Thinking of the past

I've had a lot of odd things happen in my life, some good, some not-so-good. I don't necessarily know that my life as been any more odd than the average person, but it is odd none-the-less. In those rare moments that I can think in peace I like to spend time reflecting on my life.

Tonight on one of the on-line forums that I frequent another poster told a story about her uncle, who just passed away. Her uncle had murdered his wife many years ago when she was pregnant with their first child. Reading this story struck a chord with me, because it was very similar to a story from my past.

From my birth I grew up in McVille, ND, which is one of those small towns where everyone knows everyone, and no one locks their doors at night. At my birth I lived with my parents in an old farmhouse outside of McVille. We were only about a mile from the house where my dad grew up and his parent's still lived and farmed. Then when I was around 3 or 4 years old my parents bought a house right in McVille, just a few blocks from the small school that housed Kindergarten all the way through the 12th grade.

I still remember our neighbors, even though these days I can't remember all of their names. To the right of us was an old man who if I remember correctly had been a bachelor his entire life. I remember him and his house smelling of must and moth balls, and I remember sneaking into his back yard when I was little to eat the sour rhubarb that grew by his back shed. Kitty corner to the right of our house and across the street was the house that my great-grandma on my dad's side had lived until she passed away in the early 1980's. There was a crab apple tree in her back yard and we used to go back there in the summer and shake the tree until the apples fell off. I remember the day of my great-grandma's funeral and my parents not allowing me to go, and being left with someone at my great-grandma's house while my family went to say their final goodbyes. I must have been about 5 years old when she passed away.

Directly across the street from us was a couple that was maybe a few years older than my parents. I can't recall much about them other than I thought they were nice people. Kitty corner and to the left of our house was our church, McVille Lutheran Church. My brother's and I attended Sunday School there every Sunday, which was something that I always looked forward to. The church was so welcoming and I thought that it was such a fun place to be.

Finally, to the right of our house and across the street was a young couple who had one daughter who was around my age, give or take a year or two. The woman was one of my mom's best friends and she used to watch my brothers and I after school while my dad was at work at the welding factory and my mom was driving the school bus. I remember that she was pretty and a that she was a very sweet woman. The only clear memory I have of her was her with her husband. I was sitting in their living room, and I think she was watching me and my brothers. Her husband walked in and they kissed, and they laughed. She sat down on his lap and they smiled to each other. I recall thinking that they seemed so happy in that moment.

One Saturday morning when I was about 5 years old the day started like most. Me and my brothers were spending the morning watching cartoons like we did every Saturday morning (remember the days when Saturday morning cartoons were actually good?). My dad was gone working somewhere and my mom was in the dining room painting the walls. I still remember what she was wearing that day. She had on a navy blue tank top and a navy blue handkerchief tied around her hair. Our peace was broken suddenly when tall man with short, curly grey hair wearing a turtle neck rushed into our house through the front door, right by where my brothers and I were watching cartoons. He was yelling for help. My mom came into the living room with the rolling brush still in her hand and said to the man, "Can I help you?" He told my mom that he was the uncle of my mom's friend across the street, and she and this man's son were trapped inside the house with her friend's husband who had a gun, and was threatening to kill them.

I remember walking into the kitchen and seeing my mom sobbing over the phone book with my dad as they looked for the number for the police. My dad was on the volunteer ambulance service, so he stood outside of the house with many police and other people with the emergency services while the stand-off ensued that morning. I stood on a chair in the dining room to try to steal a look at what was going on outside and I saw people everywhere, including my dad. My mom scolded me and told me to stay away from the window.

In the days after that horrible Saturday morning I was able to piece together what had happened by overhearing conversations that my parents were having with other people. My memories are somewhat foggy, but what I do remember is the following. My mom's friend had decided to leave her husband and she planned to leave while he was at work that morning. She took her daughter to her parent's house out of town the night before and her uncle and his son came to help her get her things out of the house after her husband left for work. While they were moving things out her husband came home unexpectedly and realized what was going on. A fight ensued and he got a gun, and began threatening her. That morning he killed his wife, her cousin, and then he walked outside and killed himself in front of every one standing outside of his house.

I'm not exactly sure why, but the memories of that event have haunted me ever since it happened. I remember that day so clearly compared to other events of my childhood. I think a lot about their daughter and how horrible it must have been for her to grow up knowing what had happened to her parents. I wonder what happened to her and I wonder how loosing her parents in such a violent way affected her. I hope that she was able to live at least a semi-normal life and I hope that she was able to grow up and maybe have a family of her own.

Is it weird that I think about these things so much? Sometimes I wonder if it is, and I wonder why it all has affected me the way it has. I also wonder if the events of that day somehow changed me and influenced who I am today. For example, I am extremely fearful of guns. I didn't grow up around guns, but I also was never taught that guns are something to be afraid of. Yet, I cannot hold a gun, much less be in the same room as one. Even guns behind glass at the museum give me the creeps. Maybe my fear of guns began with that day? I'll probably never really know, I guess.

Regardless, that is one story from my life and I suppose that it is one of the more intriguing of my stories. I have many more stories though and in time I plan to tell more of them right here in this blog.