Lately, life has been hard to catch up with. I never really understood what it meant to hear my elders say, “time moves fast, and the older you get, the faster it goes.” I’ve been feeling more and more of that lately, and I’m only 26.
My Papa (grandfather) has been battling with cancer. It’s been ongoing, and has come in different shapes and forms. He’s been a warrior, and made it through many battles with the disease — he’s definitely the strong, but silent type. Lately I’ve learned that there have been poets on both sides of my family. Therefore it isn’t a shock that I love writing. It seems that writing has been a release of pain for a lot of my family members.
I dedicate this blog post to my grandfather, Hugh Samson. He is a proud and stubborn man, and has an independence like no other. He has always been around, and the times that I get to hear him talk about life are truly fascinating. I think my sister can definitely agree with me that we have a connection with our Papa, even if it doesn’t seem too obvious. There just are similarities that don’t really need to be explained to be understood or felt.
Papa, I know that you’re fighting a difficult battle, and that on the inside you have the mind of a young man. I just want you to know that we are all fighting the battle behind you, and you will always be the strong, proud, and stubborn man we’ve always known. I love you. Who else could I thank for my huge round-top forehead?
I do not know him very well, but he is familiar in my presence.
And his quiet ways I can connect to my own quintessence.
Although we do not talk a lot, I hold him quite dearly
To my heart, because I know that I love him clearly.
I have his eyes, they are ocean-blue and the lashes curl at the end.
But I also have the pondering thoughts that stay only in his head.
The silent type that is strong and stubborn nonetheless.
This is the way we both feel that we are at our best.
He fixes things with great care and pride in his hands.
My hands write stories and play piano; this is where my pride stands.
He likes to swim and float on his back and drift upon the lake.
I do the same to gaze at the sky and clear my head from mistakes.
So I do not know him very well, but I love him nonetheless.
I see myself in the stories that he tells of himself at his best.
I do not tell him how I feel, and neither does he tell me.
Words unsaid sometimes are known and don’t have to be set free.
– Tia D. O’Grady