"She's dead"

I was first struck with the magnitude of death on a quiet afternoon in the spring of 1988. My mother was at the college taking a final exam, having neared the end of her bachelor's degree program. Our next door neighbor usually came over to babysit/supervise me during the time mom had to be at school. This particular day for whatever reason though, I happened to be home alone. I cannot remember what I was doing in those moments before the phone rang, only that I was in the living room and it was afternoon because it was still light outside. I answered the phone in mom's office alcove area around the corner from the living room. It was a nurse.

She asked to speak to my mother in a very grave tone of voice, emphatically telling me my grandmother was sick. Even at 11 years old, I was highly intuitive at sensing when things felt somewhat amiss. Being that I was alone and had no grownup to turn to for assistance with the emergency, I had to think quickly. I remembered that my brother Alex's dad Kenny had mom's pager number in case of emergencies. I told the nurse that I would have her paged, as I jotted down the hospital number. I called Kenny and relayed the information.

What I remember most vividly was what I did after I hung up with him. In a daze, I walked over to our white plush couch in front of the big living room window of our second floor condominium. I stopped in my tracks and stood in front of the window, looking out, staring. It wasn't raining. It could have been cloudy or it could have been sunny. All I do know is in that moment I knew my grandmother was dead. It was like she was whispering in my ear, reassuring me and giving me comfort in my distressed moment of solitude. My eyes welled up with tears that couldn't quite let go. I was holding out for the possibility that I was imagining something, like a child who is afraid of monsters under the bed that do not exist.

Needing to be with someone, I called Kenny back. He picked me up and took me back to his apartment. Watching tv with him and Alex, I waited with nervous anticipation. Minutes felt like hours. I was scared to know what had happened to this woman whom I loved more than anything else in the world. The moment mom arrived through the door with puffy red eyes and a sad demeanor....said it all. "She's dead, isn't she?..." I remember thinking and possibly saying aloud.

Yes.

The funeral was in a pretty white church in Derry. She was buried in the stunning dark purple dress she wore to Mom's wedding the previous summer, her favorite color. I remember being afraid to go up to the casket where she lay, being that close to death. I had never been exposed to a dead body before. I was repulsed, frightened, sad, and curious all at once. I studied her face and what I could see of her body that lay there. Her silver tinted hair looked the same. Her soft, wrinkly face was no different. Her eyes were closed, as in a peaceful sleep. But there was no voice and certainly no breath. It looked like her, but it didn't "feel" like her anymore.

The most influential person in my life has also been my first experience with death. Perhaps it is no surprise I have spent my adulthood exploring the philosophical....