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November 8
St. John the Baptist, Meire Grove
When my Mom’s older brother, Mike, passed away, his funeral was held at St. John the Baptist. The church featured delicate and decadent gold leaf paint from top to bottom surrounding the altar. Fifty-two lambs line the outline of the altar and ceiling. I was no expert at stained glass windows, but St. John’s had some of the most intricate pieces. The story of Jesus’ life was chronicled from communion rail to communion rail, the only church I visited that still had theirs in place.
Father Enneking gave a wonderful homily and eulogy for Uncle Mike. Mike would have nodded in approval, probably two slow nods. In life, Mike showed his approval often with a few of his characteristic deep nods and murmured assent. He was a man of few words as I knew him. My childhood memories are of my bachelor uncle at Ludwig family gatherings with a cigar in the corner of his mouth, a long-neck beer in one hand and a handful of cards in the other. The family turnout for his funeral was impressive, with cars lining the few streets of Meire Grove and increasing the population exponentially. His step children did an amazing job of coordinating the funeral and their love for him was apparent.
After the funeral, I believe Mike would have nodded in appreciation during the meal when all the cousins reminisced about him and caught up with each other. Some of the stories were repeats, others were originals, and all were followed by laughter. Just when I thought I knew my kid brother, Joe, a cousin would tell some eye-raising tale and Joe would counter with even more amazing exploits. Since Scott had to leave directly after Mass to return to work, Joe offered me a ride home. We followed most of the old school bus route, making a game of listing the kids who lived in each house. Throughout the day, old memories made way for the new stories.
Genetics
After finding out I had breast cancer, the majority of people commented, “Oh, you have the family gene.” While it felt like 80% of people I encountered assumed it was genetic, my genetic counselor reported the odds that it was genetic closer to 8%. My history included no first line relatives-no one in my immediate family-and no BRCA I or II, the BReast CAncer gene, found in three second-degree relatives-grandparents, aunts, nieces, cousins-with breast cancer. With one of twenty-three female first cousins, signs pointed to other sources than genetics given the one-in-eight lifetime risk. When three of six female English teachers were dealing with a breast cancer diagnosis at the same time, the 12% lifetime risk was blown away by our 50% ratio. Concerned about a cluster, a few coworkers mentioned their worries so I explained that if we used the numbers of breast cancer cases in the whole school, we were well below the average, which made them feel better until they realized more cases would likely occur. The longer I had breast cancer, the less I liked the numbers.
A few months after my fi