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This is about life's journey and what happens at the end.

There is a voice inside of me that remembers me as a boy
Running, jumping, chasing daydreams
Making a makeshift raft for Amazon adventures on a local creek
And talking myself asleep with stories of derring-do, rescuing fair maidens in distress.

There is a voice inside of me that remembers when I started going out with girls.
A schoolboy crush on a golden goddess in a senior grade who allowed me to walk her home.
The goddesses of the screen, like Rita Hayworth and Arlene Dahl, who inflamed me with troubling thoughts.
I wrote to a Hollywood star and told her I planned to become a star like her but she never replied.

There is a voice inside of me that remembers sooty, foggy London.
A long, elegant lady with smooth hair and gentle gestures,
Seated in a room full of sprawling, partying people
Looking quiet and confidant with an inviting smile.
We married and started our journey together.

There is a voice inside of me that remembers the day my wife walked to the little frontier hospital to have our first child.
We both laughed because just across the road was a brand new hospital waiting to be opened with the all the marvels of modern medicine.
But Michelle was not ready to wait.

There is a voice inisde of me that remembers soft, starry nights in the South Pacific
Sailing to the other side of the world to a new life
Finding in each other enough courage and energy to share our problems
And make our own way.

There is a voice inside of me that remembers facing the wilds of the far north
And welcoming our second child in yet another frontier hospital
Where my wife was brave and suffered a long labour
Until at last Claudine arrived in the land of the midnight sun.

There is a voice inside of me that remembers a West Country cottage
Where we planted trees and created an avenue
That led the way to our modest house
Where we spent our winter evenings with our children by the open fire cosy and content.

There is a voice inside of me that remembers a farewell wave as our daughters stood on the other side of the airport gate and we flew out to the sun.
It was a sad difficult time when we weren't sure if we had made the right move.
Our hearts were heavy and our bones ached with the moist, wet winds of the west.
We needed the warmth of the southland.

There is a voice inside of me that remembers all these things.
And yet there are people who look at me as if I had no memory, no past, nothing to record.
They look at me as if I was nothing more than a blur, an inconvenience, with no definition.
An out-of-date man who could be patronised, ignored and forgotten.
No, I'm not, I'm here.


Val Wake
copyright June 2009