Absence

The only experience with death that has had a strong impact on me came before I started school. All four of my grandparents are still alive, all my relatives that were alive after I was born are still alive, I didn't know anyone in school who died. So when I think about it, the death of my Uncle Rupe is really the only one I remember.

Uncle Rupe was Aunt Pauline's husband. They weren't my real Aunt and Uncle, in fact, I'm not sure exactly how I was related to them. Some distant relatives somewhere on my Mom's side.

Uncle Rupe wasn't as cranky about me watching TV in his house as my grandfather was, partly, because he was too busy working on something in the garage, often a car or truck or something. That is about the only memory I have of him. In his work suit, covered in motor oil, pushing his thick rimmed glasses up on his nose as he made some lame joke that adult males make to little kids.

But when he was gone, it left this kind of sick empty feeling inside. I cried for weeks when I went to bed. I was scared. I didn't understand how someone could be there one day and gone the next. It just seemed wrong. And when my thoughts eventually drifted to what would happen to me when I died(yes, drifted rather than progressed, since I was still quite young, I didn't make the connection to my own mortality right away)I was even more afraid.

In addition to crying myself to sleep, I decided to be extra good. After all, at that point in my life, I still had a strong concept of hell, and since it my options were heaven or hell, I had to make sure I was going to heaven.

My parents, especially my mother, were pleased with my improvement in behavior. Apparently, I was quite the little mischievous and rebellious boy, always trying to find a way to make my work shorter or easier, or sneak something and get away with it.

My goodness ended one day and my mother freaked. I don't even remember what I did, I just remember her chasing me down the stairs. And when she caught me, she pinned me to the floor, with her knees on my shoulders, and squeezed my cheeks, crying, and asking me why I was back to being bad.

She felt very guilty about it after, for a long time after. She apologized about it every time it came up when I was in elementary school, and I probably over-used it as a wild card to save me from trouble.