(Memoir)

I had never been to a funeral before... I can only recall two prior deaths significant to my family; The passing of my maternal grandmother, Carmen, and the questionable death of her daughter. I was approaching 15 yrs old then. I don’t know why I didn’t attend my grandmothers funeral or why I never visited her bedside during those last days. I remember her fondly. I loved her. I was always excited when she came to wash my hair as I bathed, and no matter what she made sure that my budding feet were sparkling before I jumped into bed. I was only a tot when my (first) aunt died. The news had made its way into the very same home from which I now make these disclosures. My mom, the 13th and last child, received a phone call that her sister was gone. I do not know the specifics of that call, however when prompted by my subconscious I flashback to that time. In sepia, I see my mother leave the bedroom. She walks toward the front door like a drunkard. My father follows behind her and his parents follow behind him. During this reminiscence, I feel only two things in the present: blank and blue. Gently, the memory dims as my paternal grandfather whisks me away so that I would not mind the groans of deflating hearts. That would not save me because there was little he or anyone could do about the panoramic nature of tragedy and the shaping of my senses as a result of such. My aunt Matilda was born with Down Syndrome. Looking back I suspect she had other challenges as well. There was a rocking chair. Her rocking chair, and I hardly have any recollection of her placement anywhere else. She would let me sit on her lap and together we'd enjoy the calming motion. After her death I remember overhearing dialogues between my mother and her surviving siblings. Matilda could descend steps without much assistance but getting up and pass those same steps was a different contest. So the question was: how did she make it to the rooftop on that fateful day?