My cousin told me that I am a good storyteller, but I should write something about me, about real people and a time that I was scared "shitless". Well, I can only think of one time of a real life shocker that shook up my young world. It's nothing suspenseful. It probably wouldn't win any contests, but it isn't contrived. It's a snippet of the first time that I encountered the raw reality of death.
What did I know about death at eight years old? Our parakeet, Perky, died. My grandparents dog, Bruno, had to be put to sleep. As a girl, I vaguely recall seeing a dead man in a coffin, and that was at the funeral of my mom's aunt's husband. This was only an introduction of the temporary world we live in.
Well, then there was an older couple two doors down from us. They had two grandchildren that used to come and visit them, a sister and brother. When in the neighborhood, they would play with my older brothers. I cannot even recall their names. I cannot remember what they looked like or what they said.
What I do remember is the news being on in the living room, and I was eating dinner in the kitchen with my mom and brothers. Suddenly, the faces of that brother and sister were on TV. It was reported that their mentally troubled mother had killed them. I think it was because she was denied custody of them in an ugly divorce. Doing a little bit of digging in the Michigan death index online, I rediscovered who they were. They were Susan and Richard. They were ten and nine-years-old at the time.
I surely don't remember plenty of details, as this was in June of 1973. Over forty years ago, it's a much faded memory now. I only know I did not go to the funeral home. If I did, I am sure I'd be horrified to look upon those children who were robbed of their lives. Death was no longer just for pets or old people. It wasn't fair and it didn't discriminate in age. And if it could happen to someone as young as them, it could come knocking on my door.
Perhaps, that was the beginning of my fear of death.