In every family there is a child whose designation is that of number one son. Girl or boy. Oldest, middle or youngest. Someone comes to earn this title over years of demonstrating grace under pressure, reliability, common sense and a sense of duty to those tied to him or her by the accident we know as “family”.

I have written a bit before about my father. He has a progressively terminal lung disease that has been stable for the last year but he is nearly eighty-one and his health is failing despite the relatively hopeful prognosis on the lung front from his pulmonary doctor in the spring.

He is a lucky man. He has nearly died at least three times in the last two and a half years. There is really no medical rationale for the fact that he has survived this long. And in my opinion, making the “old” half of old age is an accomplishment for which not all of us will be allowed bragging rights.

I knew it was coming and it still stabbed me a good one. Read Full Article