You said nothing was wrong. Why did you lie to us? I wanted to listen, if only I could. But now you’re gone, and I can’t remember the sound of your voice. The memories rush through my head but the voice I’ve given you doesn’t fit, it’s not yours. Someone said that’s what happens when someone dies, but I haven’t heard your voice in five years, but as long as I could see you, I could hear you in my head when you spoke. Now that’s gone. I feel like there’s a hole in my heart, and every time I try to be happy, it just leaks out. I read that in one of your books and I wondered what it felt like; now I know, and it’s horrible.
I asked you so many times, what’s wrong? I could see it in your eyes and Dad’s; something was eating you up from the inside. That’s what Adam said, but I don’t understand. What does that mean? No-one talks anymore, no-one explains things to me; sometimes I have to just try and work it out for myself. I hated to see you so sad and sometimes I’d wish that you’d go away and old Mum would come back, but now you’re gone and she’s still not here. I asked Dad what’s wrong, but he said that everything’s fine; that I don’t need to worry. Does that mean he’ll go away as well? People are always more than what you see, I know that, you told me, but I thought I knew you, Mum. I used to see the way Dad’s face lit up and I knew that you were home. Please come home. People keep hugging Dad and Adam and me, but no-one will tell me anything that I want to know. If you were here, you’d tell me. Adam said that one day we’ll see you again, but you died. How will I ever see you again?
When I think hard enough, I remember things. So many times, you tried to tell Dad, didn’t you? You’d open your mouth to say something, then look to floor and walk away. Now it’s just Adam, Dad and me. Dad cries every night and he doesn’t go to bed. He just sits in front of the television but I don’t think he watches it, and he hasn’t been to work for a week. Adam made breakfast and took me to school on the bus – I thought it would be fun but I just miss you. Adam doesn’t cut the toast the right way, like you did, and he doesn’t give me the flower cup.
Yesterday a girl was talking to Adam and he said that I’m only nine, like I’m a baby, but I’m not. She was talking to me, but he told her that I can’t hear her. She thought he meant that I’m rude and she laughed at me. I thought Adam would just ignore her because he always teases me but he actually told her off. She just said that she’s never met a Deaf person before, like it’s a disease, and Adam made her leave. You should have been there, Mum, I can’t remember the last time he stood up for me like that. He said that I have to stick up for myself because he won’t always be around to help me, but he’s stopped teasing me because we need to stick together at the moment. Dad doesn’t want to talk to anybody at the moment – Adam says he’ll get over it soon, but I can’t help thinking that means he’ll get over you.
Dad doesn’t do anything anymore – there’s no food in the fridge and he doesn’t come upstairs to say goodnight. I couldn’t sleep yesterday so I sat at the top of the stairs and watched Dad, but he never came up and when I woke up, I was in my bed. I think Adam must have put me there but maybe it was you. You always told me not to stay up late because otherwise I’d be grumpy in the morning. I can’t be grumpy anymore though; my head is too full and Adam wrote on the fridge we have to be happy. I see it every morning and I want to cry so badly, and I wish you were here to wipe away the tears. I can see your hands in my head; everything will be fine. The last thing you ever said to me; the last thing I ever saw you say. I trusted you. It’s been exactly a week since you died and I just want to see you once more. I want you to tell me the truth and I want to hug you, but most of all, I just want to see you again.
You said nothing was wrong.