I was in my 40s before I realized the role I was meant to play in my large family of six sisters. My parents had two sets of children. The first three girls were born in the 1950s, then, ten years later, the second set of three girls appeared on the scene. I was the baby of the first set. It was a surprise to all, especially me, when it turned out that, instead of being jealous of the three new babies in the house, I took their birth as a sudden and joyful opportunity to have “real” babies to play with instead of the fake ones that appeared every Christmas under the tree. Instead of being the “baby” of the family, I morphed into the mother figure for the younger set, a caregiving role I loved. Fast forward numerous years, when my mother was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. I became her caregiver. I’ll never forget when the doctor called my dad and me into his office to discuss my mother’s prognosis. Once I understood all the chemotherapy and radiation that Mom would need to undergo during her battle against this dreaded disease (while my father was still working full-time…
