I remember
age 5 or so
the canyon drive
bailing in the old datsun
seat folded back
sleeping bags rolled out
for the long drive ahead
why are we going to grandma’s?
something’s happened to grandpa
I remember the pain
tears in search of understanding
only to find out years later
she was the one to find him
death is not always
in God’s hands
alone

ten years later
the teen crush I had on him
one grade older than me
his endearing smile
playful sense of humor
staunch faded walls
lined with grade ten lockers
standing around with friends as he
came in to unload his bag
proudly show off his left arm
fresh ladder of self inflicted
razor blade scars
rising up tender white flesh
I remember the pain
horror within
still feel today
knowing something was wrong
terribly wrong
but I couldn’t help
could anyone?
did anyone?

fifteen years later
another tormented soul
the phone calls we’d have
dark and real some days
bright and uplifting others times
me, a volunteer counselor
he, a disturbed regular caller
discussing his hallucinations
visions of grandeur
wanting to end it all
then feeling somewhat better
for the time being
I remember the pain
tears that stained
next one shift
reading in the day book
that he was gone
had made his choice
quietly
alone
he didn’t call in that day

so today
when you share
the anger
pain
violence
indifference
scars that are visible
scars that are not
thoughts of erasure
haunting assumptions
that nobody cares
try to remember
that someone does

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