cocoparisienne / Pixabay

cocoparisienne / Pixabay


I didn’t come into the blessings of owning a graveyard right away. That doesn’t happen quickly or easily, I’d imagine. At least not when it’s the family business. Everybody has death looming over their lives, but when it does so in the form of a business, it’s exceptionally morbid. It was a strange notion as a child, then when early adulthood hit, it merged into irony. And then that fateful day happened, sooner rather than later. The death business knocked on my life’s door and handed me the papers and the keys to five hundred and counting graves and I said goodbye to the irony and hello to the terror.

What better place to end your life? Not literally, of course.

Thankfully, it only took me five months to get through the dying process.  I attribute my speedy success to my condition. With my brain gravitating to morbidity of various sorts, the entire event was like dancing to a familiar, yet unnamed tune. I didn’t realize it at first, but when I inherited the business of burying people, I inherited the key to my own personal healing. Who knew there would be a visceral satisfaction with putting people in the ground without ever laying a hand on them? Indeed it was. If I allowed it– which I did–it fed the hunger without the messy business of having to hurt people. Not that I ever did or would, God forbid, but the cravings were there. Cravings that I took equal pain and pride in denying. Education and wisdom taught me early on that just because one has monster urges didn’t mean they had to give into them.

Which brings me to my next little miracle. At first, I thought my aspirations to study psychology would be buried in the graveyard business, pun intended of course, but on the contrary, it turns out one can have their cake and eat it too in the digital age. College courses would resume. Online.  Online and away from the temptations that came with living among the living, striving among the thriving.

The magnitude of this blessing wouldn’t hit me immediately of course. But it did come. And when it did, that’s when I had the awakening of sorts. A mental break through of stupendous proportions. The untimely death of my parents along with the insidious graveyard inheritance was just the beginning of my healing.  If I stepped back and studied the playing board of my life, I would easily see that the pieces had been moved into the perfect position to make passage for my dreams. To become a doctor and heal myself. Be normal and have a family. A wife. To forever eradicate the dire hunger to dismember living things at any given moment for any given reason. I never shared the doctor slash healing dream with many people. Really, nobody knew about my condition but my mother even though I never told her. Perhaps she knew because she had the same sort of sickness. But I was not like her. And I do believe the sole difference between her sickness and mine was one of want. I didn’t want what I had or was. I didn’t want it so much that I refused to ever want it. Like I refused to like liver or peas even though I was made to eat both as a child. As an educated man, I attribute my dire dislike for my condition the very reason I’m able to deny it and pursue healing. I certainly could discover why I had the unnatural urges that so often burned inside my brain and blood and muscles. I could and should and would. 

It was logic of course. That was my strength, my shield. I even nicknamed it my other half, that better part of me that talked me into doing the proper things. But right now, my other half was being unusually paranoid.

I maintain that the cameras were a necessity and I won’t regret them. It was the raccoons that prompted me to get them in order to discern how or when or why the fresh flowers placed on the graves were disappearing. The petunias were their downfall and proved me right, and it was my other half, I will kindly remind, that said there was no harm in leaving the cameras up because an all seeing eye on the grounds was prudent. And with the graveyard robberies that Halloween often prompted, the timing proved said point.

There shouldn’t be even a morsel of shame or fear or any sort of negativity, really. The cameras were still a good idea despite the new variable. And of course by the same token of flawless logic, I understood my other half’s concern. And disagreed.

The cameras were in fact a brilliant idea. Are a brilliant idea. It’s not like I”m hiding behind why I want them. I know full well why I want them, I also think it’s the latest and greatest miracle in my life that would allow me to study safely. Which of course I was currently doing with meticulous accuracy and equal caution.

But this is different.

Why? Why does it have to be different?

You know why. You like her. 

And is that really a crime? Isn’t that normal? Isn’t normal what I’m aspiring to? 

Yes. But you’re not normal yet, hence this conversation we’re having.

I put up the metal plate in my mind, ignoring my other half’s warning stare. He was right but so was I. I know the risks, I’m far from unlearned in the matter and he knows this. I know my condition clearly and bitterly and I would continue taking extra care. Getting to study up close and yet from a distance was exactly what I needed. I would have the groundskeeper speak in my behalf if the need arose. Business wise, I didn’t need to speak to her. Not ever.

I just needed to study. That’s all. Study, discern, and learn. That’s what doctors did. That’s what I would do.


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  1. Liz Smith says:

    Ohhhh Mr. Bane! Until right now I hadn’t realized how much I missed this very thing. The New Stuff all stuck up in your brain DYING to get out on ‘paper’ and into our pretty oh so hungry psyches!

  2. Nan Lindsey says:

    My dad was an undertaker. He drove an ambulance in the 70’s. Misting just scooping I imagine.
    His nickname was digger. They told stories of my mom asking daddy to fix her hair and make up…he told her he could if she would lie on the table.
    I worked at a cemetery for two years in college.i did filing and such, no outside work. But, it was beautiful and peaceful. I swear we are more prepared for death than life somedays. We have lost so many!

    • Lizzy Smith says:

      Oh Nan I also worked at a Funeral Home. Delivered the flowers. Saw my 1st dead body. Peaceful it is yet something there we the living just can’t grasp. The funeral home did all of my wedding flowers…..bouquets, butineers, corsages & altar & pew flowers for free! Hahaha

  3. Jacqueline Fisher says:

    Wow Lucian, that sounds insane. …. when will it be finished? Something new, Congratulations! Must be extraordinary potentially dangerously strong Kool-aid, grape and blue raspberry! I did enjoy Cut’s like an Angel and hopefully you both do more as that was left hindering on wanting more.

    I hope to hear again from you soon!
    Much love to you and your family, God bless!

  4. Cathy Knuth says:

    Perfect timing for October! Good Lord this one is going to be creepy!

  5. Lora Ann says:

    Write what demands out. 😉
    And this little snippet…Oh my! 😲

  6. Rin Barcal says:

    Grrrr!!!!! So I’m going to try to figure what the heck this person is until you give me some more koolaid. Tease!!! Lol!!! Love it!!

  7. Yvette Grimes says:

    My best friend’s first husband was an undertaker. They had a family business, unfortunately he started mixing pain meds and alcohol and passed.

    This sounds like it will be an intense story!

  8. Pingback: REGINALD BONES | | Lucian Bane

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  • Note:

    I usually refer to males as the more dominant and females as the more submissive. The intention is NOT to say that ALL relationships should fit that pattern. My relationship experience is with male dominant, female submissive arrangements and that is the only sort of relationship I have firsthand knowledge about.