Hallows Coming – Taboo

Continuing Hallows theme of dark and fright, a jolt in my slumber this one heavy night.

∼ ∼ ∼ § ∼ ∼ ∼

It was in the middle of the night, about 3:00 AM on a Monday. I had been sleeping very well considering the last five days of severe stress from sudden, painful, unexpected family events. It hadn’t taken long for me to fall asleep. I was utterly drained, mentally and emotionally. Suddenly, something woke me, alarmed! I sat up in my bed fully awake and listening acutely for any noise, any motion, as if someone had broken in. I was sure someone, something jolted me up. But I couldn’t be certain, yet. Was I dreaming? Was it so real it forced me out of my sleep sitting straight up, fully conscious waiting for the burglar to make another noise? In those seconds I could have heard even the tiniest critter moving across the floor or in the kitchen or living room my senses were so sharp. Never in my life had I awakened like that in half a second, completely aware of myself and surroundings!

But I have started at the end of my Hallows story, five days later.

∼ ∼ ∼ § ∼ ∼ ∼

It is Wednesday evening, July 18, 1990. I had returned to my apartment in Jackson, MS from my workday. It wasn’t any extraordinary day. No one at the psych hospital had a Code Red. No emergency admissions by attempted suicide or court-ordered commitment, just a normal day. I was ready to relax, make dinner, and decompress. Then my phone rang.

On the other end (over 400 miles away) was my Mom bawling, upset that she struggled to say hello and begin telling me why she called. This is the first time in my life I have ever heard my Mom so upset she could barely speak and seemed to be near hyper-ventilation. My nerves, heart-rate, and perspiration rise quickly because I am so not prepared to hear what she is about to tell me. Mom, take a deep breath I tell her, slow down, breathe… however, in my mind I am not so sure I want her to gather herself to explain why she is calling in this manner. A few minutes pass when she calms herself enough to talk.

I am leaving your Dad. I am moving out. I lose my breath now. This is a blindsided blow to me. Not once in my childhood, adolescent, or teen years did I ever see or hear things so bad between them that Mom would apparently be forced out or have the need to move out, away from my Dad. Sure they had their differences like all married couples by their 28th year of marriage. Yes, they had their heated arguments, but those were so few and far between, at least as much as my sister and I could perceive. There were a handful of times they’d disappear behind locked door or private moments we had to remain detached from and unaware. But THIS was nothing like any of those.

Mom shared a little more what she felt was appropriate, that she was only moving out for a separation, not divorce. But then she described Dad’s mental and emotional state to me. I am very worried about your Dad she said while choking and clearing her throat. I still couldn’t find a response. He is not doing well. He only eats a small bowl of oatmeal in the morning. she begins to cry again, When he gets home from work, only his childhood favorite… peanut butter and butter on a slice of bread. I know this about Dad because during the Second World War, he, Granny, and Grandpa had to ration what little food was available in a small town outside of Galveston, TX. That was two meals Dad would usually eat for a day. He has been like this for over 4-weeks, maybe more. Nothing around the house is getting done. Now I have words. Upset, I firmly ask WHY hasn’t anyone told me this!?

Mom answers me, but it is that typical explanation from their generation:  It isn’t your problem or baggage. You carry your weight or more. You don’t wear so many heavy emotions on your sleeve for everyone and their uncle to see or hear! You chin-up, get up and carry on.

Right. Meanwhile, I am clueless and handicapped in helping, much less initiating help! This has always infuriated me about my parents and their generation. My Dad, an ex-U.S. Marine (scream Semper Phi!!!), is ten-times worse than Mom! I jump ahead now to return to my All Hallows theme…

It is Friday evening, July 20, 1990. As Mom had requested, I waited a day before calling Dad. In a very somber voice and manner Dad confirms everything Mom has told me. Where he struggles to keep down his intense emotions are when my questions involve Mom and their marriage, their teamwork or their lack of now. I do not want to speak bad about your mother. he would pause to compose himself, I refuse to do that. It’s unfair to you and your sister. What do you say when your father is right, but contesting him is so horribly inappropriate at the moment?

