• I was in Elementary School when I first picked up a Shel Silverstein book
    It was titled A Light in the Attic
    And it made an instant fan from the start
    I was amazed by the whimsy in this poet's work
    The grim yet poignant line art
    I finished the book during library hour
    And borrowed the next one
    Where the Sidewalk Ends

    It was just as good
    Just as satisfying, just as fleeting
    I was inspired-
    This man was influencing people miles and miles in all directions
    And he doesn't even have to be here to present it
    I just read the words on the page and understood

    I spent all Saturday in the town's public library
    My mom left to go shopping
    Said she would be there in a few hours
    I read everything on the shelves with the great man's name
    Falling Up, The missing piece and The Giving Tree
    My list of favorites increased exponentially
    I had never been a fan of anything and truly understood what it means

    I went home with a fire ignited in myself
    "What is he going to write next?"
    "How can I meet this man?"
    I drafted a few poems, and put them in an envelope along with a fan letter

    I wanted him to know how much his work meant to me
    I wanted to know his mailing address, and how many stamps I would need to ask my mother for
    I held the note in my hands until I went into the school Library on Monday
    "Excuse me, I'd like to renew Where the Sidewalk Ends" I said
    and then "By the way, do you know Shel Silverstein's mailing address? I want to send him a fan letter."
    and then "Oh. You can't do that. He's dead."
    and then "Oh. Okay."
    ...See you later I guess

    I put the issue on the back burner for the rest of the day
    I had a lot to do during the day
    But when the evening rolled around
    And I sat in the living room watching the sun set through the translucent curtains
    Where the Sidewalk Ends sits in my lap
    I began to re-read it
    But no, it wasn't right
    This isn't right
    It didn't feel the same this time

    My favorites still made me laugh, and think
    But not as much as they initially did
    "You can't do that. He's dead."
    I read them again, trying to forget the first time
    "Shel Silverstein is dead"
    I try to find another way to feel rewarded by this book
    "There won't be any more of them. Ever."
    I'm only 5 years old. I can't live the rest of my life reading this.
    "Shel Silverstein is dead. Everybody dies."
    I felt numb

    I knew what death was, but I never had a face to pin it to
    A moment where death was relevant to me
    Where it was real
    Where something was taken from me
    My stomach was tied in knots
    I didn't want to die, but its going to happen to me
    And its going to happen to those that I love
    And I don't know what happens after you die

    My Dad came out of the shower
    My head whipped to face him
    Steam billowed out of the bathroom and his figure approached me
    Dad is usually my superhero
    I rushed over to him, shaking and sobbing
    "DAD! I'm so scared right now. Everybody is going to die. Everybody, including me and I don't want to die! I'm scared!"
    Awkward silence
    He's visibly uncomfortable
    "Well, nobody wants to die, but there's nothing we can do about it"
    He's afraid too
    Even Dad can't help me

    I was embarrassed, and didn't want people to see this side of me
    "Who cares that you don't have a red crayon! This picture means nothing!"
    I didn't want anyone to think I was crazy
    "Don't you get that everything ends? Why are you wasting your time?"
    5 years is too young to feel like this. It would seem weird.
    "Why are you giving me detention when there are kids my age dying of starvation
    People are gonna get uncomfortable

    So I write
    Much like I'm doing now
    And that experience lies dormant. I refer to it once or twice, but mostly I just leave it alone.
    I don't want to have a crisis
    But much like death, it happens
    My sidewalk will end