Memorycemetery

I think back now, to a memory that for some reason seems incredibly insignificant, but I know for a fact that it is more significant that I expect, possibly because anything like this that happens to a twelve year old will most likely effect the rest of his or her life. There I was sitting with my mother in the living room, watching a movie. The walls are the color of dried blood, sponged over white to give it a neat textured look, the lamp on the side table just off the right side of the couch (while seated) has a beige lamp with the plastic wrap still on the cone of it. I cannot recall the movie, but the TV is sitting in a large TV cabinet wood and fold aside shutter doors with the center pieces painted black. The decorations of the room fallow a definite western theme, complete with live cacti and cowboy boot pictures. As is usual the phone rings without warning and my mother answers it. She greets the person on the phone in a happy bubbly type of voice. After a few moments she starts laughing, the manner of which I know to be hysterically, and she repeats over and over again “Your joking” “Your kidding right?”. This went on for a few minutes before she said goodbye and see you soon to the person on the phone. Then she told me that her boyfriend Trev had been in a motorcycle accident and was dead. Then she said she had to go and see his family, and she left. Well after seeing her laughing and saying that the person on the phone was joking, I possibly naturally thought that she was joking. So she left, and I finished watching the movie that we had started. After a few hours I started to worry that maybe something had happened to delay her, but she came back eventually, drunk as I later found out. I wasn’t allowed to go to the funeral of Trev, which is rather unfortunate as I never really got to say farewell to somebody I had known for years. I was never really affected by that death, I was very close with the man but it just never touched me in any way. I have since encounter death a few times, with relatives, and a friends, the only time it has really meant anything to me was when a fifteen year old boy I used to babysit died. It seems like such a tremendous loss of life, when an uncle who I used to spend every summer with died though, I only felt bad for my father who had lost one of his brothers. I don’t know weather this event is the key to my not really being concerned with death in adults, or if there’s some other reason behind it . Anyway though that’s one of my brief meetings with death. I suppose I will eventually post more, it seems to me that this would be a good place to remember people who have died. Till another time friends.

Dalarius

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