In the mid-80’s, when I was a young teen, my uncle’s doctors discovered that he had highly advanced kidney cancer — so advanced that they said there was nothing they could do. Six weeks or so later, I was a pallbearer at his funeral. It was quite a shock for the family, for he was just in his early fifties, and it all happened so quickly.

Yet, looking back and considering the number of cigarettes he smoked daily and the number of years he continued the habit, it’s not entirely unexpected. Actions have consequences; those consequences in turn often lead to still other repercussions.

One of these was the almost-continual driving back and forth from our home in Virginia to the hospital in South Carolina that was treating my uncle. It was summer; I was out of school and my father was taking time off work, so the three of us went back and forth, spending the weekends and other occasional days sitting in the waititng room or by my father’s brother’s bedside. I spent a good bit of my time reading Stephen King, skateboarding in the parking lot, and walking to the Hardee’s down the street for something sweet to drink.

I didn’t like hanging out in my uncle’s room, mainly for selfish reasons. It was stressful walking down the hall, seeing all the aged and decrepit (little did I know) patients, their rooms open, their eyes following every visitor as we walked by their doors. Additionally, the odors were, to my immature nose, offensive and probably unnecessary. So little did I know of death and dying; so little do I know now, but at least I understand its natural elements a little better.

In some ways what bothered me most was seeing my father helpless. It was obvious in his voice and countenance that this was one of the most trying experiences of his life. He was constantly asking his brother if he need anything: another pillow, the television on, the blinds closed, the television off, the blinds open. He sat sometimes and wiped his brother’s forehead with a cool cloth and, as far as I recall, said nothing. What could he say?