I moved on to other problems there:  tasks, chores, cleaning, all rooms inside, work outside in the yard. Mom and Carolyn (sister) tell me that lots of things are not getting done there.” I prepared myself for some sort of backlash or angered reply, perhaps something completely unexpected. Silence. I am going to come home tomorrow for the weekend and help around the house I told him. At least I can do that.” He said no. He explained that I had no need to miss work because your mother and I cannot workout our problems. He said convincingly that traveling that far was ridiculous and risky for my job-future. We will try to work this out. Stay there.” he sounded more upbeat, genuine, Do not come home, not yet.” Reluctantly I agreed, but we planned I’d come home the following weekend to help him around the house. Then he said some things he had never said to me before that I could not easily recollect…

I realize I have rarely said ‘I love you’ most of your life. My heart-rate and nerves are returning, I should’ve said it much more, but… he paused again. I do love you. I just share it in other ways. I hope you knew that.I acknowledged his unique habits and stoic tough military personality and said I understood. I returned the uncommon sentiments with sincere empathy and love.

visitor in my bedroom

It is now Monday early, early morning about 3:00 AM, July 23, 1990. As I started in this story I was jolted awake, convinced someone had broken in the apartment. I had seconds to do something. I was remarkably sharp and aware of everything. I sat there upright in bed listening for any noise, any motion to confirm or deny my first thoughts, first fears. I was convinced someone was in my bedroom! For some 30-45 seconds I did not hear anything. I did not see anything, in the dark, but I kept silent and upright. Not long after a minute or two of complete silence and motionless in bed, I felt this air of reassuring calm and peace come over me and into me. It was such a peculiar sensation given the moment. And as fast as I had been awakened I laid back down and immediately fell back into my prior deep sleep.

That morning I remembered how very strange the night had been and asked my roommate if he had come in, then went back out, or some other logical simple reason it happened. He told me no, he wasn’t even there. He was staying overnight at his girlfriend’s place. I dropped it, not intending to think anymore about it other than weird. Simply weird and way out of the ordinary for me.

It is Tuesday morning, July 24, 1990. My phone rings. It is my brother-in-law and I immediately sense something is wrong. He doesn’t call me on his own, or from his phone. It’s always with my sister. And in a shaky voice, pleading, he tells me Dwain, you have to come home now, as soon as possible. Jeff tries to gather himself, Your Dad killed himself. I found him down in the garage inside the car because he wasn’t answering the phone for three days straight. His breathing gets heavier, faster. Your Mom is in a complete meltdown. he sounds increasingly desperate, I’m handling your sister as best I can, but you have to get home fast.

∼ ∼ ∼ § ∼ ∼ ∼

Weeks later, maybe a month or so, I can’t remember exactly, the coroner and detective on the case tell us that Dad’s time of death was either late Saturday night, July 21 or sometime July 22, 1990. He said it was likely Sunday, July 22nd. It wasn’t until my life and my family’s lives returned to a degree of normalcy that I connected the dots. Or rather the bizarre coincidence of my unusual late night disturbance (of some kind) July 22-23 that jolted me awake and what the coroner and detective determined for Dad’s time of death.

I didn’t know it then that July night/morning it would be the last time I spoke to my father and those would be our last words together. What is fact is that I am certain of everything I’ve written here and I am 100% certain that whatever it was that jolted me out of my deep sleep to instant, acute awareness feeling someone was in my bedroom, was Sunday/Monday, July 22 or 23, 1990. What made it more bizarre was how soon after that weird sensation of going back into a calm and profound sleep so easily.

