I had a great uncle who worked for a big lumber company, and got sick from the poisonous chemicals he sprayed to maintain the grounds. The nerves in his hands died to the extent that he’d drop things without knowing it. Or he’d get pulled over for driving too slow on the highway and when the cop asked him where he was going he couldn’t remember. He died in his late fifties, from brain cancer, and I remember him sobbing a lot in the back bedroom. His wife had to put locks on all the windows so he wouldn’t wander off in the night. I don’t have much else to say about him. I just think he should be remembered. I think people should know what those with money do to those without it. We couldn’t even bury him. It was too expensive. We cremated him and drove him up to the Red River, where he liked to ride four-wheelers in the spring. It was spring then too. The birds had come back. I remember we all took a handful, and lowered our hands into the water, and let go.

Leave a Comment