On the television, the news program showed highlights from last year’s tsunami, graphic images of people’s homes and lives being washed away by storms and floods, the will of Mother Nature.
“Don’t worry Grandma, I’m not going to be gone for long.”
My grandmother cried silently, the vain attempts to hold back her tears all but dissipated in the heat of the moment. “We are all that we have now,” she sobbed. “Don’t ever forget that.”
“Grandma, now I’m starting to cry…”
She held on even tighter, the embrace ever longer.
"The tsunami disaster last year brought home to people the realization of the power of God, as it took away the homes of others," the voice of the news announcer blared from the television. "We will not forget…"
“Grandma, I have to go now.”
She didn’t say anything, merely hanging on, before sobbing even louder. My little sister looked on, unsure of how to react, though I could tell by the look in her eye that she has already decided.
She half opened her mouth, and I half expected her to wail. Instead, she sighed, giving me only half of that which I had half expected.
On the outside, I was gamely hanging on, though a tear crept its way down my cheek.
Inside however, I was crying a thousand rivers, my heart screaming the silent screams that no one will ever hear.