What is it that goes on, operates within the aether, moves in the atomic, subatomic, and Quantum range or wavelengths? Why is the infamous witching hour traditionally around 3:00 AM? Einstein agonizingly called it “spooky action at a distance.” What can be said and surmised about the thermodynamic law, in those unseen atomic/quantum levels known as Conservation of Mass/Energy? What I can share about it on a personal basis and incident is weird, bizarre, though I cannot prove it to anyone. But as I am writing this right now, on my honor it was quite real. That’s what I know. It’s all I can say, granted, during what was an extremely traumatic time in my life. It is my one and only Hallows true-story for the season.

————

Feel free to share your own favorites of fall and the season’s Hallows? Share your most spooky weird stories, special beloved celebrations, how you and/or your family decorate your home—pics will be required! What about meals or snacks prepared and enjoyed, or better still what astonishing events of paranormal activity have you experienced personally or heard from a close, good (dignified) friend! You have until November 1st to remember them and comment throughout this Hallows theme.

————

Halloween breaker

Mackbeth Witch quote_footer_1

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12 thoughts on “Hallows Coming – Taboo

  1. Wow.

    I suspect our field of effect reaches far and wide, and like entanglement, it is not affected in any way by physical distance. Our memories animate the places they were experienced, which is to say we’re connected. If panpsychism is true, and it looks like it is, then your dad’s presence was — perhaps — inevitable.

    Liked by 3 people

    • Quantum Entanglement is exactly what came to my mind too John, although at a later date when science knew more and myself as well. 🙂 Einstein referred to it, something similar as “spooky action at a distance.” You make a curious, fascinating point about the panpsychism. I must look into that as well. Thank you very much for this comment John. ❤

      Liked by 3 people

        • That is a wonderful article JZ. I particularly like this part of the last paragraph:

          …physics does not attribute experience to fundamental particles. But once we realise that physics tells us nothing about the intrinsic nature of the entities it talks about, and indeed that the only thing we know for certain about the intrinsic nature of matter is that at least some material things have experiences, the issue looks very different. All we get from physics is this big black-and-white abstract structure, which we must somehow colour in with intrinsic nature. We know how to colour in one bit of it: the brains of organisms are coloured in with experience. How to colour in the rest?

          Coloring in the rest? Everything science currently knows or is most plausible has to suffice until further notice. The very encouraging part of life’s and reality’s unknown operations and “intrinsic values” in all particle matter is that the more interdisciplinary, the more freedom we allow ALL FIELDS and sub-fields of scientific specializations to overlap, to contribute to all others—hopefully to make theories beautifully simplistic and therefore turn them into Laws—I like our chances of perpetual evolution into consciousness of all matter! 🙂 Well, unless the fairy-tale religious extremists wipe out the human species first, therefore self-fulfilling all their “prophecies” of Armageddon they seem to have a hard-on for. 🙄😩 (facepalm)

          Liked by 3 people

  2. Oh Dwain 🖤
    Read as promised and I just want to hug you for sharing something so personal. That couldn’t be easy to do. I’ve had similar experiences with being woken up and its very scary when it happens. Its like all color is removed from your flesh and you are paralyzed in fear. You must have sensitivities.

    I feel like I know more layers to you now and I feel like we have similar families 🖤

    Liked by 3 people

    • Thank you Luna! In all honesty, writing this post thru those gut-wrenching parts always make me “return” to those days, nights, weeks, and without fail I well-up with tears and exposing emotions.

      They say that with time those tears gradually subside. Perhaps. The lump in the throat and heaviness in the chest doesn’t seem to wane. I don’t know. I interpret my still present rawness with it as being very human; I miss my Dad. But if there’s ONE THING I learned from he and Mom was to NOT let so many intense emotions stay pinned up, especially for so many years as he did like a “tough USMC soldier” is supposed to do. 😦 No, there’s no human on the planet that can beat or one-up PTSD or levels of trauma like that. No one!

      Similar families, huh? Hmmmm. 🤔 😉

      Liked by 2 people

      • I wish I could give you the biggest hug ever. I cannot imagine the pain of a parent taking their life that way. You are an amazing person to survive that and turn out the way you did. I agree with you on not letting emotions build up.

