all rose except for Alexia. The newly lit cigarette held between her two fingers had burnt to the butt. So quiet and sudden was her death that not even the ash had fallen to the floor. No one had noticed.

2220. Helpful suggestions

Some have difficulty knowing how to word a death notice in the newspaper, so here are a few suggestions to help:

  • We are sad to announce that yesterday Olive Blanche passed from this life into the arms of Jesus.
  • Olive Blanche departed the earth and rests in peace.
  • The Grim Reaper came suddenly to Olive Blanche yesterday just after lunch.
  • Olive Blanche croaked yesterday after a hideously long and painful death.
  • Our Olive Blanche has at last kicked the bucket. Wear something bright for the funeral.
  • Olive Blanche has been on her last legs for some time, with one foot in the grave. She’s brushed with death before but this time has popped her clogs permanently and is about to push up daisies.
  • Yippee! Think of the money!

2201. Great Uncle Frederick’s legacy

Grover was looking forward to his great uncle dying. Great Uncle Frederick had amassed a stupendous fortune over his eighty-two years of living alone. Surely the nieces and nephews were in for a windfall.

News had come through that Great Uncle Frederick had come down with the flu. This was Grover’s opportunity to show his concern. It might be the last opportunity Grover would have to expresses his interest and care to Great Uncle Frederick. Some of the other nieces and nephews could be omitted from the will because Great Uncle Frederick’s memory was inevitably fading. It was not to be the case with Grover. Grover would remind him.

Sadly, Great Uncle Frederick recovered. There was no fortune coming Grover’s way this time, although Great Uncle Frederick did give Grover the flu.

May Grover rest in peace.

2173. The flooded stream

It was such a shock when Granny slipped on a rock while trying to cross a flooded stream. She drowned. And the funeral was sad, sad, sad.

Eion, being one of only two parentless grandchildren, thought he might have got something from the will, but Cousin Marvin got the farm and everything else. Oh well! That’s life!

It was such a shock when Cousin Marvin slipped on a rock while trying to cross a flooded stream. He drowned. And the funeral was sad, sad, sad.

(Footnote: WordPress has said that this is the 8th anniversary of this blog. The United States has declared a public holiday in honour of the occasion).

An Announcement

Hi Everyone. I shall be hovering rather erratically around this blog in the next few days. So I thought I would say why and prevent the thousands of you from going into a period of excited anticipation in the hope that some terrible thing had happened to me and would I ever recover etc etc. I’m fine!

Yesterday morning (3rd May) one of my brothers, Rick, had a sudden heart attack and died. So I shall be doing my best to get to his funeral on Friday which is a four-hour drive away.

Four years ago Rick caught a viral infection in his eyes and went blind in one eye and largely blind in the other. Two years ago he had both legs amputated and was just now learning again to walk on his artificial limbs. He was having a race with his youngest grandson as to which one of them would learn to walk first! His passing, despite these setbacks, has naturally come as a big shock.

So all in all I shall only spasmodically attend to comments and the like – if at all. There are stories waiting in line to be posted so these will still appear, but the numbering will be a bit messed up!

With Covid doing its thing, income here has been a little tight, so this year Rick had been paying my rent – so I owe him one.

A little bit about him can be found HERE.

Thanks

Bruce

Poem 104: Let no petal

Please recall when times were cloudless;
Then flowers of laughter strewed the way.
Let no petal fall in darkness.

Governments scream in rabid blindness:
This is how you’ll die today.
Please recall when times were cloudless.

Dying grandma faces vastness;
All alone she strives to pray.
Let no petal fall in darkness.

Parents, children, spouses - cheerless;
No held hands; no words to say.
Please recall when times were cloudless.

A little child knows no kindness;
Face the music come what may.
Let no petal fall in darkness.

Uncared for corpses, lifeless, worthless;
Governor’s greatness, no dismay.
Please recall when times were cloudless.
Let no petal fall in darkness.

To hear the poem read aloud click HERE.

2099. Putting the garden to sleep

Haralambus (known as Harry) and Hughina (known as May) Pfahlert were well into their retirement years. Harry’s main interest was the garden. With late autumn approaching he had been busy tidying the garden so that at the end of winter all the back-breaking work would be done and it would be less of a hassle come spring.

Well dear, said Harry to May after two weeks of extensive labour in the garden, all is done. Everything is weeded. Everything is fertilized. Leaves are dug in or burnt and the ashes hoed in. Mulch has been spread. Shrubs sensitive to the winter cold have been covered. I might be weary, but I’m well satisfied. The garden has been put to sleep. Let it snow! Let it snow!

It was such a pleasure in winter to view the snowed-in garden through the living room window, with the log fire roaring away and the smell of cinnamon buns cooking in the oven. All done! All done! One could enjoy the order of it all and look forward to the chaos of new life!

