Personal Narrative-Tito

Tito is sat by the wide open living room window smoking one cigarette after the other in what I think is called a ‘chain’ of smoking and not paying the slightest bit of attention to what My Mum, my Dad and I are going to talk about.

I open my mouth and say the first question that wants to be asked. “ Was there blood when he died?” Now I have to rush to get all my questions out so that they are all said and not forgotten. They are all important to me or why else would they be in my head.

“ Was there any blood? Did he get smooshed when he landed? Did the paramedics have to scrape him up off the pavement? What does ‘died’ mean? Does ‘died’ mean that I will never see my Uncle Roger again? The lady who stands outside St. Matthews church shouting about the Bible says that people never die but you say that my Uncle Roger did die? Will I ‘die’ one day? Will you and My Mum die one day?”

She stands up and whispers “ I can’t do this.” and dashes out of the room. I look at my Dad who gives me one of his ‘everything is going to be okay’ smiles and so I continue with my questions.

“ Did my uncle Roger want to die? Does ‘dying’ hurt? Can a person die more than once?”

I stop a moment to breathe and my Dad holds up a hand to me indicating to me that he wants to talk so I let him interrupt me and I stop talking.
“ Okay, let’s start with what ‘dying’ means and go from there, okay?”

My Dad scooches over to me and sits on my right hand side.I watch him scooch and wait for him to answer my