I am not Immortal

You never know what to tell a kid when a relative or a pet dies. You always say "they're in a better place.” However children take things much too literally and have too much curiosityso no matter what you say the child might never let it go. Do you even believe what you tell them? You cannot possibly know what death is like. So why do we lie to them? Some will say to protect them, but maybe we are just trying to protect ourselves. We shouldn’t keep anyone from the truth, especially if we want to protect them.

Overly protected as a child, I thought everything was so black and white. I didn’t think a whole gray area existed in between and I really didn’t think I would ever die. I guess my parents thought I would figure it out eventually on my own, or maybe they didn’t want me to grow up at all. And to add to my complete isolation from reality, I only experienced one death in my childhood. My grandfather, who died when I was only five years old, it happened at such a young age sometimes I would think it never even happened at all.  

In one of the days after the funeral, a family friend came over to my grandmother’s houseand when I saw her approaching I yelled from one street corner to the next, “he died!” After that outburst my mom yanked my arm and looked at me with her annoyingly dramatic eyes and whisper-screamed at me saying that’s not something I can just yell for the whole world to know. That we talk about death behind closed doors and that it was something that we should be sad about. But I didn’t know. At the funeral I remember the casket being lowered and I thought it was so cool that people were not touching it, that it was a robot. I just don’t remember being sad, I don’t remember crying. I think I forgot it even happened or I believed he never existed. 

When I forgot about it I became so reckless, not knowing the concept of death and thinking that I would never grow old. I would jump from stairs, not wear a jacket in the cold, and always pop all my joints. I’ve dislocated each knee at least three times, never gone to a hospital to get it checked out. I used to file my teeth with a nail file. One time I saw on TV that a girl twisted her leg so that it looked broken when it wasn’t, and I tried doing that. I didn’t break my leg or experience immediate damage but now sometimes I can’t even pick up my feet when I walk. My ankles always hurt when the cold rolls in and I don’t remember what happened there. But it was ok, I didn’t know I could die.

My second experience with death was in middle school, nearly ten years after the first, when my great-grandmother died. She was old, no one will admit it but we expected it. She was sick and in pain but I felt more dismissed than desolate. My mom cried so much, and it rubbedoff on me. I cried but I didn’t know why, and my mom said, “every time you cry, you’re keeping her from getting to heaven. She wants to stay to help us not be sad, but we have to let her go.” I think she needed to hear that more than I did. 

I cried because I didn’t feel as penetrated and empty as my mom did. I felt I didn’t care enough. But in that moment I realized I am not immortal and that I was growing up and that eventually I would die too. Maybe I don’t have to deal with it ever again. I still wouldn’t know how to.