Without A Voice (Based On A True Story)

Our New Life

Days after my Father's death, Mother had the great idea to go on a family vacation. She wanted to take us to the island of Maui to get our minds off of what happened. I was surprised of Mother's spontaneous offer. She never surprised us like this, but we were going on a much needed trip. We were all really excited; we haven't been off the island before this. It was going to be great.

We explored all  around the island. Mother took us to everywhere John and I wanted to go: the zoo, park, aquarium, etc. We all had the best time in the world. Even little Jacob was having a ball. He really liked the aquariums, seeing the marine life swim around. It was a nice vacation from reality. Though sometimes, I wished father was around to join us in the fun, but I knew he was with us in spirit. 

There was a huge turn out for my father's funeral. We probably exceeded the maximum occupancy limit of the funeral home. I didn't recognize any of the people outside Mother's side of the family. Father's side of the family lived far away from us and we rarely saw them. I was both surprised and not at the enormous attendance. My father was a very likable person and gained a lot of friends throughout his life. A lot of Mother's friends came from all over the state to support our family. 

It was a lovely, traditional Buddhist service. The reverend was a good family friend of ours that my parents knew for a very long time. He was very upset by my father's passing and was honored to conduct his service. He chanted prayers for Father to have a easy transition into Heaven and offered incense for his soul, along with the rest of the congregation. After the service, our guest were welcomed to enjoy traditional Japanese funeral food: sushi, chicken, Okinawan doughnuts, and other delicious food. The family was asked to remain behind for instructions on further services and practices. I looked around and didn't recognize a large amount of the remaining people. I assumed they were Father's siblings and their children. I wondered if they knew anything about my brothers and me? Did they even know we existed? I'm sure our grandparents on that side of the family said something about us.

We later joined the rest of the guest outside. Everyone came up to us and gave us a hug. Based on what I saw, everyone was saying things like, "Oh look how big you are," or "I remember seeing you when you were really small." It was all nice towards me, probably because I didn't say much. When I looked at people talking to John, I saw them say, "You're gonna have to take care of your brothers."

I didn't like that one bit, neither did Mother. That was not fair for John to take such responsibility. He was only seven years old. He should have no cares in the world and enjoy his childhood. Father would not want him to sacrifice his life to take care of us, and neither did I. He was my older brother, not my father. I looked at John, and then turned to Mother and Jacob. There, I made the decision: I was willing to give up my childhood so that my brothers could have theirs. Someone needed to take the responsibility, and it was going to be me. At four years old, I was no longer James the child; I was now James the adult.

From then on, we were starting our new life. We returned to school days after the burial, trying to catch up with out work. I was hesitant to return my solitary confinement, but I didn't want to argue with Mother; she has been through enough and doesn't need to deal with me. Do what's best for the family. I walked in and my teachers greeted me. I smiled and walked to my desk. I unpacked my bag while the teachers spoke with mother. I looked up periodically at the other children, I saw all of them talking to each other. They covered their mouths to avoid me "hearing" them. They probably did it more so the teachers couldn't hear them, but it worked on both of us. Nothing changed since I was gone. 

During recess, I went to my usual part of the classroom and started reading my sign language book. It was the least I could do in Father's memory. I practiced by myself, while the other children played tag and finger-painted. A boy walked up to me and I acknowledged him. What could this be about?