The first time I saw death I was ten years old. Her name was Joanne Sherman. She was ten like the rest of us in our grade five class. One day we got news from the principal that Joanne took ill and we must pray for her. Mother Mary dedicated the "The Lords Prayer" with Joanne's name attached to the ending. We recited it every morning for two weeks and sent of prayers up for Joanne's recovery.

Joanne came for a visit at the beginning of the third week. Her hair was shaved clear to her scalp, bearing a scar across her forehead. She looked whiter than white, but she smiled and appeared very happy. Mother Mary gave us the whole day to welcome her back. We all got to sit under the willow tree and were treated with chocolate milk and ice cream. A huge cake was brought in by someone and in bold green icing it read "Welcome Back Joanne". The boys took turns swinging on an old rope that hung from the tree, and we sang songs and amused ourselves with silly stories. It was the best afternoon in a school days life.

It was a shock to us all when Mother Mary told us two days later, that God had taken Joanne home to be with him. The death of our classmate was devastating to our fifth grade class. Most of us had never felt such sorrow. Together we took solace in Mother Mary's words and prayers.

At the request of Joanne's parents all eighteen classmates were asked to be pallbearers. The priest came and told us being chosen as pallbearers was such an honor, and that we should do this with pride and respect.
In preparation the priest and Mother Mary drilled us we the procedures.

The day of the funeral has never left my mind. Sixteen of us were left to honor Joanne and her parents. (One classmate called in sick and the parents to one girl in our class refused to let her participate). Tension and tears filled the classroom.

We followed Mother Mary to the church across the street, dressed in our finest and we sat two pews behind the coffin. It was a small white coffin with brass handles and the lights made it glisten. It was draped with beautiful flowers and in-between was a picture of Joanne, as we all knew her (her grade 5 photo).

The church was overflowing with a great deal of people from town. Women wore dark dresses and black shawls and the men were in suits and ties. Two full rows of nuns sat behind us, their rosaries dangling from their fingers. Organ music played sad tunes over our heads and seemed to echo off the dome ceiling.

Tears were everywhere,

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