Two down, one to go

They say that deaths come in threes. I'm starting to wonder when and who number three is going to be.

Late last week, a grandchild of the Old Folks died. I suppose that makes him sort of a cousin. I guess. His name was Adam. He was in his mid-thirties . . . but had been "dying" for the past 20 years. He was first diagnosed with cancer when he was a teen ager . . . just starting high school. He underwent many, many, many operations . . . procedures . . . treatments. Frankly, the fact he lived this long is a testament to modern medicine.

I only met him once. It wasn't really a favorable impression. He was a bratty little kid . . . who had a habit of sucking spit through his teeth. Pretty much, that's all I remember of him.

The strange thing was, he died suddenly and in his sleep. He got tired out . . . went home to bed and never woke up.

He was married . . . but the many treatments he endured made it impossible for him to have children. His wife, I hear, is lovely. Those "relations" who have met her all say that she is a saint among women, and that she was really quite good for the boy . . . gave him some glimpse into a normal life.

Stranger still, with the old folks being on the down side of the 80s . . . quickly climbing up 90s . . . this is the first child or grandchild to die. They had five children . . . all of whom are still living. . . and nine grandchildren and four great grandchildren . . . and all except one is still living. I don't know how many families are that lucky.