In our family, birthdays come at a pretty fast clip between December and March. My daughter turned 21 yesterday. I spoke with her last night. She had a wonderful day. I am so proud of her.

We did a family dinner last week-end to mark her 21st and my 50th. I asked her what she treasured most in her time on the planet. She wasn’t sure. I then asked her if she knew what I treasured most over the past 50 years. She looked at me and smiled. She knew the answer instantly. She lifted up four fingers and pointed at my wife and my three children.

Regardless of the pedestrian issues that creep into my daily existence, I have been blessed with a truly wonderful family.

I started reading The Children of Men by P.D. James.

Here is an excerpt:

My parents tried to spare me the worst of knowledge. “We try to keep things from the boy” was another frequently overheard phrase. But keeping things from the boy meant telling me nothing except that my father was ill, would have to see a specialist, would go into the hospital for an operation, would soon be home again, would have to go back into hospital. Sometimes I wasn’t even told that; I would return from school to find him no longer there and my mother feverishly cleaning the house, with a face set like stone. Keeping things from the boy meant that I lived… in an atmosphere of uncomprehended menace… moving inexorably forward to some unimagined disaster which, when it came, would be my fault. Children are always ready to believe that adult catastrophes are their fault. My mother never spoke the word “cancer” to me, never referred to his illness except incidentally…

I wish that my remembrance of my father was happier, that I had a clear view, or at least some view, of the essential man which I could take hold of, make part of me; I wish that I could name even three qualities which characterized him. Thinking about him now for the first time in years, there are no adjectives which I can honestly conjure up, not even that he was gentle, kind, intelligent, loving. He may have been all of these things, I just don’t know. All I know about him is that he was dying. His cancer wasn’t quick or merciful — when is it merciful? — and he took nearly three years to die. It seems that most of my childhood was subsumed in those years by the look and the sound and the smell of his death. He was his cancer. I could see nothing else then and I can see nothing else now.

My father became terminally ill with cancer when I was 12 years old. He died a few weeks after my 16th birthday. I read the above passage on the train back home yesterday and I am still reflecting on those haunting words.

A difficult childhood endures for a long, long time.

Consider the following condition:

Hyperemia of the mucous membranes is the earliest change, followed by desquamation, edema, leukocytic infiltration of the submucosa, and production of sticky or mucopurulent exudate. The protective functions of bronchial cilia, phagocytes, and lymphatics are disturbed, and bacteria may invade the normally sterile bronchi, with consequent accumulation of cellular debris and mucopurulent exudate. Cough is essential to eliminate bronchial secretions. Airway obstruction may result from edema of the bronchial walls, retained secretions, and, in some cases, spasm of bronchial muscles.

Does not sound like fun, does it?

The pathology describes acute bronchitis. Acute bronchitis can last 5 to 10 days. It is contagious. For some people, the cough may last as long as a few months.

The best way to avoid acute bronchitis is to wash your hands frequently, get lots of rest, and drink lots of fluids. Acute bronchitis is most commonly caused by viruses or bacteria.

Sadly my wife has been experiencing bronchitis. She has had a tough few weeks. I hope she gets better soon.