I was born in the U.S. Midwest, circa 1960's. My father was a factory worker,  (by all accounts) stunningly beautiful mother was a homemaker. My parents had been married about one year before I was born.

Eighteen months after I was born, my mother was to deliver another baby. Another boy. Even today, I'm not aware of all the details, but at some point during the end of my mothers' pregnancy with my brother, she became increasingly ill.

Our mother died of leukemia just nine days after my brother was born.

I have often wondered how many times in her last  days could our mother, lying on her death bed... tell my baby brother and I that she loved us? How many times was I held in my 18 months of knowing her? Did I ever learn the words in time to tell her that I loved her? These are just a few of the questions and thoughts I have carried my entire life.

Not surprisingly, (as I've been told by others) I have lived my entire life trying to make my mother proud of me. I firmly believe that my desire to gain her praise (even as I knew she could never give it) has made me a decidedly better person.

Don't get me wrong. I am no angel. I am far from perfect. But I do still try to "make my mother proud of me." Only, now I choose to do so consciously.

After my mother’s death, my father couldn't work the job he had and care for two boys (one a newborn) by himself. So, (over time) my brother and I lived with both sets of our grandparents in our childhood. Our environment changed continuously. We attended several different schools. We (my brother and I) went from middle class to living below the poverty line. From being the only two children.... to being two among as many as ten.

My father re-married twice and we (during the marriages) lived with him and our new stepmothers. Fate would have it that all three of my father’s wives... My mother, first step mother and second step mother.... All three suffered with cancer. Leukemia, Breast* and finally Brain.

(* Not able to confirm)

I graduated high school at 17. My first real job was at a local McDonalds. I started at min. wage ($2.35 hr) and later, as an assistant manager, I made $4.25 hr. I joined the United States Marine Corps on the delayed entry program just after my 18th birthday. I joined the Marines, not only to impress my family but also to impress my "first love" / sweetheart. A girl who I met and worked with at McDonalds.

I also joined the Marines to learn a skilled trade in electronics.

I traveled the world, while in the Marine Corps. I served in Norway, Korea, the Philippines, and Japan. Alaska and Ireland were among the places I traveled through to my training and duties.

My exposure to so many other peoples and their cultures was very effective in making me more aware of myself, the world around me... and of what my role in it (this world) was to be.

Of course, just as I had feared, my girlfriend found someone else, while I was away in the Marines. I guess I was never meant to win her heart.

I learned not that long ago that she has since passed away.

You guessed it.

Cancer.

After four years of active duty, I was honorably discharged from the Marines without ever seeing any wartime. (Although we did have some close calls, when tensions rose in Grenada, Beirut and Iran)

After leaving the Marines, I eagerly re-entered the workforce to capitalize on my technical training. I got an apartment, furniture and a car and I settled back into the citizenry. Years of dating and bachelorhood and wandering aimlessly followed. Until one day, my entire life (and priorities) would change again.

I was in the last days of an on again off again relationship. And BAM! An unplanned pregnancy. (Again saving details). Abortion was not even considered by either of us. It was never an option that we would ever consider. And yes, we talked about it (abortion and such) before the pregnancy occurred.

After a great deal of pressure from all sides during the pregnancy, we (during the pregnancy) got married.

In hindsight, we married for all the wrong reasons.

The pregnancy was a horribly difficult one. My wife was suffering from Toxemia and we had to struggle with the possible necessity of a medically necessary abortion. But somehow, our wonderful doctors were able to treat BOTH, my wife and our (now adult) daughter.

The doctors prolonged inducing the delivery as long as they could. Our daughter was born (induced) after a three-day stint in the ICU and maternity ward. She was 6.5 to 7 weeks preemie. She weighed just 5lbs. 4 ounces at birth and promptly lost the better part of a pound shortly after her delivery.

Our daughter's chest was compressed so hard during contractions, that she stopped breathing. I remember rubbing her back as she lay face down on a warming table. The doctor was holding a small oxygen hose to her tiny nose. Still she wasn't breathing. COME ON! The Dr. screamed under his breath as he worked with her. My (then) wife was crying out across the room.... wanting to know if she was ok.

I remember the Dr. flipping my daughter over onto her back, then her belly and I watched him FLICK the bottom of her feet one at a time with his fingers. She didn’t respond. So, I flicked her foot myself. Only harder than the Dr. did.... I rubbed her feet, her back and chest. After what seemed like a lifetime (but in reality was more like a minute or more).... she finally took her first breath.

