Utilize Your Voice
by Renee' Johnson

Do you remember back in the day, when your summer was over and it was the first day of school? I can always remember being both excited and disappointed. Excited, because It was a new year and I was going to see my ‘school friends’. You know, the friends that don’t live in your neighborhood and you only see them during school. Disappointed, because my summer was over, school was starting, and my bed time almost coincided with the illumination of the beloved street lights.

On the first day of school, the teacher would more than likely ask you to write something about your summer. What you did, where you went, the usual. I haven’t written about my summer since elementary, but I’ve chosen to expose you to my experience. Now, it won’t be THAT bad, so don’t go lookin’ for the mouse just yet.

This summer was different for me. I hadn’t seen a few members of my family for about 4 years because I was living in Germany . So, it was a pretty emotional event. One experience that stands out was me seeing my uncle. My Grandparents passed away long before I was born. My Aunt D and Uncle E (that’s what we’ll call ‘em) raised my mother, so to me, they are my Grandparents. Since I’d been in Germany, he had developed Alzheimer’s disease, and my family would often tell me of how it was causing his mind and body to deteriorate. Now, I’ve heard of the different experiences people have gone through when a family member succumbs to Alzheimer’s, but I just couldn’t envision my uncle going through any of the horrible things I’d heard about. So seeing him for the first time since he’d been diagnosed with it, caught me way off guard. He was so thin and frail and he moved very slowly, as if his moves were being calculated before he made them. Even though I was aware that Alzheimer’s impairs memory, for some reason, I still thought he’d know who I was. But he didn’t. His eyes were bright, but full of distance. The kind of look you have when you’re ‘pleased to meet’ someone for the first time.

There was one time when he looked at me, stared even, as if he recalled my face. He did, kinda. He kept calling me by my mother’s name. Then he would smile and say, “Judy, you sure are slim. Have you been drinkin’ that slim quick stuff? You don’t need that stuff!” I’d just laugh, because it reminded me of how he had a knack for messing up the names of any and every store bought product. No one ever corrected him then. We’d just laugh and listen to him, especially if it was during one of his storytelling moments. He’d sit one of us on his knee, and bounce his leg to simulate his horse riding days. We all know horses gallop, but Uncle E’s horses “boogity-boogity-boogitied!”  His voice would travel every time he extended words like “a lonnnnnnnng time ago we used to live waaaaaaaaaaay down there, we’d watch the pretty girls with French braids in their hair”. Then he’d laugh at his simple rhyme and continue telling us stories of how he used to ‘court’ my Aunt D, or how hard he worked in the fields as a young boy. He was sharing his memories. Something now, he cannot recall. It’s difficult for him to remember the answer to a question he’s asked just 3 minutes prior to him asking you the same question again.

So now, you’re probably thinking, what? What does this have to do with using your voice? I’m getting to that, cool out.

Uncle E’s condition has worsened, and he has been admitted to the hospital. One of the arteries to his heart is blocked, while another is leaking. He is too weak to survive the operation he needs to correct the problem so they won’t perform it. My aunt sits at his bedside so he knows he’s not alone. She seems to be the only person he ‘knows’, and she is the only person he will listen to. So when he arrived at the hospital (a 90 minute drive via ambulance), he was surrounded by people he didn’t know or care to listen to. Uncle E is and always has been stubborn. So several of his ‘encounters’ with various people in the medical field have been, well, difficult, to say the least. When my Aunt D arrived at the hospital, she knew exactly where to go. The defiant yells of “Hell no! Get yo’ ass away from me!” kind of led her right to Uncle E. He immediately calmed down when he saw the ‘familiar face’.

He looked into her eyes and pleaded, “D, please get me out of here. Why am I in prison? I haven’t done anything. These guards are so mean.” Yes, even though Uncle E has never been incarcerated in his life, he thought he was in prison. Aunt D smiled and explained to him that he was at the hospital and “these people are here to help you.” But, maybe he did believe he was in prison. I mean, they were holding him down. They did strap him to the bed. They wouldn’t let him leave the room. (and some of those female nurses were kind of manly and burley)  In his mind, he was in prison. No matter what he said, or how he said it, no one would listen because ‘his mind is bad’. He could only tell them what he was feeling, but because it made no sense to them, they would smile, nod, and offer the false comforting pat on the shoulder. It has to be frustrating.

Uncle E’s voice goes unheard by many on a daily basis, primarily because at times he cannot fully express himself in an intelligible manner. His own health has taken away the one thing no one has ever been able to deny him: his voice.

As a poet and a writer, as a person for that matter, your voice, your words, and your expression are things that you truly own. We live in a society that doesn’t always embrace the concept of ‘freedom of expression’ in it’s entirety. But it is still your constitutional right. The origin of a poet’s words are often unknown, but if one person understands where that poet is coming from, then he/she has  accomplished something we all take for granted at one time or another: the ability to connect with people using your words, your voice. I joined Sunpiper because I believe in and admire the fact that the founder has created a forum where expression is not only welcomed, but encouraged. Of course, it is not our goal to offend anyone. However, everything written will not always be agreed with.  I believe a poets’ greatest gift lies within the creativity of his/her words and the ability to utilize that gift effectively. Uncle E’s health is his obstacle. What’s yours?