A tragic story

This is a tragic story on so many levels. A migrant worker from Guatemala dies in a firey crash on Coffin Point Road.

And the speculation continues to swirl like the sparks from the powerlines that came crashing down in the conflagration: no license, no papers, no regard for himself, no concern for others, more drunk driving, speed in excess of 100 mph  . . . .

Let me tell you what I do know.

The man who died in this crash had a brother who loved him. I could see it in his eyes. The man who died has loved ones in Guatemala who miss their father, their brother, their grandson, their novio. They will have to learn to live without the income he provided them each week in the form of a Money Gram purchase at the Mexican Tienda. Eighty percent of his income for his family, the rest to pay the women in the camps who prepare his food everyday and who clean the room he shares with five other men. The meager amount of money left. . . who knows. A 12 pack of Bud Light?  Some extra change for a game of cards in the late evening before seeking refuge from the Lowcountry mosquitos?

And now his brother here and his family there attempt to raise the money to transport his remains back to the land of his birth. The amount they need is $8500--a lifetime of income for many Guatemalans.

I do not know if they will be able to raise such an exorbitant amount of money. I do know that this story happens entirely too often. I do know that it is a tragic story.