Today was June 16, my grandmother's birthday, the one who died when I was five or so. She lived with us as far back as I can remember, although my parents tell me she did not move in until after I was born. I remember three things about her funeral, and nothing else. One thing I remember is getting a ride there in my Uncle Bert's pickup truck. It had little fold-down seats behind the front seats, and that is where my brother Steve and I sat. Another thing I remember is that one of my cousin's kids stepped on and broke one of my toys. It was a black-and-white, zebra-striped safari truck, and I had left it in a little patch of sand I played in at the corner of our house. My parents told me it was my fault for leaving the toy outside. The third thing I remember is a bowl of jelly beans my mom had for when everyone came over to our house after the funeral. She kept telling me not to eat them and to leave some for everyone else, but I kept eating them anyway. I remember nothing of the funeral home or how my grandmother looked lying in her coffin.
June 16, 1998