A Most Uplifting Subject

Last night I learned of the death of one of my favorite authors, Robert Anton Wilson. Even though I've never met him, he feels more like a friend than just some guy whose books I've enjoyed. I find it difficult to be sad, however, because if his writings are valid, and I'm sure they are, he's partying right now with Jimi Hendrix and Tim Leary. Still, it got me to thinking about death.


My first experience with death came the night my Aunt Mae, my mom's oldest sister, died in a car crash on her 32nd birthday. I was 5 or 6 years old. My dad's voice woke me up when he answered the phone, and then the wail of my mom's agony tore at my little soul. I remember drifting in and out of consciousness as they talked about what happened.

As they talked, I dreamt their words. I saw people pulling the body out of the creek. I saw the tree stump her car had struck. I saw relatives and friends standing around as the car was towed from the creek bed. It became an ongoing nightmare, complete with emotional narration.

Although I don't remember it, my parents must have woken my brother and me and taken us to the living room, but I'm not sure why. Dad had gotten Ruby, our neighbor, to come sit with us while he and Mom performed the gruesome task of being with the family during such a time of horror. Ruby, who almost always smiled, did not. A heavy, dark layer of gloom fell over the Universe that day.

The after effects of her death proved almost as dreadful. Her husband, an abusive alcoholic with a mean temper, would get the kids if someone else didn't step in. She had six, but only two were still at home, Kenny and Don. Thankfully, my grandparents adopted them, but it was a rocky road.

Kenny and Don didn't see or remember much of their father's abusive ways, and soon began to resent Grandma and Grandpa for keeping them from him. Unfortunately, their sister Sharon, who was married at this time, also thought that they belonged with more immediate family. An ugly struggle ensued, and eventually Grandma and Grandpa let Sharon and her husband assume custody of the two. Relations between the three of them and the rest of the family never fully returned to normal.

I often wonder whether it's death we should dread, or dealing with the living. Death seems so easy.