I was 4 when my best friend died. I can only remember some moments when we played in the garden. One day he and his family wanted to go cycling in the early evening. Sure, i wanted to come with them. But his mother told me they wanted to do this only with the family.

(Well, as he was only 5, and you now how boys are with 5. He just could not wait to get over the street when it was "red". I didn't see him ever again. My mother did not want me to see him in his coffin ... so i didn't even see him dead.)

The next day, when i was in kindergarden, i wondered where my friend was. The kindergarten teacher told me that my friend would not come. I don't know how i did get the information that he was dead, but i did knew it when i came home later:
In the kitchen there were my mother and my two sisters, screaming. They told me that he was dead, and i told them that i know. I wondered why they were screaming, because i knew that people die and they did too.

(Interestingly, i do remember much things before this day, mostly nothing of my early youth after this day. I guess i found out what death means for the people that are left behind.)