Childhood & Death

I had one of those childhoods.

I had one of those childhoods you don't realize is atypical until you go out into the world and meet people who think you're Amish or Catholic.

I had a contracted childhood; I don't suppose I had much of a childhood at all.

I had one of those childhoods marked by pain and worry.

I had one of those childhoods that teaches you how to internalize pain.

I learned not to cry.

I learned what it means to be strong, or at least, I thought I did.

I had one of those childhoods landmarked by funerals.

I seem to have a preponderance of childhood memories that involve death.

I guess that's the curse of being the youngest in a big family.

I remember Grandma Carrie's calling hours.

I remember hearing that Grandpa Spencer's emphysema was so bad that he could no longer get out of bed.

I remember Dad preaching the Gospel at the funeral.

I remember hearing him say that Grandpa didn't deserve to go to Heaven, but that he was in Heaven because of the grace of God.

I remember Mom's first stroke; at least, I think I do.

I remember the lights from the ambulance.

I remember Mrs. Brock coming upstairs and praying with us.

I remember Mom's surgery.

I remember eating McChickens from the McDonald's inside the hospital.

I remember Mom's second stroke.

I remember Mom as she would not like to be remembered.

I remember that night.

I remember being at the Jamisons' house after having seen The Return of the King.

I remember knowing something horrible had happened by the look on Mrs. J's face.

I remember the night we gathered in the living room and Dad told us that we didn't have a mom anymore.

I remember Mom's funeral.

I remember Grandma Croston sobbing.

I remember Dad crying as he officiated.

I remember bawling my way through Amazing Grace at the gravesite.

I remember when Jason came upstairs and told me that Big Kitty was dead.

I remember realizing that Grandma Spencer no longer knew who I was.

I don't really remember her funeral; I think because we were expecting it for so long.

I remember getting off of work and listening to Vittie's voicemail.

I remember carrying Grandpa Croston's casket.

I randomly think about my childhood.

I have many happy memories, but my mind seems to have catalogued the events in my life by their relation to the deaths of those I loved.

I remember tragedies more vividly than anything else.

I'm sure I'm not the only one.

I remind myself that I had what many kids didn't.

I had friends and family, food and clothes, love and discipline.

I had loved ones to lose.

I had a pretty good childhood, I suppose.