Bury’n Uncle Will
On a warm November morning in 1948, only a few months after my eighteenth birthday, they called from the hospital at Bowdon, Georgia, to tell me Uncle Will was dead. When I arrived, an orderly ushered me to a small side room where Will lay curled in a fetal position, his ragged white mane almost covering the pillow. The icy embrace of death was profoundly evident.
KeywordsGreat Sympathy White Mane Small Side Great Hope Fetal Position
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