When I was 12, my only friend died. She had thalassemia, a genetic defect of the blood, her red blood cells died quickly and she had to have transfusions every few weeks. Her bones were brittle. She had terrible horrible pain. She couldn't even go to school, she had a tutor. My parents explained her illness to me, and that she wouldn't live to be an adult. But when you are 6 and 8 and 10 and then 12, that concept is incomprehensible.
We were very close. She was my only friend, I was her only friend. She lived around the corner from me, so after my school day we were always together. We combed the beach for sea glass and tiny shells, and watched the sunlight dancing on the water. We sat on the pier and watched the boats rocking. We made jewellery out of seed beads, we collected and played marbles. When she was bed ridden because of multiple broken bones, her bed was pushed to the window which her father made low so she could see out of it from bed, and we played punch buggy, very gently.
That Christmas we made a recording of our own radio show that we invented. (I got a tape recorder for Christmas) Our families spent Christmas eve together, then we all went to midnight Mass, then to my house for another dinner. (It's an Italian thing) So they left at about 4 in the morning. When we opened the door, it had begun to snow, and there was about a foot already. It was falling fast and thick. It looked like diamonds in the Christmas lights.
She turned to me and said, "We're going to have a great day tomorrow, we'll made a snow fort!"
I never saw her alive again.
I was told on Christmas day that she had to go to the hospital for another transfusion. I was used to that, I knew it would take two days.
The next day, I watched an old movie on TV called "On Borrowed Time".
It was about an old man and his grandson, who tricked Death into climbing a tree that was enchanted with a wish that whoever climbed it couldn't get down again until the grandfather said they could. The grandfather was played by Lionel Barrymore, who by that time was so incapacitated by arthritis that all the parts he played were of an old man using a wheelchair. The wheelchair was used to good effect in this story.
Death fought back by causing anything that touched the tree to instantly die. But around the world, for those few days while Death was trapped there, no-one and nothing died unless they touched the tree.
The grandfather was adamant to keep Death up the tree, because Death had come to take him, and if he died, the boy would be sent to live with his cruel aunt. But Death was clever.
The grandfather built a fence around the tree to protect anyone from touching it, and Death lured the boy with a dare to climb the fence. He did, but he fell, and broke his back. He was paralysed, but in terrible pain.
The grandfather was heartbroken, so he let Death come down out of the tree, and Death took him and his grandson. He knew that it was a kinder thing than to allow the child to suffer so much. When Death touched them both, the boy revived and the old man became younger and they both could walk again. They followed a golden path in the woods to "the land where the woodbine twineth".
I was only 12. But I understood the story, and that the death of that child was a better thing than his life of pain.
A few minutes after the movie ended, and while I was still caught up in the story, a phone call came. I could tell by my mother's voice that something terrible had happened. My friend Laura had died.
They debated about whether to let me go to the funeral. But I wanted to. I was the only child there. The room grew silent when I approached the casket, and I spoke to her out loud, telling her I was glad she didn't have that horrible pain and sickness anymore, and that she would always be a child and always be my friend. Then I said goodbye and kissed her. Her lips were cold and still.
There are times in our lives when we see things with a rare clarity. I was grateful for all the fun we had together, and I was grateful that I watched the movie, because it truly prepared me to accept her death.
Now I am 61. But I still comb the beach for sea glass, and watch the boats rock, and whenever I see seeds beads strung together, or marbles, or a Volkswagen Beetle, or hear the Beatles, I think of her and how she saved me from the crushing loneliness of my childhood.
We were very close. She was my only friend, I was her only friend. She lived around the corner from me, so after my school day we were always together. We combed the beach for sea glass and tiny shells, and watched the sunlight dancing on the water. We sat on the pier and watched the boats rocking. We made jewellery out of seed beads, we collected and played marbles. When she was bed ridden because of multiple broken bones, her bed was pushed to the window which her father made low so she could see out of it from bed, and we played punch buggy, very gently.
That Christmas we made a recording of our own radio show that we invented. (I got a tape recorder for Christmas) Our families spent Christmas eve together, then we all went to midnight Mass, then to my house for another dinner. (It's an Italian thing) So they left at about 4 in the morning. When we opened the door, it had begun to snow, and there was about a foot already. It was falling fast and thick. It looked like diamonds in the Christmas lights.
She turned to me and said, "We're going to have a great day tomorrow, we'll made a snow fort!"
I never saw her alive again.
I was told on Christmas day that she had to go to the hospital for another transfusion. I was used to that, I knew it would take two days.
The next day, I watched an old movie on TV called "On Borrowed Time".
It was about an old man and his grandson, who tricked Death into climbing a tree that was enchanted with a wish that whoever climbed it couldn't get down again until the grandfather said they could. The grandfather was played by Lionel Barrymore, who by that time was so incapacitated by arthritis that all the parts he played were of an old man using a wheelchair. The wheelchair was used to good effect in this story.
Death fought back by causing anything that touched the tree to instantly die. But around the world, for those few days while Death was trapped there, no-one and nothing died unless they touched the tree.
The grandfather was adamant to keep Death up the tree, because Death had come to take him, and if he died, the boy would be sent to live with his cruel aunt. But Death was clever.
The grandfather built a fence around the tree to protect anyone from touching it, and Death lured the boy with a dare to climb the fence. He did, but he fell, and broke his back. He was paralysed, but in terrible pain.
The grandfather was heartbroken, so he let Death come down out of the tree, and Death took him and his grandson. He knew that it was a kinder thing than to allow the child to suffer so much. When Death touched them both, the boy revived and the old man became younger and they both could walk again. They followed a golden path in the woods to "the land where the woodbine twineth".
I was only 12. But I understood the story, and that the death of that child was a better thing than his life of pain.
A few minutes after the movie ended, and while I was still caught up in the story, a phone call came. I could tell by my mother's voice that something terrible had happened. My friend Laura had died.
They debated about whether to let me go to the funeral. But I wanted to. I was the only child there. The room grew silent when I approached the casket, and I spoke to her out loud, telling her I was glad she didn't have that horrible pain and sickness anymore, and that she would always be a child and always be my friend. Then I said goodbye and kissed her. Her lips were cold and still.
There are times in our lives when we see things with a rare clarity. I was grateful for all the fun we had together, and I was grateful that I watched the movie, because it truly prepared me to accept her death.
Now I am 61. But I still comb the beach for sea glass, and watch the boats rock, and whenever I see seeds beads strung together, or marbles, or a Volkswagen Beetle, or hear the Beatles, I think of her and how she saved me from the crushing loneliness of my childhood.