Neil ... My Sister's Boy

There was a message waiting on my voice machine when I came home on Sunday evening. Neil had died that morning.

Neil is my sister's son. He was a casualty of the sixties culture. His adult life was lost
and tragic. His mind deserted him and his body betrayed him a few weeks ago. He spent the rest of his time in care.

When I heard the news, the picture that flashed before me was a little boy of five or six getting off a plane from Scotland wearing his cowboy belt with double holsters and twin pearl handled pistols ready for whatever Canada had in store. His black hair lay flat and shining in a fringe over his dark brown eyes. A sprinkle of freckles covered his nose.

He hadn't known his family before he died. The last time his dad left his room he bade him "Adios". Incredibly, they heard him whisper back "Adios"

We have never lived in the same place since they came to Canada. They have driven down for various weddings.

Now it's our turn to drive to Ottawa for Neil.