I was now eleven years old.
It is not the same anymore.
There was no way to undo it.
I first noticed the whispering, the private conversations
Of my parents.
I noticed a change in my father’s voice.
It became raspy, and almost a whisper.
Mama brought out the suitcase and
packed it for him.
He looked tired and worried that night,
and then he was gone.
I never saw him again after that.
He went to a doctor in Los Angeles
to see what was making him feel so bad.
It was throat cancer.
Shortly after that it was finished.
Manuel Maria Nájera de Gomez