It feels strange to be the last surviving member on my family of origin. William, Helen, James, Dennis, Richard, Patricia; me.
I know I am not alone in this boat, that there are many seniors in this position of life.
One thing that may be unique to me is cancer took my mother, Helen, and brother, Dick.
Ovarian and esophagus to be specific. My brother, Dennis, survived melanoma but succumbed to a traumatic spine injury from an auto accident three years later. William, my dad, had prostrate cancer, which he survived until his death from heart issues.
Grandpa Phillip died from colon cancer at fifty back in the day when treatment options were even more difficult than in this day and age.
Grandma Theresa, however, lived until 88, but did have a total hysterectomy for ovarian cancer at sixty-something.
James somehow avoided the cancer gene, but succumbed to a massive heart attack at sixty-five.
So is the clock ticking louder for me than the average sixty-two year old? Genetically speaking, no doubt about it. The best the medical profession can offer today is early detection, prompt treatment.
I try not to dwell on this whole dying issue and live my life doing the things I love with the people I love. I lean on my faith and my belief that there is life after death; my belief, heaven.
There is also the Grandma Theresa factor that gives me hope.
For my own children, Jenni, Julie, and David who are the joy of my life; forty, thirty-eight, twenty-eight respectively, I pray they got the Grandma Theresa genetic make-up, and also hope a cure for cancer will be found in their lifetime.
By: Patricia “Golden Girl” Lynne