This time of year, with the starting of school and football games, triggers a nest of memories for me.
My first year in junior high school, grade 7, was a very difficult year. I was an immature kid who was involved in piano lessons, band, friends, church, and Girl Scouts. Nothing bad had ever happened to me other than the typical growing-up scrapes and typical elementary school heartbreaks. My only experiences with death were when “old people” died. I mean, that was supposed to happen, right?
In seventh grade, I lost 3 friends, all my age. LaDonna died of hepatitis. Carol Cross died of leukemia. But the worst one for me, the first one, was my very dear friend, Debbie. She and I had known each other as far back as my memory will go. Her cousin lived 3 houses down from me, so we all grew up playing together. We attended the same elementary school until my family moved in 4th grade. We spent the night at each other’s houses and were in the same Girl Scout troop since starting out as Brownies.
Front row Debbie far right, me far left
Because of districting, we were not able to attend the same junior high school. Debbie loved life and being active. Most of her friends were at my school, so she set out to make new friends and joined the pep club. The school year was very young when the accident happened. Debbie had stayed after school for pep squad practice. Afterward, all the other girls left by a door in the back of the school. Debbie walked home every day. The front door put her closer to her destination, so she walked down the hallway alone, putting a jawbreaker in her mouth. The front stairway to the school was a big one–tall and steep. While coming down those steps, Debbie tripped and aspirated the jawbreaker. With no one there to help her, she died.
This was the ultimate shock. In those days, there were no school counselors to help; we had to deal with life ourselves. My protective mother did not allow me to attend Debbie’s funeral. I really felt I was mature enough to handle it, but my mother stayed on the side of caution.
But then something very unusual happened. Debbie had written an essay in school the previous year. Her teacher and family decided to share it with the community; the local newspaper published the essay. What a comfort it was to those of us who were struggling to deal with her death! My dear friend had showed a maturity that surprised even me. I had talked to Debbie about God numerous times and even got her to go to church with me once (see photo). The essay eased my spirit as I realized she was prepared to meet God, and I knew that I would see her again. Click here to read the newspaper article (PDF).
Debbie on the left, me on the right
In my recent poetry class I had to write an anaphora. I wrote to Debbie.
I remember your curly hair that defied containment.
I remember Girl Scout campouts with all our Brownie friends.
I remember all those sleepovers, pure fun at your house and mine.
I remember shock and sadness when you tragically choked to death at school at age eleven.
I remember you, my beloved friend.
I’ll be seeing you.
