"My grandfather died and I did not cry" by Endrit Ramku

My grandfather died and I did not cry. It was not because I didn’t love him. It was not because he made me mad. It was not because I held something against him. It was not because I was happy.

My grandfather died and I did not cry. It was because our visits were synced with the blue moon. It was because I forgot to pick up the phone when he called. It was because I was too busy to call back. It was because I thought he would pay for my college tuition. It was because he would whisper promises for the future under his breath, shielding fragile words under the soft blanket of mother tongue from the harsh world outside.

My grandfather died and I did not cry. It was because that day, I was not at my breaking point – not yet. It was because that day, I did not want to break. It was because that day, my family was an hour away. It was because that day, I did not see my father. It was because that day, I remembered I will die too. It was because that day, my mother did not have to tell me for me to know.

My grandfather died and I did not cry. It was because my memories were so faded. It was because I kept trying to remember the last time he gave me advice. It was because the only memories I could seem to pull from the abyss of my childhood are when he showed me his large surgical scar that ran down the middle of his chest or when he gave me a birthday gift and said, “Happy birthday, zogu.” It was because I remembered the last time I hugged him, kneeling over the hospital bed planted in the living room. It was because I remembered the last words I said to him: “Do të shihemi”  – We will see each other again.

My grandfather died and I did not cry. It was because I must be strong. It was because I must be steadfast. It was because my mother wept on my shoulder that night. It was because she cried all the tears I needed to. It was because she will never see her father again. It was because I could not make it a day without mine. It was because I carry the neighborhood of grief on my shoulders to the future. It was because I am the only one that can see that far. 

I trudge along a wet beach letting the sand fill the gaps between my toes. The tide has risen and taken one of us with it – now he will drown in a sea of souls. Maudlin gait and jejune words mark my presence so near the maw of death.

I am not fazed. I have not yet taken my last breath.