dontravis.com blog post #504
Photo of Cerro Little La Jara, Valles Caldera National Preserve
Last week, my son Grant and I took the ashes of his older brother to one of the most beautiful spots on earth… at least to me. As regular readers know, my older son Clai died on January 22 of this year. It was totally unexpected… again, at least for me. I spoke to him one day, didn’t hear from him for three days, and then got a call from my sister in Texarkana, Texas saying he had been in the hospital for three days. Clai suffered from a host of ailments, but appeared to be handling them okay. A thousand miles removed from my older son, I believed he was seeing his doctors regularly and was handling things well. He had complained of “leaking from the legs,” a form of weeping sepsis but assured me he was seeing his doctor regarding the problem. Apparently, he was only talking to the doctor on the telephone… and it killed him.
Somehow, I feel that Clai had the last word. As we were leaving the clearing to return to my GMC Terrain, I tripped on the uneven ground and fell hard. Managed not only to skin both knees badly, but also got my forehead and my nose. Took Grant forever to get me to my feet… and he has bad back problems without a dad flat on his face. Why did I think Clai had the last word? Perhaps he was saying, “Come on, Dad, you and Grant spend a little more time with me.”
Readers, thank you for once again indulging me in a personal moment. But in this hectic world of uprisings and pandemics and political infighting that threaten to render our nation apart, I thought an interlude like this might serve all of us… not just me and my family.
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