Time passes, and it’s hard to picture. I got some disturbing news. Shirley, my brother Stephen’s first wife, is terminally ill. I haven’t seen her since the early 90s. She’s had a double mastectomy, and that didn’t stop the cancer. She’s never been above the poverty line. Last I heard, she was living in her sister’s garage.
I’m not sure how old she is, but it can’t be more than two years older than me. It’s hard to think of dying so horribly.