Understanding Death

My little playmate died when I was about 4 years old. He lived across the street diagonally to us. Brent Giles went to bed one night and died before morning of croup. I didn't realize how life-changing that was for me until I was recalling some of my childhood memories. I remember how my parents told me; where I was; what thoughts went through my head after they told me; and how it made me feel. I'm sure my parents didn't know that I was listening to their talk about the death because I distinctly remember them speaking in hushed tones so I wouldn't hear. But, I'm glad I did hear some of it. My snoopiness saved me.

It wasn't as if I needed a grief counselor at age 4. But, I wanted to talk about it to make sure I wasn't going to go to sleep one night and disappear. I asked questions and my mom answered them the best she could. But, I can't say it didn't affect my life. Even at that young age, I understood that people don't live forever and illness can be serious. But, I think the thing that helped me most was that my mom told me Brent was in Heaven and we'd see him again. I believed her and I still do.

In second grade, my friend around the corner, Dwight Seiter, got hit by a car while on his bike and was in a coma for a long time. He laid in a room in their house after he left the hospital while his mother cared for him and hoped he would fully recover. We visited him and prayed for him and took him Tickle Bee game. I think the fact that he got well did a lot for me. I had forgotten about the loss of Brent by the time Dwight was hit. But the memory flooded back temporarily until Dwight recovered miraculously.

When Helen Call, the mother of a large family that lived next to Dwight was killed in a head-on accident coming home from a BYU basketball game in a snowstorm, it shattered our neighborhood again. Her daughter, Carolyn, my babysitter was in the car too, and had so much plastic surgery we didn't recognize her afterwards. When I got old enough to babysit I never fell asleep. I waited while sitting on the counter looking out the window for the safe return of my parents.

My little sisters were very young when my neighbor across the street, Jeff Horrocks, died in a motor cycle crash four blocks from home when I was in High School and I'm not sure they understood what happened. But, in a small town where everyone knows everyone, there is a lot of support when neighbors suffer loss. More than that, though, we were a community of shared faith where the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints answered our questions and gave us hope even at a young age.

A lot of people think that little children can't understand death. But, when my Grandma Dayton died when I was in 2nd grade, I was so glad I was able to see her body lying there in her coffin. She had been in the hospital in Salt Lake and I needed to be able to say goodbye. I don't think I was able to see Brent after he died. I think it would have been better if I could have. It would have made me see that his spirit just left his body. I'm so grateful that I believe that little children will resurrected as Christ was resurrected, with the promise of being raised to adulthood by their own righteous parents in the first resurrection.