Dateline: September 22, 2003. My great-uncle Bud died today. I didn’t know him well, but did meet him a few times throughout our lives. The last time I saw him was at my great-grandmother’s–his mother’s– funeral in September of 1984.

“Uncle Bud” was my grandmother’s brother. So he was really my great-uncle. But we all called him “Uncle Bud.” I’ll always remember him for his thick white hair and bushy–really bushy–eyebrows. I remember him laughing a lot.

I don’t really know much about his life. I believe he was married four or five times. He had one son, name unknown to me, who died years ago at the age of 52, of cancer. At least that is what others in the family remember. Uncle Bud had six grandchildren, from his only son.

Now that Uncle Bud is gone, that leaves my grandmother, Dorothy, as the last sibling alive. At present, she lingers in a nursing home unable to move or speak as a result of a stroke she suffered six years ago. My mom doesn’t want to tell Gram about Uncle Bud’s passing for fear that it will upset her too much.

I’m sad that life has come down to this for my grandmother. She’s the last of her four siblings to survive, only to be stuck in her own world locked in a body that doesn’t function anymore. I wonder what she thinks about, if anything at all. Does she remember her childhood by the New Jersey shore with her siblings? Does she remember teasing her little brothers and playing the role of big sister?

I sometimes wonder in my own family of siblings who will be the first to go. Whenever that happens, it will be the saddest day of my life. Unless of course, I’m the first to go, instead of the last, like Gram.

Epilogue: Dorothy Mae Strader died on January 9, 2004, just a few months after her brother Bud. She was 93 years old.