My cousin, one year older than I, whose children are the same ages as mine. She died of multiple myeloma when her oldest was eight years old.
Her brother who died the year before she did, of leukemia. He left a wife and five children.
Their mother, my aunt, who died of breast cancer four years ago.
My Grandpa E., who was funny and gruff and contracted Alzheimer's disease and died sad and angry in a care facility.
My Grandpa T., who was funny and energetic and loved my babies. He could eat more than any person I know and was as skinny as he could be. He helped me learn to love work. He would listen to me play music forever. He thought I was a marvel. Then he forgot me, too, when he contracted Alzheimer's. He died sad and confused in a care facility.
My Grandma T., who gave me life when I wished to die. She told me I was beautiful. She knew I could do anything I chose to do. She loved my curly hair and dark eyes. She said I was very special. She told me she loved me. She died three years ago of breast cancer.
I miss them all.