2009 Under 18 Children's Writing Outstanding Entry

Raelke Grimmer

Forget Me Not

Age: 18

Two eyes stared back at me. I recognised their dark brown depths and gazed into the pupils, searching for some clue as to what I'd been through. To what my family had been through. If I locked eyes with someone, could they tell? Tell that as hard as I tried, I couldn't bring myself to forget?

Mum never hid a thing from my brother or me. The second she knew he had a brain tumour, we knew. The moment they determined the lung cancer, we were told.  The day they discovered it was terminal, she sat us down and explained. Daddy's going to die. Treatment can prolong his life, but in the end he'll die. Cancer was something my brother and I could comprehend; dying was harder. At nine and ten we knew what death was, but the concept of it being forever, of something so permanent, eluded us. We tired hard to understand, but to this day I know I didn't. Not really.

They shaved Dad's head to remove the tumour, so we didn't have to watch his hair fall out in clumps as the chemo took effect. Instead we saw the dark circles form permanent fixtures under his eyes. We watched his frame become little more than brittle bone. We accepted that normal was now endless hallways and waiting rooms and patients and Daddy in hospital. We were exposed to situations that had never crossed our young minds. All we could do was adapt and accept these new challenges as a part of life.

The year before was nothing compared to those final two weeks. Bed-ridden in the hospice, Dad just lay there. Beds were set up for Mum, my brother and I; our days marked by the Flurry of visitors who passed through with final good-byes. Nodding and the occasional word were the extent of communication, yet how much he actually comprehended we didn't know. The worst thing was that nothing we did could conquer the disease; it had taken hold and was so close to winning. Every waking moment was one instant closer to finality; all we could do was sit back and watch, waiting for the end. His final day consisted of wheezing breaths as he struggled for air. He fought to the end, there was no denying that, but with each breath such an effort it was no surprise when he finally drew his last gasp. I saw my father die.

I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, I was surprised to see tears unable to contain themselves to my eyes. The mirror didn't lie. When I looked at my reflection, I saw all these lasting memories implanted in my brain. The tears weren't a sign of sadness, or bitterness or anger or grief or fury. They were a sign that I was ready to embrace what had happened, to stop dwelling on the past and get on with the future. Who said anything about forgetting?

Judge's Comments

I loved this piece. Apart from its obvious emotional power, it is effortless to read because the sentences flow easily and skillfully from one to the next. I was particularly struck by this writer's command of the short sentence. ‘We watched his frame become little more than brittle bone.' ‘Our days marked by the flurry of visitors who passed through with final goodbyes'. And the shortest and most heartbreaking of all - ‘I saw my father die.'

The title and the last line work beautifully together, and I felt the writer's love, loss and most importantly for a writer, skill at articulating what he /she observed. A terrific entry, and one that I will keep and re-read over the years.

Judge: Tony Wilson Author

Children's U18 Writing Commendations:  

Alec Koroluk-Stephenson	Highly Commended
Jeenal Patel	Highly Commended
Alyssa Di Benedetto	Highly Commended
Sondrine Kehoe	Highly Commended
Siobhan Twist	Commended
Hendrika Duivenvoorden	Commended
Estelle Fraser	Commended
Jane Lee	Commended
Aimee Slevison	Commended
Melina Karina	Commended

 

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