My grandmother died this morning. She was ninety-five and had lived through so many tragedies that she made my life look like a cakewalk. Her husband died when she was in her thirties, leaving her to raise and feed her two daughters. It's become something of a tradtion in our family. My mother, her daughter, died when she was thirty-seven leaving my dad to raise my sister and I. My wfie moved out when she was thirty-six, leaving me to raise our two kids.

Then my grandmother's son died before her of cancer, and then she lost my mother. My grandmother was already pretty bitter and cynical but after my mother's death her nihilism became absolute. I loved her and I was her favorite but I am determined to respond to my own personal catastrophe's -- losing my mom, my dad, my wife -- with more love, not less. It's not always easy but it's the only way that I can see that this thing makes any sense.