I was driving down I-95 yesterday with the split ends of Hurricane Irene’s long hair whipping rain across the road when the local public radio affiliate out of Jacksonville announced that Stetson Kennedy was in palliative care and not expected to recover. It broke my heart.
I looked out the window to the east and the sky was dark, dark blue with clouds stacking up on top of clouds, with a big anvil-edged nimbus crown leaning in over the coast. The report said he was in and out of consciousness and I wondered if he knew the storm was coming, and if he was waiting for it to carry him away?
I felt the urge to get off the interstate and go to his home in St. Johns County, and wait with other friends and acolytes who no doubt have gathered there, but instead I turned west towards the rest of my own good fight.