We spoke to 29-year-old Isabelle on how their obsession with dead bodies helps them cope with the grief of losing their mother four years ago. Read their story below:

Before my mother died, she had been sick for a while. Nobody knew what exactly was wrong with her, but the doctors suspected cancer. One day, she just fell very ill and had to be admitted to the hospital. At first, it was nothing serious. She even called me one morning while she was at the hospital and her voice was clear. So I figured it was just something mild and the admission was precautionary.

The day she died, my sister was the one who called to tell me. When I saw her call, I just knew the worst had happened. The call was brief. My sister said, “Our mother is dead”. I didn’t say a word. She asked me if I heard what she said. I said “Yes”. Then the call ended.

The next day, I woke up, bathed and went to work. I still had not processed what had happened. I hadn’t told anybody. The day kept passing listlessly, but towards the end of the workday, my boss asked me what was wrong and why my demeanour seemed off. And that was the first time I told anyone my mother had died.

I couldn’t finish what I was saying because I burst into tears. I think saying it out loud pushed me over the edge and made me realize that it had actually happened.

Up until that point, nobody close to me had ever died. So I was not quite prepared for grief. And the fact that I didn’t know what killed her made me mad. It still does. How can someone die in a hospital and you can’t tell what killed her?

I need the closure desperately, but I know deep down I’m never getting it. When you’ve never experienced grief like that and you lose someone close to you, it is indescribably jarring. It leaves a huge mental scar. It has totally changed who I am and how the rest of my life will pan out. Added to the fact that I didn’t get to spend the last moments of her life with her makes it all worse. I was her favorite, and I wasn’t even there when she died. She never got to see me one last time or anything.

When I went to see her at the mortuary, she looked like she was sleeping. As though she could wake up if I reached out and touched her. This is when my curiosity about death started to become a coping mechanism. It began with the smell of the chemicals used for embalming corpses.

Continue: https://www.zikoko.com/life/after-my-mother-died-i-became-obsessed-with-dead-bodies/

hold the f*ck up!! what in the fućks name is this kind of fuckery?