This is one of my Ready Street stories. That wonderful little community that molded and shaped my life in so many ways. This is a true story of the first time I experienced death.
I was a tomboy, a female version of Huckleberry Finn but my big brother Paul (I have 4 brothers and 2 sisters) said I was more the female version of Dennis the Menace. I could get into so much trouble that my dad said that I wore out my guardian angel by the time I was twelve. I won't bore you with how many times I got hit by a car (3), how many times the police came to the house before I was five (2) and how many times I needed to go to out-patients (can't remember). They will be other stories.
The telling of this story is almost a prayer and I hope I do it justice.
Late 1950's
I was eight and playing with Francis behind her grandfather’s old house. He was, to me, an ancient little man. I don't remember if he spoke English or French because all he did was make animal noises at us and chase us. We would scream, pretend to be scare, he would laugh and smile. A gentle man in a gentle time. I never knew his name. He was just Francis' Grampy.
I remember the well practised rhythm of his sickle swinging back and forth cutting the tall grass in their back yard year after year. I remember that he wore the same old plaid jacket and ball cap. I remember that his back was curved from age or illness, his sweet smile and I remember the day he died.
This fall day he was chopping up fire wood for the coming winter when we noticed him sinking to the ground and holding his chest in pain. We ran to him and he gasped for help. Francis and I ran to the windows of her home and banged on them screaming. We screamed for help up and down the street and ran back to him to give comfort if we could.
Family arrived and soon a priest to give Last Rites. I became frighten, I was just a child, but I realized he was dying. It didn't want to be there and turned to run home. As I turned to run I froze in place as the whole yard was filled with men; some in white shirts and ties, others in work clothes with sleeves rolled up and lunch boxes on the ground. They were kneeling and standing in the tall golden grass. All had their heads bowed in prayer. The silence was louder than words, when I think back it felt like I was painted into an Old Master's painting. I remember the setting sun throwing it last rays across their faces and the brilliance of the colour of the sky and golden grass. Time was still.
All fear left me for my God was there in this field waiting for this good old man to pass on. I could feel it like I have never felt it again, believe me I have searched. I have been in fine chapels, cathedrals and little churches and I have never felt closer to God than that day under His beautiful sky.
Amen
