I Don't Deal Well With Death

I don’t deal well with death, but then, who does? Besides, death has a way of showing up unannounced and usually way too early. Not a very good dinner guest at all.

I’m going to share with you a story that I haven’t really told very many people. One that will always bring me shame and will always sit heavy on my heart.

My very first friend was a little boy named David. He lived across the street from us, and my mother used to take care of him. I’m not sure how old we were when we met, but we were young, pre-school.

My first memory of David is him being carried into our house because he had casts on both his legs. You see, David had muscular dystrophy. I didn’t know what that meant, nor did I care. I was just happy to have someone to play with.

He wasn’t always in casts. We had many a summer day filled with bike riding and bug chasing. When he wasn’t up for that, we played puzzles or passed the hours playing with dinky cars in the sand.

He was the boy with whom I discovered how boys and girls differed. He was my best friend. Other people teased David because he walked funny, they teased me because I was his friend, but I didn’t care. To me, David was just an ordinary kid.

Then, one morning, David wasn’t home. When I saw his family’s car pull in the driveway, I ran to see if David could play. When they got out of the car, David was quiet. I waited to see if he would play.

From the back of the car, Davids dad produced a ride on scooter (like a wheel chair). It wasn’t the first time I had seen David in a wheel chair, like I said, he had his good days and his bad. But this was different; this was permanent. David wouldn’t be walking anymore.

David’s dad put him on the scooter, and David took off down the street. I ran beside him and tried to talk to him, but he didn’t want to talk.

When I look back now, I know that David was embarrassed, but my 9 year-old self didn’t understand. I went home not knowing why David wouldn’t talk to me. I was upset. I waited for David to come apologize to me; he never did.

I didn’t try to make things better. Perhaps I was tired of being teased? I don’t remember. I think I just didn’t understand how to process his emotions. I didn’t know how to be supportive. I didn’t know that he needed me to be. I thought he just didn’t want to be friends anymore, or maybe that’s just what I tell myself. I honestly don’t know.

That was it, we didn’t hang out anymore. I started hanging out more with girls and I saw boys come and go from his house. Did we just grow apart? No, I don’t think so.

I said hi to David in the school hall here and there, but I never went back to his house.

Eventually, that was just how life was, I didn’t think about it anymore. I did have a sense of guilt when we passed each other at school, but we never hung out again, and our friendship never really crossed my mind.

We finished high school, I went on to college and despite living in a small town where it was easy enough to know what other people were up to, I lost track of David.

Then, one Christmas break, while I was home for the holidays and getting ready to go out with friends, I saw the ambulance across the street. It sat in David’s driveway, lights flashing, and I knew why it was there.

I went to David’s funeral.

When his dad saw me he said “You were David’s first friend” and I crumbled. I cried, my mother held me. Why had I never cared enough to see how he was? to ask what happened? Why hadn’t I put forth the effort to save my friendship?

I have been to David’s grave. I have told him this story, but I’m not sure I’ve told anyone else.

I don’t deal well with death.

Death has knocked again, and has made reservations with a very dear relative.