by Lynette Alice

Created on: August 08, 2008   Last Updated: August 10, 2008

Death is one of those things that never seemed to phase me the way it did others, not just for my age but among people in general. I used to wonder why it was so bad, or if maybe I was missing something because I didn't weep openly and go into a state of shock as I had seen others do. I wondered what that said about me, what kind of person I was, and if somehow I was flawed.

The first time I came face to face with death I was eight and visiting my grandparents. Grandpa was one of those people that always complained about his health but somehow seemed to be immortal to me. I spent the afternoon sitting on his lap with the televison tuned into the Red Sox game, volume off, and each of us with our little transistor radios with a single earpiece nestled in place to listen to the radio broadcast. He insisted this was the only way to take in the game if you couldn't be there live. I forget how the game ended but when I got off his lap I noticed he didn't move. I thought he was asleep. In actuality he died sometime during that game. How I didn't notice that I don't know, he just got quiet and expired. In my mind I just guessed that's how death happened and it didn't seem so bad even if I was going to miss him.

Only two years later I watched my mom die just after Christmas. On Christmas morning she said she didn't feel well and was going to stay in bed. I figured she was up too late wrapping gifts or something. I didn't believe in Santa anymore but I maintained I did because I thought somehow that would translate into extra presents. We returned home from mass and the next thing I knew my dad was taking her to the hospital. Two days later she was dead. Officially the hospital wrote up her cause of death as cancer related but we knew it was a suicide by overdose. I didn't want to admit that but it was pretty evident and after a few years of fighting cancer she just gave up. I guess when news it had returned arrived a few weeks earlier it was just too much. Still I only cried once for a couple minutes and then went back to my own life. I felt very wrong for not appearing to feel worse.

As high school went on of the group of five friends I associated with one died in an auto accident, another hung himself in a rather grisly manner involving wire, and a third was dragged behind the bumper of a car. Although he didn't die on the spot he did die in the weeds on the side of the road waiting to be found. I had many emotions including outrage and confusion, but no tears. Somehow

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