Three fragmented images keep coming
to mind when I think of my brother. It is like a movie preview; short clips
showing glimpses of what’s important; but there’s no ending, no beginning. The
first swatch of thought is Duane making sure his wife has a car with a good
transmission, one which will run from Wyoming to New Mexico. Second, his dog,
whom he takes on the road with him when he drives the 200 miles from Basin to
Greenriver, is left at home. And third, Duane’s on the phone, trying to call my
Mom. He’s just about to drive that 200 mile distance to go to work in a factory
that makes diapers. My Mom’s not at home, so he leaves a message, then hops
into his truck, sans the dog, and takes off on the last trip of his life.

Tragedies happen to people all the
time, but when it hits close to home the clock stops and you begin to think of
little things leading up to that one sad event.