        Thank you again for sharing 🖤

        Liked by 2 people

  3. I can’t say that I have sensed what you did, but your post got me pretty emotional. I’m sure you know Ben and I have lost our parents, all fairly young. I’m not sure if you knew my dad committed suicide though. He was very depressed and addicted to drugs and alcohol. ( I think due to marital problems and guilt after my mom died in 1996) He had been suicidal for years, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. He decided to drink himself to death. He would black out, and be hospitalized. He finally got what he wanted June of 2012.
    Thank you for sharing such a difficult story, and reminding all of us to vent occasionally.

    Liked by 2 people

    • Ugh, Tracy. 😦 Believe me, I can SO relate/empathize with your loss and Ben’s. To offer SOME sense of strength, hope, but without minimizing in the least our common histories, my Dad’s suicide and what it put my Mom and sister through, and Jeff (my then brother-in-law), my Uncle (Dad’s closest brother and their family), my paternal Grandmother who was still alive when he did it, and the COUNTLESS other family members and close dear friends—i.e. all the living around Dad—and now MY two kids (not even conceived then) who today only know a tiny, tiny amount about their biological paternal grandfather… are MASSIVE ripple-effects that last decades and generations! Something I know my Dad never considered in his deepest despair.

      Therefore, because of our experiences firsthand with all the living, I’ve become a naturally gifted Survivor of Suicide crisis-counselor who knows (but truly empathizes) what immediate family members (and beyond) are put thru and face, suffer for a long, long time. It is REALLY a support-system they deeply appreciate because WE KNOW, right? 🙂 We have become the S.O.S. paramedics so to speak! 😉 ❤ Although we certainly didn't ASK FOR/WANT the job, right? But I know without a doubt I can now help others going thru it! This has helped me TREMENDOUSLY in taking a crushing, traumatic life-event and turning it into something saved, recovering, and/or rebuilt. 🙂

      Liked by 2 people

  4. Most beautifully written, Dwain, and most tenderley touching, too. You obviously took great care in respecting your father in this episode. I am familiar with the psychological inculcations military institutions inflict upon their personnel, as my own father had his entire life affected by the same, finding emotional expression quite beyond him in almost all circumstances — if deeply moved he would quietly retire to be on his own, and he was in fact a highly sensitive man. He was a highly decorated fighter pilot in WW2, and at the time the RAF (Royal Air Force) labelled anyone who showed deep distress as suffering from LMF (Lacking Moral Fibre). Can you believe it? Of course, these days we know all about PTSD. But back then any signs of exhibiting mental disturbance meant something quite shameful. Immediately after returning from one sortie, my father had to gather the body parts of colleagues (from his squadron, which he led) whose plane had crash landed at the airfield. He was given a black bag to put them in, then was supposed to be unaffected thereafter, drink tea, play chess and wait for the next ‘scramble’ siren. He was never ‘diagnosed’ with LMF, far from it, but the training stunted his emotions for the next 65 years, until he died.

    Liked by 2 people

    • I cannot tell you Hariod how much deep respect with heartfelt empathy all over both my sleeves (if you catch my meaning) which I hold for men like your father, my uncles and my father, and so many other (too?) young men/boys who were expected to go into horrid circumstances of daily combat, witness the carnage they did, and come back to civilization as if it was all part of normal duty, honor, and country. Yet, then again… is not war complete insanity by primates anyway? 😦

      We must never forget the sacrifices while at the same time doing everything humanly possible (and then some!) to avoid insane wars! Unless you’ve been in the chaos of battles like your father, my uncles, you’ll NEVER know precisely why we should avoid it. Yes?

      Thank you dearly Hariod for sharing about your father. I so love the real life stories of the RAF pilots, especially the courage of those fighter pilots. ❤

      ‘Never in the history of mankind have so many owed so much to so few’ — Winston Churchill, August 1940

      Liked by 2 people

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