I have been around death my whole life. My parents own a funeral home that has been passed down my mother’s side of the family for generations. I’ve seen bodies being buried, cremated, piled deep in a 10-foot hole, and even being dug up by grave robbers. Nothing surprises me anymore, as being around the recently deceased and having a passion of gaining knowledge of the afterlife is in my blood. I don’t know why I’m so fascinated by the dead; I’m always hearing of parents wanting to pass the family business down, but fail because the offspring aspire to go a different direction– not me. When I hear of a new body that has come in, there’s a slither of intriguing mystery that goes through my veins and I run to the morgue.
But that night was different; there was an eerie feel the closer I got. It was usually always cold and dark, but when I walked into the room made of stone and concrete, the doors slammed behind me, sending a haunting chill through my entire body. As I turned the corner, I saw my dad standing almost frozen, looking over the body that was laying so still. When I walked up behind him, I looked at the body that was laying there and I too, froze. It was my English teacher and her throat was slit. I didn’t know anyone who had a single negative thing to say about her and she had helped me with so many projects in school; it was a huge shock to see her dead. That’s when it hit me; what about the unfinished business one had, or the things left unsaid? I’ve become more open to life beyond the grave; listening or watching for signs of the afterlife over the years and now more than ever, determination to learn the ways of Resurgence has caught hold of me and wouldn’t let go. It’s now been a few months and I have come to find that I love my newfound power of bringing the dead back to life; I especially love standing over their graves afterward, listening to them try to get out.
