I am updating the list of ideas for the “Freaky Friday” challenge as I thought of something that truly is “Freaky” but didn’t fall within any of the categories I’d listed. And since I started this challenge, I get to change the rules! So here is the update.
Number 5: Submit information on actual events or photo or two that screams “Freaky” or “Friday” (or both!) and explain.
When I was about nine years old, a friend of my grandparents passed away. Since my parents and I also knew the lady, it was expected that we attend the visitation. As Mom was explaining exactly what I would see, I turned and gave her a quizzical look. When she finished speaking, I replied, “But I’ve been to a funeral before.” She said no, I’d never been to a funeral or inside a funeral home or been to a viewing before. Yes I had, I argued. The lady in the pink dress. Mom just shook her head but didn’t say much after that.
One of my earliest memories was of a small, white funeral home out in the country somewhere. To this day I can still recall the flowers that grew on the trellis outside. I can see the men in their white shirts and narrow black ties. They had short hair and were standing outside in the sunshine. The coffin was white but I was too little to see the lady inside. Someone put a step stool down so I could stand on it. As I peered inside at the lady, I remember she had on a pink dress and she had a head covering on – sort of like a hair net but it was opaque. I distinctly remember thinking that it was my aunt.
My Aunt Genevieve died three years before I was born of inoperable brain tumors so I had never met her – let alone gone to her funeral.
Many years later when I was back in the Dayton area for a vacation, I was at my brother’s house, and we were talking about how we’d sometimes have deja vu. He asked me if I’d ever had a dream (or vision) of a lady dressed in pink dress lying in a coffin. I almost fell off the couch. He went on to tell me his own version. He remembered that she had on a pink nightgown and part of it wasn’t covering her stomach. There were lots of black stitches running up and down her abdomen. He always called her the “watermelon” woman because the stitches reminded him of watermelon seeds. Our desciptions of the funeral home were also very similar. Then he told me that our sister had mentioned something close to what we were describing. I’ve never asked her if that’s true.
All three of us also have a very heightened sense of deja vu. My sister used to argue with my mom that she’d been somewhere before upon the first time she’d enter a house. Mom finally gave up trying to argue with the unknown.
Needless to say, my first actual time at a funeral home and being in the presence of someone who had died, did not bother me as it might for a small child. I tend to think it’s because I had truly believed I’d already been through that first experience and the fear of the unknown was over.