Numb to death

When I was in fourth grade my Aunt Susie died due to complications with polio and pneumonia. On Saturday mornings Dad would wake me up early and take me to work with him. My sister stayed home with Mom most of the time. I never knew what Dad did at work on Saturdays; he always dropped me off at Granddaddy and Meme's house. Meme was my step grandmother. Aunt Susie lived in the old house next to Granddaddy's. It was the little house my dad grew up in. There was a shortwave radio transmitter in the living room that they used to use to talk to relatives in England.

Uncle Pat, one of my dad's brothers, lived with Aunt Susie for a while too. He also had polio. I remember him as a quiet bearded man who used to wake up in the afternoon and would sometimes get around the house using his arms if he wasn't in his wheelchair. Aunt Susie could walk with braces, but most of the day she sat in bed and knitted or read. She had a cocker spaniel named Chelsea and a pair of blue and green birds in a cage on her porch. She had a hedge of Korean boxwood on the other side of the rail. I remember because one Saturday she let me borrow scissors so I could trim them. Whenever dad would get me in the afternoons Aunt Susie would give me a piece of carrot cake and strawberry candy. I wish I could remember the sound of her voice.

I remember her death more clearly than anyone's. She was the first person I loved who died. Dad got a call one afternoon. I was playing with toys in my room but I remember going to listen in because Dad sounded much quieter and more cryptic than normal.

Since Aunt Susie's death many more in my family and even some friends have died. Three years ago, I was walking through the art museum in Indianapolis with two of my first Ball State friends, Nathan and Chauncey. Now both are gone. This year, so many have died that I have too little time to process it before something else happens. It still doesn't seem real that my grandmother is gone.

This week one of my dad's best friends died. He was more to us than my dad's best friend. He had dinner with us almost every week for the past ten years. He was always there when I was with my dad. He was like family, and his family considered us family too. I went to his funeral today. His family decided to have him cremated and scatter his ashes. I could not believe this cloud of dust scattering across the field and blowing through the pine trees was the man I was sitting next to at dinner three weeks ago. It doesn't seem real.