Grandpa Maynard and Aunt Barbara

So far in my life, death is one thing that has had minimal impact. I could count the family members and favored pets that I've lost on one hand. Texas, a black lab mix, died when I was in first grade. Ryo-Oki, a black cat, disappeared in fourth grade, and I think I can assume he's since died. Loki (gray and white tux cat) disappeared in ninth grade, and Tyr (Maine Coon mix) in my Freshmen year of college after my mom refused to let him back in the house once I left for Delaware. Either of them may or may not still be prowling the neighborhood. (Great) Grandpa Maynard died at 90 before my Sophomore year in high school.

I find it somewhat ironic that this month, Breast Cancer Awareness month, I'm probably going to lose my Aunt Barbara to breast cancer. I don't know many of the details, but I know that she had been diagnosed late with breast cancer a few weeks ago. They don't have health insurance, so she was being treated by a doctor in Mexico relying largely on donations and fundraisers by her friends and her six sisters, and the general consensus was that she was improving. I don't know her very well, she's one of the more religious members of my family. Last I knew she had 6 children, and last time I saw her was right before her second or third miscarriage. Mom and dad were going through the divorce proceedings and in the interest of keeping us kids out of the middle, Barb offered to let us spend the summer with her in Utah.

I remember resenting her for not allowing us to do anything on Sundays except read or watch Book of Mormon Stories movies. As much as I hated that rule, I could abide by it. I spent every Sunday in my room reading, and I enjoyed it, although I would have rather been playing air hockey or making bows and arrows from sticks outside with my cousins. She was nothing if not fair. And I'm amazed at the ease with which she handled her own five children in addition to two or three of her sister's children while her husband Tony and my oldest brother Matthew (the one most likely to help her out if us younger children got unruly) spent days at a time on a semi. All this while several months pregnant, with two at home in diapers. Mark, being very close in age and getting along well with Oliver, Aunt Cheryl's oldest, spent most of that summer with him in Idaho.

Even though I feel terrible for Barb, and I know that her death will have a profound impact on a lot of people, I wouldn't include myself on that list. I didn't know her very well, I didn't grow up with her present. When we were still in California, she was already in Utah with Tony. And I loved my Grandpa Maynard, but all of my memories of visiting him barely include him. He was a great person, and I know he really cared about me, and all of his grandchildren, and I miss him some, but it's hard to really miss someone who was never really there to begin with.

I guess the point that I'm trying to make is the news of Barb's condition made me realize how lucky I am in that respect. Most of my friends have lost parents, siblings, friends (this includes animals), and/or some other important person in their life. Distance (of varying degrees), instead of death, is the only thing that separates me from the vast majority of people and animals who are or have been important to me. I can only hope it stays that way for a long time.