LJ Idol Week 13- Fan Death
Rosie leaned forward on the fence slat until her feet could swing off of the ground. She let her body lay there, suspended, until the wooden plank made sharp marks against her skin. Had things been different, she would have rolled herself forward into a perfect somersault, but no one was watching. Everyone was in the house, crying. They'd been crying for days, though no one would talk to her about why. Rosie had never seen her father cry like this, and rarely seen him shed a tear at all. This was something entirely different. Her mother wailed and sobbed- and her normally beautiful made-up face was drawn and puffy, red and pale at the same time. Rosie didn't want to look at her for too long, because it felt something like staring at a corpse.
The backyard, at least, was empty, and no one followed her there. In fact, no one seemed to want anything to do with her for the last few days. Mom and dad left home for a couple of days, leaving her grandparents in charge, and then they were back. One whole day, everyone wore black and stayed out of the house except for Rosie and her grandmother. They played rummy, and grandma chain-smoked Lucky-Strikes on the back patio while Rosie piled up leaves in the yard and jumped into them.
Then the neighbors started dropping by with food- casseroles, which were these strange large dishes with a mish-mash of ingredients. Rosie had never seen these before and was skeptical of whether she'd like them, but mom and grandma weren't cooking anymore. They just cried.
The second time mom and dad left for a few days, they came back with a car load of boxes. The boxes were filled with her brother's belongings that he'd brought up to college- his astronomy and physics books, his sheets, the fan her mother had insisted he bring along since he'd complained of trouble breathing. Rosie thought about the last time she'd seen her brother- how she wanted to climb all up into his lap like they'd normally do, but he'd pushed her away, saying he was afraid he'd vomit. George had always been her favorite person. He never treated her like a stupid kid, and he always tried to make her smile. One time, when Rosie was in trouble for failing to eat her dinner, George sassed mom so badly, that she filled up a pasta pot with water and dumped it over his head. This eventually resulted in a water fight between the three of them that would go down in family history as one of the most ridiculous things they'd ever done (and Rosie never did have to finish her stringbeans).
Sunday came, and no one went to church. Mom said that there was a falling out with the pastor- because he didn't think anyone went straight to heaven. Then she put herself back to bed.
On Monday- grandma trotted her back out to the bus stop, like nothing was different, like she hadn't just missed two straight weeks of school. When she arrived at her classroom, some people dropped their heads so-as not to look at her. Others ran up and asked where she'd been.
"My brother died," she said. No one else in her family would say it.. no one had an explanation or had any idea how to explain leukemia to a child. They could barely understand it themselves in the late 1960s.
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Author's note
This story, while slightly fictionalized, was my mother's experience when her older brother died. By all accounts, my Uncle George was an absolute rock-star of a person, who was on his way to becoming an astro-physicist. He was 20 when he died from what they determined was leukemia. My grandparents never recovered- there is no recovering when you lose a child. My mother was 7 and no one ever spoke the words to tell her what had happened, and at a time when all they wanted were answers- none could be given.
If there's one person I regret having never been able to meet, my Uncle George is it.
The backyard, at least, was empty, and no one followed her there. In fact, no one seemed to want anything to do with her for the last few days. Mom and dad left home for a couple of days, leaving her grandparents in charge, and then they were back. One whole day, everyone wore black and stayed out of the house except for Rosie and her grandmother. They played rummy, and grandma chain-smoked Lucky-Strikes on the back patio while Rosie piled up leaves in the yard and jumped into them.
Then the neighbors started dropping by with food- casseroles, which were these strange large dishes with a mish-mash of ingredients. Rosie had never seen these before and was skeptical of whether she'd like them, but mom and grandma weren't cooking anymore. They just cried.
The second time mom and dad left for a few days, they came back with a car load of boxes. The boxes were filled with her brother's belongings that he'd brought up to college- his astronomy and physics books, his sheets, the fan her mother had insisted he bring along since he'd complained of trouble breathing. Rosie thought about the last time she'd seen her brother- how she wanted to climb all up into his lap like they'd normally do, but he'd pushed her away, saying he was afraid he'd vomit. George had always been her favorite person. He never treated her like a stupid kid, and he always tried to make her smile. One time, when Rosie was in trouble for failing to eat her dinner, George sassed mom so badly, that she filled up a pasta pot with water and dumped it over his head. This eventually resulted in a water fight between the three of them that would go down in family history as one of the most ridiculous things they'd ever done (and Rosie never did have to finish her stringbeans).
Sunday came, and no one went to church. Mom said that there was a falling out with the pastor- because he didn't think anyone went straight to heaven. Then she put herself back to bed.
On Monday- grandma trotted her back out to the bus stop, like nothing was different, like she hadn't just missed two straight weeks of school. When she arrived at her classroom, some people dropped their heads so-as not to look at her. Others ran up and asked where she'd been.
"My brother died," she said. No one else in her family would say it.. no one had an explanation or had any idea how to explain leukemia to a child. They could barely understand it themselves in the late 1960s.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Author's note
This story, while slightly fictionalized, was my mother's experience when her older brother died. By all accounts, my Uncle George was an absolute rock-star of a person, who was on his way to becoming an astro-physicist. He was 20 when he died from what they determined was leukemia. My grandparents never recovered- there is no recovering when you lose a child. My mother was 7 and no one ever spoke the words to tell her what had happened, and at a time when all they wanted were answers- none could be given.
If there's one person I regret having never been able to meet, my Uncle George is it.