If you’ve been here before, you probably know that two of my uncles were in a bad motorcycle accident a year ago. They were both lucky to have survived the accident.
The uncle who was airlifted to a hospital in eastern Washington has recovered relatively well (I never did go visit).
A year ago, my sister and I visited the hospital in Seattle to visit the uncle who was airlifted there. It was all I could do to keep from running away. I carefully kept my composure while we were with him (he was in a coma at the time), and when we walked away I lost my control. My sister had no idea how hard it it been for me to go to the hospital, or how Christa’s death had affected me. We talked, and it helped. But I still could never talk myself into driving to the other side of the state to visit.
He miraculously made it through the first several days. After a couple weeks he was transferred to a hospital closer to home, and then to a rehab facility. It has been a year of hope and fear for the family, being there for my uncle (who has down syndrome as well) trying to help him heal and keep his spirits up without putting their own lives completely on hold as well. There have been complications off and on, and recently more on… Until today.
Today my uncle finally lost the battle to recover from his injuries.
My uncle that taught me patience. My uncle who taught me sign language. My uncle who taught me that there is no shame in an adult showing the joy of a child.
I will miss you Uncle Herb.