When I was 10 years old, or maybe 9, my grandmother was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. I didn’t know what that meant. I just knew she got really sick, really fast.
On January 21, 1995, I lost the last of my living grandparents to this ugly disease. I remember my mom getting the phone call to come to the hospital in a hurry. I remember my dad carrying me into my great aunt’s house. I remember pretending to be asleep when my great aunt Bonnie got the call that her sister had died.