It was such a pity that Harry died in his sleep that very night.

2069. Last words

I’ve been lying on my back in this coffin for three days now. I hate lying on my back. The coffin’s in a spare room at my sister’s house. Can’t feel a thing of course but I can still see and hear. My sister keeps “coming for a look”. She’s forever shutting my eyes. Last thing I heard her say was, “He keeps opening his eyes. It’s so grotesque having a dead person stare back at you.” Little does she know.

I dare say soon they’ll be putting the lid on permanently. That’ll be a relief. I’m tired of people “coming for a look”. Just yesterday my old Aunt Madge called in and said while peering into the coffin, “He never did much with his life, did he?” To which Uncle Vernon added, “In some ways it’s a mercy he’s dead. Can’t wait to get my hands on all that money though.”

Just an hour or so ago, I heard Milly Blinkers (she’s a cousin – or was) say, “They reckon he had so much money he didn’t know what to do with it. I suppose he didn’t leave a will?” She’s always been money-grabbing, that Milly cousin. Well, for the record I did leave a will, and Milly’s not getting a penny. I was dying to say that out loud to her, but corpses can’t breathe or move so that put an end to that.

I have no idea why my accountant needed to call in before the funeral. He had a look at me and said to my sister, “We’ll talk things over in the next room.” I dare say he was hoping to get a sizeable chunk of my savings. As my late mother used to say, “It never takes long for the vultures to come out of the woodwork.” She was always mixing her metaphors – my mother.

Here they come now to put the lid on. They’re all giving the undertaker a hand. Oh such a tearful moment! That’ll be all from me for now – in fact, forever. It’s a shame I don’t have a few minutes more. I’d die wanting to hear their reaction when they discover there’s not a penny in my bank account.

2053. Dora didn’t have a cat

When Bridie went shopping for stuff for the evening meal she had no idea it was all a waste of time. She would be dead as a doornail when the time came for her to peel a potato. She’d be sprawled on the kitchen floor, potato peeler in hand, and surrounded by four uncooked chicken drumsticks haphazardly lying on the kitchen linoleum.

Luckily the cat would spend the next few days enjoying the drumsticks, because Bridie and her medical event weren’t discovered until Wednesday and she had dropped dead on the Monday.

Dora from next door had made the discovery when she noticed that Bridie’s kitchen window had not been shut for the last two days. Bridie had always been careful with security. One had to take special care when one lived alone. Rather foolishly, when Dora discovered the two-day dead corpse she phoned for an ambulance! As if the ambulance people could work a miracle and bring a completely dead (as a doornail) corpse back to life!

Dora had been just about ready to go into town when she thought she had better check on the open kitchen window next door. The discovery of course threw a spanner in the works. It was now late afternoon and Dora still hadn’t got anything for the evening meal.

When Dora went shopping for stuff for the evening meal she had no idea it was all a waste of time. She would be dead as a doornail when the time came for her to crush a couple of garlic cloves. She’d be sprawled on the kitchen floor, garlic press in hand, and surrounded by three unchopped carrots haphazardly lying on the kitchen linoleum.

Fortunately Dora didn’t have a cat; fortunate because cats don’t eat carrots.

2049. Bernice’s murderous plots

Bernice had spent ages (possibly years) plotting the undetectably best way to murder her brother. You see, their mother was old. And rich. Exceedingly rich. Bernice wanted it all.

Their mother – whose name was Hilda – lived in the most beautiful house on a beautiful hill with a beautiful garden and even more beautiful view. Bernice’s brother – whose name was Jules – had his eyes on the house. “You keep two thirds of the money and I’ll take a third of the money plus the house.” On the surface Bernice agreed, but… Bernice wanted it all.

Things were getting urgent. Hilda was all of fifty-nine – which to younger people seemed old. She still lived alone and managed well, but all it would take would be for an epidemic to sweep the world and she’d be packing her bags for eternity like there was no tomorrow. The urgent murder of Jules would not only cover Bernice in good fortune but would in all likelihood provide enough grief to finish Hilda off.

Jules was unmarried – in fact totally unattached. There would be no spouse or partner or kids challenging Bernice’s windfall. Then Lady Luck stepped in. Jules took ill and died without any prompting whatsoever from Bernice.

Mother Hilda was grief-stricken. But would Hilda die? Oh no! Bernice described her mother as “that old cow who was no good anymore for milking but who wouldn’t kick the bucket.”

Then the worst happened. Oh tragedy of tragedies. Some things are on a par with catastrophic viruses. Widow Hilda got married; this time to a man much younger than herself.

“Is there no justice in the world?” screamed Bernice. “Do I not matter? Under no circumstance will I ever consider that usurper to be any sort of stepfather. Great balls of fire, he’s about my age and riddled with covetous ambition.” She loathed him with a vengeance.

Bernice began to plot.