This one’s another one of those topics that probably wouldn’t apply to everyone, but I can make it work for me, I think.

Did you ever fall through ice?

This is a very scary question. Like falling through ice wouldn’t be the absolute worst thing ever. There is a lady who used to write stories for the newspaper whose son fell through ice and died when he was about 12. He was away from home, visiting his grandparents, I believe. That is what I think of when I think of falling through ice.

I did fall through ice once, but really only up to my ankle. Not really much of a fall. This was at my grandparents’ house in Stilwell. Grandma and Grandpa had a pond at their place, and their cows would drink from it. There were really two ponds, but one was, in my mind, the main pond. It was closer to the house and the road and therefore it was easier to remember it existed. One time we were there and it was iced over. Marissa and I went down there with our cousin Grant, and maybe his sister Kristin, to see it.

We stood on the iced over edge of the pond. Very slippery. Very neat.

Grant stomped through the ice. Marissa and I were impressed. I tried to stomp through, but couldn’t, because I wasn’t confident in the grip of my other tennis shoe. Marissa and I continued to inch our way along the slippery ice. Grant continued to stomp holes. I took one little step and splashed through to the ice. Yuck. The water was cold and wet and dirty.

I lost interest in the iced over pond, and we trudged back to the house to sit by the wood burning stove and play with Grandma’s dominoes and cards that she kept in the drawer in the coffee table.

I didn’t like to play dominoes or cards, but I liked to make little houses and buildings with them. I also liked to peruse the big book Grandma had that was published by the Tulsa World and included pages from all of their most important headlines over the years. I would frighten myself by reading the stories of the Oklahoma Girl Scout Murders again and again, until I could barely be alone outside without constantly looking over my shoulder.

My experience was commonplace, and kind of fun to remember. It’s much different than my friend’s experience. I can’t even think about the pain of losing a child. When my mind even flits close to the idea, like it is now, a knot in the pit of my stomach forms. I had to put a story about my friend’s son in the paper. I had to do that many times when children in our community died. I still remember each one of them.

To lose a child…Marissa says that if she lost Sarah, she would have to kill herself. I don’t think I would do that, even though how could you want to live anymore?

This is getting awful, and morbid, and I’m feeling kind of sickly, and I’m not going to think about it anymore. I’m going to get off this computer, and go in there and give each of my children and kiss and a hug, and say a prayer of thanksgiving for the blessings that they are.

Thank you angelfire journal topics page for this delightful romp down memory lane with your number 8. Ha ha.