Girl Called Karen Read Online Free PDF Page B

the family dining table. My father was eating supper with us, an event so out of the ordinary as to mark the seriousness of the situation. Little four-year-old Grace kept asking for her mother, and her father didn’t answer. I finally shouted at Grace that her mother was dead, that she was gone and wouldn’t be back.
    My father began to weep. That was the most shocking thing that any of us had ever seen. I was so sorry that I had hurt him. All six of us were very still.
    There was a funeral to prepare for. Some neighbors and people from our church came and did things for us. The older kids and the ragtag urchins were given haircuts and new clothes, and everyone could see how beautiful we all were.
    A lady whose son was in my class at school came and took me shopping. She got me two of the most beautiful dresses. They weren’t little-girl dresses, they were for a teenager and store bought. I was thrilled. I have never forgotten them, but I had very mixed feelings about this charity. It didn’t feel right to have her buying things for me. We were not poor people. I believe she sensed my distress for she said that she had sons and had always wanted to shop for a girl. I accepted that explanation.
    Other people brought food and flowers in abundance. I was pleased to realize they cared about us, but I wondered where they had been when my mother needed help.
    Family came from far away. Everything that anyone said felt like criticism of my mother. She had died slow and hard, but no one seemed to understand that. My grief mingled with anger and gratitude. My Aunt Eileen was an anchor in the whole drama. She didn’t make judgmental statements, at least none in front of me. She was available for comforting, and I think we all leaned on her. People from everywhere in northern Ohio came to pay their respects, and the funeral procession was lengthy. Then everyone went home, and somehow we were supposed to go on.
    I should say almost everyone left – Grandma Lucile and Aunt Eileen and Aunt Mary Louise and Uncle Lyle stayed on and had supper with our family. Grandma Lucile and Grandpa John lived in Florida, and Uncle Lyleand Aunt Mary Louise lived in New York City, and Aunt Eileen lived in Chicago. Mostly everyone was pretty quiet, and then Uncle Lyle said to my father, “We know it’s going to be awfully hard for you to manage with all these kids. We’d like to help…. Mary Louise and I want to take the two little ones to our home to live with us.”
    I held my breath. I knew that for me it would be unbearable to lose my little sister and brother, and they would be heartbroken to be separated from all of us and from each other. The six of us could hardly bear waiting for my father to answer.
    “No,” he said. “I want to hold my family together. I don’t want to break us up. We can manage. We’ll find a way to manage.”
    You could feel the sighs of relief all around the table. We were going to stay together and live with our daddy.
    My girlfriends were my greatest source of comfort through the next days. My best friends were Gloria Rutkowski, Kathy Horton, and Carol Hill, and their mothers were quietly present in my life. I can’t honestly remember any dramatic conversations or tearful scenes, but I did know they cared. I was a Girl Scout, and that was a comforting place to be. My Catholic school was my safe haven from all the hurts.
    Mama had died in March, and somehow we muddled along without her. We were a family. We knew we had to stay together, but we argued and scuffled the way most kids do.
    Shortly after mama died, Larry was given a gasoline-powered airplane. He loved it, and it was shattered when I inadvertently stepped on it. He broke into tears, and he chased me all over the house and the yard. He was beet red, sobbing, tears streaming down his face. I had never seen my brother like that, and I really thought he would kill me if he caught me. I think his profound grief for the loss of our mother spilled over that