There are two things you are never prepared for in life. I didn't exactly ponder either one when I was nine years old, but I thought about them.

A lot.

One is the death of a parent. Sure, I didn't really get along with my dad, we didn't play catch, no father-son stuff that I remember.
But I knew he was the breadwinner in the family and my mom would have a tough time making ends meet if he was gone. I mean, I guess there would be insurance policies, things like that, but at nine you don't really think of them.

My mom though, she was always trying to be me and Nancy's friend. She was strict when she needed to be, which was the polar opposite of when Nancy and I needed that. I can think of lots of times when she royally pissed Nancy and I off. Holly of course, was too young to know anything.
The one thing I am grateful for, when I had a bad day at school and those probably outnumbered the good days, she was always there with a hug.

My mom gave the best hugs. I could always count on them and they always made me feel better. I can smile every time I think of them.

The other thing you can never be prepared for is falling so deeply in love you can't imagine what your life was like before that feeling.

Again at nine, I didn't think much about it. Although I was sure that the Frogface of Hawkins was probably never going to have to worry about getting a girlfriend. Maybe that's one of the saddest things. I thought about it even more than one of my parents dying.

Such is the life of a nine year old.

XXXXX

No. You are never prepared for those things. When they actually have to happen to you. Like with the death of a parent, well, It will suck. It will suck a lot. And when it happens you realize, there's nothing you can actually do about it. They call it the five or seven stages of grief, I can never remember which, but I'm sure it was a five or a seven.

During the summer when I was thirteen, my dad passed away. I don't think I went through the stages. I was just angry that he never wanted to do father-son things. It would not fill very many pages of dialog to write down every conversation my dad and I ever had. So, I guess if I did go through any of the grief stages, I think I'm stuck at the anger one.

At the funeral, everyone was, of course, sympathetic. The only things that seemed out of place to me, and really, were they out of place? This was my first family funeral, I had no idea what to do or what to expect. I leaned heavily on my mom for that.

I kept my head respectfully bowed as people came up to us offering their condolences. I was very uncomfortable wearing an ill fitting suit that had actually been bought for me to attend the Snowball. It was a cheesy dance that happened near the end of the school year. I had never been to one. You kind of need a girlfriend for that, at least I thought I did. No way I was going to try and ask a girl to the dance, or even, once there ask a girl to dance. One of those totally foreign concepts to me.

So, I'm wearing this suit, looking up at each person in line as they come up to me. One girl, just a little shorter than me, with the prettiest brown eyes I've ever seen. She was wearing a slim black dress that she must have bought specifically for the day, and a little black pillbox type matching black hat.

She looked at me, put her hand over my heart, and then in a kind of a weird voice said, "I'm very sorry for your loss Mike."

Chief Hopper was the next in line. He put his hand on my shoulder. "You need anything kid, you know where to find me."

I'm not sure what that was about. It struck me later that day, that the girl knew who I was or my name anyway, that and her voice sounded like she might be deaf and had the typical voice you hear of someone who has tried very hard to speak for everyone else's comfort.

XXXXX

With my dad gone, there was no one to give disapproving glances at the wine glass in my mom's hand.

I think it was Ben Franklin who said the only things you could be really certain of were death and taxes. Well, obviously I knew about the first, the second you aren't exposed to until you have to start paying them.

There's another though: A wine glass in my mother's hand.

When I look back, I think one of the other saddest things I can think of is that I can't really remember when my mom wasn't holding a glass of wine.
You used to hear about bored housewives in the sixties that were hopped up on Valium. I realize now that maybe my mom was just drunk all the time. Tipsy kind of drunk, I think she just entered a permanent state of wine buzz that never really went away.

Well. It went away. When I was sixteen, in the middle of November and Hawkins was getting a pounding snowstorm. She gathered us at the kitchen table and told us, with a large glass of wine in her hand, that she had been diagnosed with cirrhosis of the liver.

As it turns out she didn't tell us everything. She was also diagnosed with breast cancer.

And that is what she died from. Back then, if it wasn't caught in the early stages, not like today where it is no longer a death sentence for women.

For the most part, I don't remember the funeral. There was a cold, a biting wind, stinging snow in the face. It covered my tears. Small blessings I guess.

I remember that I hugged each one of my friends.

And I remember hugging her. In that same high pitched, almost lispy voice, she said, "I will always be around for hugs. All you have to do is find me and ask."

She kissed my cheek, and those same pretty eyes, dripped almost frozen tears on her face.

Once again, Chief Hopper was next and said the same thing as last time. Man of few words when they weren't needed.

At the time I very much appreciated it.

XXXXX

I didn't have my driver's license yet, so it was a cold walk to the Hawkins Police Station that November. Well, not cold for me. My mom had a very good winter budget to work with, so other than the slog through ever deepening snow, I was warm, but I knew it was cold outside of my winter clothes.

I made the trip for one purpose and that was to ask the Chief to help me find the girl from the funeral. I needed a hug again from her so bad I could taste it. I couldn't tell him that, or that I'd really like to see those pretty eyes again. He'd just roll his eyes and get mad at me for wasting valuable Chief-of-Police-Time.

So I took a different approach. "What can I do for you kid?"

I was sixteen, I hated being called a kid, but I figured this was just the way he talked to anybody under… whatever age he was.

"Um, I know it's been over a week, but I just wanted to thank you for being at my mom's, um, funeral."

And then in a flash of brilliance, my words. "I'm going around thanking everyone who was there. Maybe I should have done that for my dad's funeral, but-" I shrugged.

He gave me a look. Penetrating. Like he couldn't decide if I was bullshitting him and he should just punch me… or that I was sincere and he really didn't know how to handle it because he wasn't the touchy-feely type.

"I didn't know your mother all that well. In Hawkins, we travelled in different circles."

"I know what you mean sir…" I let him off the hook. "I'd also like to thank the girl who was in front of you. She was, uh, very kind to me. At a time when I needed it. I, um, I just want to thank her. I don't know who she is though. I figured if anybody in Hawkins knew, it was you."'

I thought buttering him up a little would soften his gaze. I was wrong. This time that penetrating look was so intense I felt awkward and very uncomfortable. Like he was questioning a suspect he knew was guilty as hell.

Suddenly he shrugged like he'd given up trying to crack my hard as nails exterior and said, "Your sister Nancy has Holly down at your, na- grandmother's place in Florida. Stick around the station for a few minutes. I'll take you to the girl. To her."