The night after we got the news, i woke up and something was wrong.
I could hear you in the living room, talking to mom,
And something was wrong.
And then i remembered.
And then i started to cry.
Because i wasn’t worried.
Because you always bounce back, because you’re so strong, because god has a plan for you,
Because of a million different reasons.
The others like to say that i missed the worst of it, not seeing you in the hospital. That i didn’t see you fighting for your life, see you on your long recovery.
But i was the one who held your hand when you couldn’t breathe, begging you to hold on one more minute, one more second, until the ambulance could arrive. I was the one who paced an empty house, cooking and cleaning so everyone else could spend their days at your bedside. I was the one spending weeks and months waiting, folding paper cranes and hearing “stable” and “not worse” on the days they told me how you were doing at all.
And then you came back.
Thinner, weaker, iv port still installed in your arm, but you came back smiling.
And you got better.
You always get better.
The others like to say that i missed the worst of it, and maybe i did, because i wasn’t worried.
One more doctor’s visit among dozens, one more test result among hundreds.
If it weren’t marked on the calendar i would’ve missed it entirely.
I wasn’t worried.
And then you called us all and gave us the news.
And it’s a good thing, really.
On the balance of the scales you’ll be coming out better than before.
No more cancer.
No more constant risk of aspiration pneumonia.
Maybe even no more feeding tube.
Less than a month before it’s all over.
But there’s bitter to all that sweet, and i couldn’t taste it right.
You joked about becoming a borg, my sister mentioned our great aunt was the same, i made some comment wondering if you could customize the buzzer like a vocaloid.
But internally, i couldn’t think.
Too busy mentally dissecting the word.
Laringe-
Of the larynx.
Latin word, meaning the part of the throat that holds the vocal chords.
-ectomy
To surgically remove.
Latin word.
So many medical terms are in latin.
I distracted myself before i could put the two definitions together.
I knew what it meant, i didn’t have to feel it.
But then i woke up and i could hear you talking in the living room.
That’s when i feel it.
I will never hear your voice again.
And it’s changed recently, gotten weaker and rougher the more your throat has been ravaged, but it’s still your voice.
The voice that has meant comfort and safety all my life.
The voice that laughed and sang and told stories.
The voice that tells me everything is going to be alright.
Will it be alright if i can’t hear you say it?
Will it matter if you say it, with a voice not your own?
I already can’t hear you say it,
Lack of focus making the audio not process,
Turning voices into senseless noise.
But it’s not senseless.
It’s your voice.
The pitch and hum and rasp.
I don’t need to hear the words to know it will be alright, your voice says it all.
But it won’t say anything anymore.
Cut out.
Turned to wires and circuits.
Soothing tones replaced with incessant buzzing.
Familiar warmth becoming alien cold.
I can hear you talking in the living room.
It’s always made me happy when i do,
Knowing you’re there,
Hearing in your voice that you’re happy,
That you’re safe,
That everything is going to be alright.
But it won’t.
I can hear you talking in the living room.
And i’m crying.
Because i won’t be hearing you soon.
