Tuesday, January 10, 2006

First Encounter

The first death a child has to deal with can be confusing and terrifying. Every moment that follows will be forever altered.

Malebeka was her real name, but all of the kids called her Sonu. She lived across the street from me. She was a sweet person with a bright smile. She still had some of her baby fat. Sometimes she really got on my nerves.

Sonu about a year younger than me, but we were in that phase of life where all of the kids on the block would play together. When it snowed we alternated houses to pile into for hot chocolate. We'd happily gulp and chat while we waited for our snowsuits to come out of the dryer.

I remember one time it snowed and then rained so that a layre of ice formed. Our neighborhood turned into a giant ice-skating rink. We spent hours skating, falling and laughing. I can't remember if that was before or after Sonu died.

Sonu went to a private school so she rode home on a different bus. She was the only kid at her stop and she had to cross the street to get to her house. One day she was hit by a van. I remember hearing how she was propelled across the street from the strength of the impact. The man driving the van didn't stop for the school bus. He didn't even slow down. He was in one of those work vans that had the bumper sticker that said, "How's my driving?" and provided a phone number.

I was furious. I wanted to call that number. Sonu was being flown to the hospital in a helicopter. She was in critical condition.

I didn't know what to do that night. She had to live. Kids my age just didn't die so suddenly. I supposed I should just go to bed.

My mom woke me up. I have no idea what time it was. She told me that Sonu had died. I still didn't know what to do. How was I supposed to feel? Nothing seemed different. I figured that my world would turn up-side-down when I heard news like that. Nothing. I was just shocked.

Stunned silence eventually turned into tears. It was never the way they portray it in the movies...at least not for me. I didn't beat my fists on the floor and scream to the heavens. I just cried. Quietly. I felt bad. I didn't like Sonu all of the time. Was I allowed to be upset that she had died? I felt sad and I felt guilty.

The next day at school, the guidance counselor took my group of friends into her office to help us handle the grief. I felt guilty for getting out of class when she wasn't even my best friend. I was so upset though. What was going on? What was the right way to feel? How could I have ever thought anything bad about a girl who was dead?

We went to her wake. I went up to see the body. A lot of people were there and some were touching her. I wanted to touch her hand. It felt like a hand. She looked like Sonu. I found it hard to cry. Her parents were so nice. Why were they standing there talking with people? Shouldn't they be screaming and crying? They were crying, but it was so polite. Again, my image of the movies was shattered. They weren't hysterical. Such kind people they were to hold it together like that. How could I be more upset than they seemed? I wasn't. Not right then.

A few months later the neighborhood got together to plant a memorial garden. Her parents and baby sister moved away. I guessed that the memory was too hard for them. Maybe it was something else. I'll never forget it. And I'll never forget that damn bumper sticker.

9 Comments:

At 9:21 PM, Blogger Jeff said...

Grief is such a powerful emotion. And you're right, it can be terrifying and confusing. So sad.
The bumper sticker is so ironic.

 
At 10:48 PM, Blogger Confessions of a Starving Mystery Writer said...

The randomness of life is difficult to handle.

We stuggle with the meaning of life and the impending inevitabilty of death with fear and trepidation.

 
At 10:41 AM, Blogger Tsavo Leone said...

Though I may sound callous, I've always been one to think that you should never confuse what you are supposed to feel with what you actually feel (or vice versa).

By way of example: one of my uncles died of a heart attack at around the same time as a DJ called John Peel; both my sister and I felt more sadness for the passing of the DJ than for our uncle (though his death was a sobering experience, as heart attacks seem to run in the family). Add to that that I have yet to cry at a family funeral... but then I suppose they're not really 'my family', they are my parents' families.

When I was about five years old there was a boy in my year at school (but a different class) who was an unholy terror. I remember being quite pleased when he stopped coming to school. And I don't remember that feeling changing much when I found out he'd died...

Children are tough cookies, by and large, and shouldn't be handled with kid gloves by parents or teachers. That's just my opinion though, as sometimes the best of intentions cause more harm than good...

... they say the road to Hell is paved with good intentions.

 
At 3:30 PM, Blogger Kara Alison said...

Jeff - I think of the incident every time I see one of those bumper stickers. They have a lot more meaning to me than I believe the companies intend.

r.j. - agreed. Particularly for a kid who doesn't really understand her own mind yet.

tsavo (I guess that's what I'll call you??) - You don't sound callous at all. At least not to me. My mental development has progressed quite a bit from age 11 and my current status is the opposite of what is presented in this post. I look at emotions as uncontrollable and irrational. I therefore fault myself for nothing I have felt. I only try to control and judge my behavior in response to emotions. That has taken some training, but it's been worth it.

To sum it up: I hold myself accountable for what I do, not what I feel.

 
At 3:32 PM, Blogger Kara Alison said...

Jason - oops! I missed you. That's what I get for taking 1/2 hour to complete a comment.

I don't know about acceptance. I just know that I have never fully recovered from any death I've encountered. You learn to deal, but it doesn't go away.

 
At 10:51 PM, Blogger Michele said...

I have to ask....what inspired or tripped the memory for you to blog about it?
The bumper sticker? Or seeing the same kind of bumper sticker on another jerk driver?

Either way..your recollection is a poignant one. And I understand what you mean about "not crying" when everyone one else is, or feeling guilty because you don't. Or even crying when you feel it's out of proportion to the person who died and feel confusion from that. I think, as human beings, we deal with tragedy in different ways in the different times in our lives.
Heck, we cry more for a sad Disney Moment than the scenes we see on the evening news. When you stop and think about it..Crying for Bambi's mom shouldn't affect you more than crying for your best friend's Mom ...or so you'd like to think.
No answers really.
How can there be?
We, all of us, are different. Our brains are wired in wierd and wonderful paths. Grief is but a moment on that path. It gets tucked into a memory and when, like your post, it gets triggered and shared, another piece of the grief process, the healing, the accepting is accomplished.

In the process, maybe we understand ourselves that tiny bit more.

 
At 12:10 AM, Blogger Mark Pettus said...

I came here from Jeff's blog, and his last post also dealt with the death of a young child from a child's perspective. Is this random coincidence, or some disturbance in the force?

I remember similar feelings when a kid from school was struck and killed by a car. He was one of those goofy looking kids, and when he was dead, I told a friend I was going to miss his goofy face.

My friend got angry and told me that I shouldn't call someone who was dead, goofy. I remember that I thought I was being true to his memory, but suddenly felt bad because I was too young and inarticulate to explain that to my friend, who stayed angry with me. I lost both a friend and a goofy acquaintenance to a malfunctioning stop light.

 
At 7:10 AM, Blogger Tsavo Leone said...

Mark's comment about his friend kind of reinforces what I was saying.

I've always been curious: does 'speak no ill of the dead' extend to the likes of Stalin and Hitler?

It doesn't matter how you remember those who are no longer with us: all that matters is that you do remember them. And that way, they will never truly die...

... and so now I have am image of 'goofy kid' floating behind my eyes to add to the image of Sonu

 
At 8:30 AM, Blogger Kara Alison said...

Michele/Mark - I think the timing is more of an odd coincidence. I was actually reading a book where a man was recalling his parents' deaths which made me think of Sonu and death in general.

I think the story about Mark's friend really illustrates how we should be careful with what we preach to children. It's so easy to forget that the general rules/guidelines we live by will be taken as absolutes when communicated to a child. This incorporates your point, Tsavo, which is that people were who they were, regardless of their current status. A person's actions and essence do not change simply because they have died. In fact, that essence is preserved in memory. To deny that is damaging to those left behind.

 

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