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My mom died of cancer when I was really young. I'm not someone who tries to work out their own stuff with a role, but I think that happened despite my best efforts to keep myself separate from it.

My mother taught me caring and sensitivity towards the feelings of others, animals as well as humans. She gave me much good, practical advice for getting through life.

I learned hard lessons in life; I had to because I had so much happen: My mother died my sophomore year in high school. The next year, same day, my brother dropped dead. Two years after that, I got married because my girlfriend got pregnant. The year after my wedding, my father - who I had only recently met - died.

My mother's death brought me to my knees. She was my hero, my role model, my very best friend. I spoke to her every single day of my life. I really tried hard when I grew up to make her proud of me.

Nothing prepared me for the loss of my mother. Even knowing that she would die did not prepare me.

The first time my father woke me up in the middle of the night to tell me he was going to die, I think I was eight. He brought out all his papers and explained to me what to do with his body and who to call and how to take care of things. You either learn how to survive, or you fall to pieces. I'm pretty good at surviving.

All my life I've been taught how to die, but no one ever taught me how to grow old.

I was really proactive in trying to heal my family. I wouldn't give up. My whole life was about trying to get my father healthier, and there were moments when he was healthier. Then someone would give him a drink. I always felt if he had one person in his life who supported his healthy side, he'd be on his way.

My mom, Irmelin, taught me the value of life. Her own life was saved by my grandmother during World War II.