I called it mine, though there was not much in it which was mine
I shared the room with Grandpa, he did not share with me.
The room measured, one couch, by dresser, by one bed wide
The dresser and bed were his
The old couch
Pushed up into the darkest corner of the room
Was mine at night for sleeping
But when day came, it too fell in that hole, which was his illness.
It was then, the many faces framed upon the wall would come to visit
Cousins, aunts, and uncles
One by one, they’d file in, bend low to kiss his sundried hand, and then
Abruptly Stand
Divert their eyes towards me
Try hard to ignore
The hole in his throat - where his voice used to be
But their blank stares confirmed, what I’d already learned
I was lost and
Adrift
Upon his vast, but silent sea
I shared the room with Grandpa, he did not share with me.
And if I had ever heard his voice, I could not remember when
My mind left only to imagine, the tone and tenor
Of his utterance back then.
So I’d wander, wildly searching for lost echoes in the wind
What severed sounds once filled that hole
What hollowed out cadence of soul -
What stories, what adventures
What great dreams that cancer stole?
But what the wind revealed in whispers - sometimes grey and grieving gloom
Other times, I thought quite mercifully, as a soft and soothing song,
Never once did it console me, nor convince me I was wrong
A dead silence was left only
To forever sound in me
I shared the room with Grandpa
He did not share with me.
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Author Notes
As a young boy, I lived with and shared a room with my grandfather. He had his voice box removed because of throat cancer, due to smoking. I never heard his voice and I grew up feeling guilty because I'd felt disgusted whenever he'd leave his trach hole exposed for cleaning or just because he didn't like it covered. Later on in life, I ended up working with trach patients, most of which could still speak and every one of them reminded me of grandpa. As I listened to the older gentlemen who could speak, I'd imagine it was my grandfather speaking of his memories, of life, love, joys, and regrets. Grandpa passed away before I turned eighteen, I am now close to turning sixty myself but I still miss never having heard his voice and I consider that to be one of the saddest things in my life.
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