my father’s younger brother
was quite an interesting fellow
worked over time in different jobs
and on the sided wrote poems
stories novels texted songs
we lived about 150 miles apart
exchanged occasional mails and comments
on each other’s writings
then I received an email rather strange
stating that he had underestimated
his sickness but wished to have no visits
at the time
it seriously felt
like something was not right
and two days later
I was just about to call
a weeping aunt was on the phone
and told me of his death
from what she said
it was not nice
he died of cancer of the pancreas
could hardly move in his last weeks
and only weighed one hundred pounds
down from 200 when he died
guess his demise was a relief for him
as well as her
how sad that he a man of letters
who wrote thick novels and articulate verse
could not find words for his own pain
maybe like many of his generation
he felt his sickness was a shame
or he was furious at his body or his fate
or did not want to burden others
or did not like them to be witness
to his waning health
I do not know
what I shall remember
is the loud silence
in his last mail
* * *
Oct 8, 2015
Oct 8, 2015 at 7:23 PM UTC
my father’s younger brother
was quite an interesting fellow
worked over time in different jobs
and on the sided wrote poems
stories novels texted songs
we lived about 150 miles apart
exchanged occasional mails and comments
on each other’s writings
then I received an email rather strange
stating that he had underestimated
his sickness but wished to have no visits
at the time
it seriously felt
like something was not right
and two days later
I was just about to call
a weeping aunt was on the phone
and told me of his death
from what she said
it was not nice
he died of cancer of the pancreas
could hardly move in his last weeks
and only weighed one hundred pounds
down from 200 when he died
guess his demise was a relief for him
as well as her
how sad that he a man of letters
who wrote thick novels and articulate verse
could not find words for his own pain
maybe like many of his generation
he felt his sickness was a shame
or he was furious at his body or his fate
or did not want to burden others
or did not like them to be witness
to his waning health
I do not know
what I shall remember
is the loud silence
in his last mail
* * *
