As a documentary photographer, the hardest stories to document are your own. These photographs were taken during the three weeks my mother, brother, and I were cooped up in a motel in the Arkansas Delta, waiting for Lind’s court date.
As always, James, my Granddaddy's right-hand man, met my mother and me at the airport. He talked as he drove towards Northeast Arkansas: Motorboat, the cat had died, Lind, my brother, was in rehab for a drug problem, and my Grandfather was worried as all heck.
Getting closer to home, James politely mentioned we might stay elsewhere. We said, "OH NO". I wanted to stay at my Grandparents' house where I had spent much of my childhood. Grandfather told us he had reserved a room for us at the Best Western Motel at the edge of town.
Lind was then placed in a correction facility overnight as a holding place after his time in rehab. This was all under court order.
Mother wanted to give Lind a chance to live with us in Los Angeles. Our Grandfather believed Lind should stay in the rehab or go to another for additional time. After many years of reflection, it became clear that Lind needed real psychological help. Granddaddy was correct.
Lind, along with the court appointed attorney, pleaded his case in court and, unfortunately, won. On April 12, 1985 we headed for Los Angeles.
Lind died of a self-inflicted gun wound to the heart on December 25, 1990. He was 25.
Granddaddy died of old age in 1999. He was 90.
My mother, who was estranged from the family for more than a decade, died of lung cancer in 2015.
She was 73.
