Yellow House

Yellow House 1967

It was July of 1967.  I was 12 years old.  We lived in a two story house on the north side of Sheboygan.  My family consisted of Daddy, Mama and the six of us kids.  I was the oldest.  After me came Mary, who would be 11 in August.  Tammy turned eight in the spring.  The boys had their birthdays at the end of the month.  Jerry would be seven, Michael, three and Patrick, the baby was almost 2.

The house was a pretty yellow and so much bigger than the last one we lived in.  I didn’t care about any of that.  Who needs a big house when all that really mattered was that we left our old neighborhood and all of our friends.  I was mad for a short while.

My new school was a block away.  I quickly made new friends, but I could also jump on my bike and ride back to the other side of town in 20 minutes.

My sister Mary and I shared a room upstairs.  All the kids were up there except Patrick who had his crib in a room downstairs.  My parent’s bedroom was also on the first floor, next to the living room, at the front of the house.  It was the room Daddy died in.

Sunday, July 30 1967.  It was a day I will never forget.  My brother, Michaels’, third birthday.  Daddy had one of his headaches and wanted to lie down before church.  He died suddenly during that nap of a cerebral aneurysm.  He was 33 years old.  Mom had just turned 30.

We moved back to the south side shortly after that.

This was for Writing 101, Day 11.  Where did you live when you were 12. The twist is to pay attention to the sentence length.

Advertisements

12 thoughts on “Yellow House

  1. Mom sent us all upstairs when he began the death rattle. We decided I should go downstairs to get “socks”. I went downstairs and walked to the pile of socks on the sideboard and looked around bewildered. I looked at mom and said, “What’s happening.” She said, “Oh honey, your daddy’s dead.” I grabbed the socks and ran them upstairs. I threw the socks on the bed and sobbed, “Our daddy’s dead. Our daddy’s dead.” I remember that my tied-died green knee socks were on top of the pile. Our lives changed forever.

    • Thank you! it was so long ago but the part of that day sticks in my head.
      I am thinking of getting rid of the like button. Too easy. If I only have two people who talk to me, so be it.

      • Exactly. They may stop following me if they actually had to interact. Honestly, some days I don’t feel like reading and commenting on all. But, there are a handful I always read and comment on if I come on.

  2. Deb, that’s really a blow for children. Prayer enclosed as to memories, and the future. For me it was ten, and my mom. Knowing this side of life is not so absolute sometimes first occurs as a daunting thought, as if life were short and death big, and inevitable. Increasingly, though, I think this not at all because death is big — but because the love we feel is so big, we are that much more enraged at this short, unpleasant interruption of life in this small cosmic room.

    However, compared to the grandeur of love, life, and joy, the ever expanding energy and rebirth in the universe, and even inside this little world, death is really a very small.

    The Cosmic room we’re in blocks our view beyond so that we keep mistaking life as small and death as big.

  3. Oh my goodness, that story was sooooo close to HOME for me and my Mothers Family, its SCARY!! Accept ours (well, my moms parents), was the GREEN HOUSE–verrry freaky! And same with the set up! Girls shared room upstairs, all boys downstairs, accept youngest, parents first floor, geez the way i read yours i could almost SMELL the Basement of my Grandparents house exactly! I cud play as a young child in my grandfathers closet for HOURS with all my dolls… Thank you for sharing!

    • Thanks for reading and following. I know what you mean about remembering things/places and smelling it. I need to get back on here and write about my new adventure. I actually bought my grandparents home this summer and have spent most of my time there. Back home now and just said today that I need to get back to the blog. Thanks again!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s