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Rated: 13+ · Book · Death · #1340789
Deticated to my grandfather. Thank you for reading. This story is FICTION.
I still remember his face. I remember his height, and his length. I remember his temper and his humor, but I mostly remember his music.
I recall my 13th birthday. I was sitting at the kitchen table with a small humble cake in front of me, and my family was gathered around me. I whispered my wish “I wish we were all immortal and could sing like angels.” I heard my grandfather say “But that would be heaven.” I blew out the candles and handed them one by one to my grandfather who licked the icing off of them and set them into the sink. I was so grateful I had a grandfather like him. The country music that he played droned in the back ground of all the laughter and commotion. The music seemed to get louder and louder until I snapped back into reality. The reality was that my grandfather was very, very sick. I never appreciated the bitter-sweet sound of country music the way he did. He sang it to me all the time when I was younger. Even when I was a baby he would pull out his guitar and play me soft lullabies. As the years passed I grew less and less interested in singing the old country songs. Newer and better things were becoming available, so I wouldn’t sing with my grandfather anymore. A few days of refusing to sing with him and he went and died of Cancer on me. Why did he have to go and do that! I felt sadness and frustration seethe from my eyes. It seems that the key ingredient in sadness is always death.
My once animated family now hung around the house as if they weren’t even alive themselves. Everyone kept singing his songs, the songs I hated, the songs that killed my grandfather. I started to play these songs over and over in my head. They all had their own special memory. One stuck out from all of the rest of those lost songs, put out of my mind by new songs with no meaning that would be forgotten in less than a month, how could I let them take the place of those beautiful classics! The song was called “Wildwood Flower” I have a special verse in the song that stands out more than anything ever has before. The words speak to me more than anything in the world could ever say in a billion trillion years. It said: He left me no warning; no words of farewell. He’s gone and he’s neglected his pale wildwood flower.
I had never felt this way about a song before in my life. I hope this always continues so I can feel connected in some way to my grandfather, always. I was his wildwood flower. He’s left me no warning of his cancerous death and he did not say any words of farewell. I felt hurt and I yearned to see him and regret the dark hour, he’s gone and neglected his pale wildwood flower.


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