Yesterday was a sad day for me here in Portland. I am all right. Let me explain.
Yesterday I found out that my oldest brother, your great uncle Tim, has had a heart attack. He is in a hospital in San Diego, and the people there are trying to get him better.
He was in the Marine Corps and spent many years in Viet Nam during the war there. He has been hit by hand granade shrapnel, had Malaria a few times, and lived on what he could hunt when he got separated from his unit for a few days. He has been a tough guy.
But he is seventy years old, has smoked for most of his life, and doesn’t take care of himself. So it is not a surprise that he is sick. But you can see something coming and it still hurts.
My nephew Wade, Tim’s son, has come out from New York to visit his dad and see what can be done to put him on the road to recovery. Tim’s memory is affected and he is having trouble placing people. I am hoping for a happy resolution, recovery and a return home for Tim. But, like for Momma and Dad and our brother Jim before him, I will most likely live to mourn the brother who taught me how to climb trees and clean fish.
And this makes me sad.