My Pop Pop told my Mom she was going to have her baby on the 22nd because that was his lucky number. He told her this because it was the 18th, her due date and she knew she was going to be late again, like she was with her first child, my brother. She was almost three weeks late with him and she was frantic that it was going to happen again. My parents already had a name picked out, Ryan Patrick, all they need was for my mom to go into labor. It wasn’t until sometime on the 21st that she did go into labor and you would think her anxiety about having a long labor last time would make her rush to the hospital, but she didn’t. Instead her sister Lindsay drove her over the railroad tracks half a dozen times and even pick up dinner for my dad and herself. My mom wouldn’t eat with all the contractions and breathing. When the three of them finally did make it to the hospital, the nurses were surprised they made it in time. Less than two hours later I was born and to my parents shock, I was a girl. I wasn’t born on the 22nd though, I was born at 10:22pm just an hour and 38 minutes shy of making it to my Pop pops lucky number. I wonder now if that was a bad sign?

I was born in May of 1981 into a middle class family outside of Philadelphia. My parents were married and had my brother in 1978. my mother actually got knocked up by my dad and they planned a wedding in 6 weeks. They had been dating on and off for years though, since high school. my mom had me at 25 and my dad was 26.I had the perfect childhood. My mother was a stay at home mom while my dad worked. He owned his own business and worked long hours. I went to Catholic school and my brother to a private school that helped kids with learning disabilities. He was diagnosed with an auditory processing disorder. My brother and I got along well as children, of course we had our fights but otherwise we were pretty tight. Things were simple. Extended family was around a lot, even if it wasn’t a holiday. I fondly remember playing with my cousins on weekends and having family vacations to visit family out-of-state. My Mom was the third child out of five and my Dad was third out of four kids so they both came from somewhat big families. I always remembered love, comfort and safety as a young child. one day that would all change. The time I had with my dad in the 8 years that I did was precious. He would take me for rides in his truck, take me to his favorite diner and read me bedtime stories. I was his little girl, I could do no wrong. When he died, my mother had a hard time and understandably so. He died a long hard death, a battle lost to ALS.

Sometime around 1987, I was too young to remember, my Dad was diagnosed with ALS. I don’t have a clear memory of when my mom sat my brother and I down to have this talk about my Dads disease and impending death but I know it happened at some point. the details are fuzzy to me now like waking up from a dream and trying to remember everything. I only have the few memories during that time and what I’ve been told of what happened during that time. My Mom tried to make life as normal as possible for us kids when life was anything but. I remember my dad always had a mustache, my whole life. then one day he decided to shave it off because he knew he was starting chemotherapy and I was actually afraid of him. I hide behind a chair in our family room because he didn’t look like dad anymore. Little did I know that was only the beginning. After a while he lost a lot of weight. Then he had a hard time speaking and eating. My mom had to make him smoothies because he couldn’t swallow regular food. Then he wasn’t able to walk anymore. Our deck had to have a ramp built onto it so the wheelchair he was in could get in and out of the house. I watched my healthy, handsome and hard-working father slowly deteriorate before my eyes. Soon my parents bedroom was turned into a hospital room. I was told he didn’t want any intervention or ventilator to keep him breathing and who could blame him? He was being held hostage in a body that was decaying while his mind was left to take it all in. That’s what ALS does, it leaves your brain intact and destroys every muscle in your body until your just a mind and soul left to linger in a dead body. The day my dad died I only have one memory, my mom , brother and I got into the hospital bed with him, in my parents room and felt his heart slowly stop.