The Daily Haiku for Feb 2. Words I Never Said.
Words I never said,
follow me forever now,
but you can't hear them
When I was 10, my grandfather died of cancer. His name was Ignacio, like me. His death had a devastating effect on me. My happy and secure world fell apart overnight. He was the person that kept the family together, and it started to disintegrate shortly after.
in 1990, cancer was taboo in Spain. You didn't talk about it, you didn't explain it to children. As a kid, I had no answers. I could not say goodbye to my grandpa. They took him to a hospital far away, and then a couple of months later he was gone.
That event marked the transition from my childhood to my boyhood. It took me some time to understand. Sometimes we carry all these things with us and it takes us a long time to process everything. But that means growing up.
I miss you grandpa.