The Cry from the Front Room

 

The Cry from the Front Room

Denzil Jayasinghe
1 min read3 hours ago

Iremember the morning well. I had just risen from bed when I heard my grandfather cry out. His voice, sharp with pain, echoed down the corridor. I crept to the front room where he slept and peered in. He was doubled over, struggling to pass water, groaning with a kind of helpless fury. I stood at the door, frozen. I was too young to understand. This was in 1961.

It was only many years later — half a century, in fact — that my uncle told me what had really happened. My grandfather had been suffering from prostate trouble. It had plagued him silently, and in the end, it killed him. He died at seventy. Today, such a condition would be manageable, even routine. But back then, in that other country of time and medicine, it went undiagnosed, untreated. He died of something that no longer needs to be fatal.

There were other losses in that family, quieter, more forgotten. Two of his siblings never reached their first birthday. Another was gone before the age of five. Childhood deaths were not uncommon then, but still they left their trace — like faint bruises on a family’s history, never fully fading.


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

A Child of Curiosity

Image
A Child of Curiosity How inherent inquisitiveness became a key driver in learning experiences. Denzil Jayasinghe · B orn in the mid-20th century, I am a product of the post-World War II era. My parents, who were teenagers when the war commenced, married in the 1950s. As a representative of the baby boomer generation, I was born under the astrological sign of Capricorn, the tenth sign of the zodiac. My birth took place at Zoysa Nursing Home, a renowned institution in Colombo, Sri Lanka, around 5 in the morning. Sri Lanka, known for its tropical climate, is a beautiful island nation south of India. This climate appealed to me, and I sought similar weather in my twenties, spending them in Dubai, where the winter resembles an Australian summer. Raised by religious parents, I held them in deep affection. However, the church teachings posed a paradox for a young mind, instructing one to love God more than one’s parents. I initially adhered to the Ten Commandments and other societal norms in ...
Read more

Demons and Devotion

Image
Demons and Devotion: A Family’s Pilgrimage Denzil Jayasinghe · “Demons and Devotion: A Pilgrimage to Tewatta”   is a short story by Denzil Jayasinghe about a family’s pilgrimage to a holy site in Sri Lanka.   The story follows Denzil, the eldest son, as he reluctantly accompanies his devout parents on this journey to celebrate their 25th wedding anniversary. Although initially sceptical, Denzil reflects on his childhood faith and his family's hardships.   However, the pilgrimage turns unexpectedly when an encounter with a priest who claims a demon possesses Denzil creates tension and leaves him angry. T he air hung heavy with a solemnity that felt out of place for a silver wedding anniversary. Denzil’s father, whose pronouncements held the weight of scripture, declared, “We are going on a special trip to the holy place of Our Lady at Tewatta. This day, showing God’s blessings, will be a private event for our family.” On a recent arrival for a two-week holiday in Sri Lanka...
Read more

Shattered Innocence

Image
  Shattered Innocence A story of a needle Denzil Jayasinghe · “Shattered Innocence. A Story of a Needle”   by   Denzil Jayasinghe   is a short story told from the perspective of a lad who discovers their   father injecting insulin . This discovery shatters his innocence as he grapples with the reality of his   father’s diabetes   and the fear and uncertainty it brings. The story explores themes of family, responsibility, and the challenges of facing difficult realities. T he pre-dawn light filtered through the window, casting a pale glow over a scene that shattered my world. We were lost in the quiet routine of getting ready — me for the apprenticeship, my siblings for school, and my father for his work. I wandered into my parents’ room, searching for the familiar black comb. What I found wasn’t the comb but a sight that froze me in my tracks. Father, stripped down to his white undies, his usually strong face creased with worry, was doing something… di...
Read more