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Description
Uncle Charlies got the rots again, down with the disease again. They may have to take the other leg this time, at least the foot. He just lays there in bed most of the time, staring out at something only he sees. Grandma Carol tries not to cry when she goes in to tend to him, but he must hear her all the way from the kitchen as she sits there crying over the potatoes. Slice, slice, slice; a little more gone each time. I sit on the porch and think how we all die like that; piece by piece as the good things turn rancid and are cut away. I wonder if Uncle Charlie sees Aunt Martha, seven years gone now. I kind of bet he does.

Description
Uncle Charlies got the rots again, down with the disease again. They may have to take the other leg this time, at least the foot. He just lays there in bed most of the time, staring out at something only he sees. Grandma Carol tries not to cry when she goes in to tend to him, but he must hear her all the way from the kitchen as she sits there crying over the potatoes. Slice, slice, slice; a little more gone each time. I sit on the porch and think how we all die like that; piece by piece as the good things turn rancid and are cut away. I wonder if Uncle Charlie sees Aunt Martha, seven years gone now. I kind of bet he does.