We’re born to die. By the time we wrap our brains around that fact, we’ve experienced the worse life can deal us—the death of a loved one. Does death become us or do we become death? How many breaths do we expend, I wonder, in fearing we are going to die? Do we even fear our own deaths as much as we fear the death of a loved one? Of course, the biggest irony of all is that it ceases to matter when we are dead. All the ink, paint, clay in the world cannot change death. Nothing can bring us back. The best we can do then is live the best we can today and remember always those who have gone before us, honoring them which each breath we take. Virg and I drew breath Oct. 20, 1952, in the early hours of the day, with me arriving ten minutes before he did. Boy, did I love to rub that in! It was the only way, I could be the "big" sister seeing that in physical stature he towered over me. At birth we were only two ounces apart, both weighing in a little over five pounds apiece. We kept pace with one another for a couple of years but he began to grow and I did not grow much at all. He sure did not hesitate to take advantage of our size disparity! He was not mean, he just loved to pick on me! Something that never changed. In one of our last hospital visits, he managed to pick on me. I treasure that. There are many things I treasure about our lives and will endeavor to share them here.