Before I was born, I had an uncle who died.

He was the youngest of the three; the golden child.

The family was broken; their tears locked dark inside.

The houses were steeped in unspoken words as we grandchildren grew.

Moments of affection were few.

I felt unheard, unknown and unseen.

Their eyes were glossed with a sheen

Of grief for one who had been,

But did no longer abide, amongst the living.

No pictures, no words, no stories, or misgivings.

Only tears uncried.