Thursday, October 28, 2010
The year I was in the 1st grade my friend Wendy died. She fell from the top of some “monkey bars” and her injuries were so severe that she never recovered, and died a few days later. What makes this post a little hard to write-is that the memories I have of that tragic event are the memories seen through the eyes of my 6 year old self.
When I first heard that Wendy had gotten hurt, I remember thinking that she would be back at school sooner or later. I didn’t even consider any other possibility. I was visiting my grandmother when I heard the news. Someone simply remarked, “I heard the Forbes girl died.” I was stunned.
I don’t think it was the losing of a friend that was so hard. It is just that when you are 6, there is a certain order to the way your life is. Wendy’s death changed that for me—showed me that I couldn’t be sure of anything.
Even now, I can conjure up some some of my impressions at that time, but they are vague, and I can’t put them into words. I don’t remember that anyone talked to us about Wendy. There wasn’t any sort of grief counseling. I think everyone thought that it was best to just not talk about it.
I still think of Wendy once in a while. I wonder the usual things, like what she would have done with her life if she’d had the chance to grow up. And whenever I see some of those same monkey bars-I am 6, and haunted, again.
Posted by Valerie Boersma at 9:10 AM