I was hoping that the old woman dying in my lap in the graveyard was the only death I would live over again in my distorted mind. Her eyes and the dirt on her face still haunt me, 40 years of regretting I couldn’t do anything to help.
But no such luck. Everything bad happens in threes. It was 7 years later that I would have the second experience, looking at death’s vacant stare. Like the other, there was no advance warning. As soon as the event started up it was over.
A bit of background though.
Continue reading “The Dead Man on a Toilet: The Second Death”