Journal: journey to my present; Summer, 1967 Oct13

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Journal: journey to my present; Summer, 1967

I’m 15; sitting in a playroom in my parents house when my mother comes downstairs crying.  I don’t think I’ve seen her cry since I was 3 or 4 and it is frightening.  She tells me that Phil is dead.  Something about a tractor accident on the side of a mountain.  I’m numb to think I won’t see him again.

He took me to my first movie, Bambi, when I was less than five.  I remember riding in his pickup truck, listening to country music, watching him shift gears and thinking he was the greatest guy in the whole world.  I can’t remember ever not being crazy about him.  I couldn’t imagine him not always being there.

At my Grandmother’s house, which is quite small, two bedrooms, there are scads of people.  Phil’s mother Buel has come in from Detroit with at least 10 of her 12 or 13 children.  She sits with my mother and my grandmother in the kitchen, drinking coffee, smoking cigarettes, crying.

I can’t figure out why she’s so upset.  She left Phil here when he was just five or six and took all her other kids to Detroit to live with their Dad, her new husband.  During the planning and preparation, Phil thought he was going with them until he discovered the next morning that his mother and siblings were gone.

If she’s so torn up about him dying, why’d she leave him here in the first place?

His brothers and sisters pretend a grief they don’t know.  They hardly knew him, how could they grieve him? 

There is a confusion on their part, too. Some of them didn’t know til now that he was their brother.

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