Interestingly, when it came to real death, my mother tried to shelter me in what I still think was an inappropriate way. I still feel robbed.

My paternal greatgrandmother died in another city. She was 93. She was an angel of a woman. She died after a long battle with cancer of the esophagus. And my father disappeared. Only after he returned home did I find out about her death. I learned that he had wanted to take me with him to the funeral, and I think that would have been the right choice. I do not remember exactly my age - 10 or 11, but I remember the date of death since it was Valentine's Day. At 10 or 11, a child is ready to take part in a family ceremony of saying "good bye". My mother did not think so. I feel excluded and, as I said, robbed, to this day. I happen to have several pretty plates from that greatgrandmother (god knows how they have survived my many moves, but they have) and I often remember her fondly. She was my only living greatgrandparent.