She (our daughter) was so tiny; that her entire hand fit completely through my 10.5 sized wedding band.

Two years later, under the strains of getting married for all the wrong reasons, my wife left me.  I completely understood her wanting to leave, but I refused to let her take our daughter with her in her quest for a happier life. She agreed at the time that I would be more able to provide. So, I became a single dad. It was to my (then) wife’s credit, that she agreed our daughter would be better off living with me.

While caring for my daughter, one of my grandmothers (after the loss of my grandfather) became increasingly unable to take care of herself and her home.

I was doing well enough in my job by then, that I had been looking for a nicer place to live and to start my daughter in school. I bought a large unfinished house (a double) that had been foreclosed on and I completed the necessary repairs myself.

My grandmother moved into one half of the house and I and my daughter lived in the other. 

In the first days, she (Mom) could do pretty much of what was required to care for herself. I only needed to help with cleaning and shopping and caring for her pets. (A dog, two cats and a parakeet.)

About four of five years later, I met my (now) wife through a friend of hers and we spent a lot of time chatting on line and on the phone getting more acquainted. She lived in a neighboring state and we couldn’t see each other very often. She was living with her mom (recovering from breast cancer) and helping care for Her needs as well as her father's needs. He was suffering with Alzheimer's.

Shortly before we married, my wife’s father passed away.

My new wife had to leave her own mother alone to move into our home in another State, to be with myself, my grandmother and my daughter. She made frequent trips between our homes and (thankfully) other family members were helping as well.

While my wife and I we were dating, my grandmother fell and broke her hip. Both before and after we were married, my wife helped care for her too, as I and my family dealt with the hip replacement and recovery.

About two years after my grandmother broke her hip, she fell again and broke a knee. And after months in hospitals and rehab, she was finally able to come back home again.

We (each time)  kept up with her place and her pets as best we could each time Mom was in the rehab and therapy.  Several members of our family still play a role in caring for my Grandmother who is now in a nursing home. Many of them did (and still do) more in the way of caring for her than I can or than I ever did.  While I'm proud of myself for doing what I could to help my grandmother, I would never want anything to take away from any of the praise and credit that the others in my family deserve. 

Somewhere in the midst of taking care of my grandmother, raising my daughter and starting my new marriage, I decided that I don't need to hear it from my mom… to know that she would be proud of me. (And also of the rest of us.) There's a certain amount of satisfaction that comes from knowing you helped care for a loved one who needs you. And there's always the feeling that you could have done more.

My father was proud of me and how we took care of his mom. And that was enough for me.

In a few short months after coming back from rehab with her broken knee, my grandmother became increasingly dependant and eventually we had to place her into a nursing care facility (where she still lives today.) The very week that she was admitted. I was laid off from my job with only a small severance.

I had only enough money to last about 1 month, to find a new job.

Long story short, I was offered a job about 2 hours away for a little less money. I would have to move (again) and find a place closer to my new job.

Coincidently, (for several years) my father was caring for my stepmother as she recovered from a brain tumor, chemotherapy and radiation. She had two artificial hips and an artificial shoulder. Joints that had deteriorated as a result of her treatments.

My father was practically killing himself by trying to take care of her alone.

I tried to get my father to help me find a place large enough for all of us to live together. He was very reluctant and determined to keep his home. And so, my wife and I found a house that we really liked which was closer to my new job and (if it ever became necessary) we could convert the garage into a bedroom If we ever had to move my parents (or maybe some day, Her mother) in with us.

We made an offer on the house and it was accepted. But, before we could gain financing. In fact, before we could even apply for financing, my stepmother took a turn for the worse. She was suffering from dementia in addition to all of her other ailments. And for a short time, we had to place her in a psyche ward.

My father tried so hard to not ever need my help. But, I finally convinced him that he needed it now. And, he finally agreed to look at houses to share with us.

In these past five years, my step mother and my mother in law have both passed away. My wife suffered a full cardiac arrest while helping care for my stepmother and for a while, I had three disabled adults and a teenager along with myself; all under one roof.

My wife was in a coma for about three weeks and suffers from an anoxic brain injury (anoxic encephalopathy). Our daughter has graduated High School and my father who was being cared for in part by my wife is now having to help care for her instead.

Ours has been a very difficult life, but it has been a very meaningful life as well. I post the above for those who feel it relates to my views on the issues. I personally believe my views (especially on abortion) would be the same as they are now, regardless of my life experiences.

  --Chuz Life