I was in my early 50s when my mom passed.

[True Dough]

44. I'll bet if your mom could post here in the Lounge,

she'd tell us that you didn't pick up after yourself enough as a boy.

But, more importantly, she's incredibly proud of her loving and devoted son and the man he is today.

Both of my folks have passed. Mom at 64 to lung cancer that metastasized into bone cancer. Less than 3 months from diagnosis until her death.

Dad, who had all kinds of heart issues — bypass surgery, multiple stents and Afib from the age of 51 — died eight years later, just shy of his 73rd birthday. But it wasn't his heart that ultimately got him. He developed lung cancer that metastasized into bone cancer. He too was gone within 3 months. I don't know the likelihood of my parents dying from identical causes, but they defied those odds. And, if you're wondering, both were smokers for most of their lives, so that contributed, no doubt.

Anyway, I took unpaid time off from work to be with them in their final months. There were quite a few days and nights sitting by their bedside in the hospital reassuring them that everything was okay as they hallucinated from the cocktail of painkillers that they were given. It's the least I could do after all the comfort they'd given me over the years.

It took a long time to get over not having them around anymore. But whenever I'd feel somber while missing them, I'd remind myself that neither of them would want me feeling glum over their absence. They made so many sacrifices for my sister and I, anything to make us happy.

So if they caught me wallowing, they'd remind me that life is short and to enjoy the days that I have left. And, although it's easier said than done, that is what I try to do because that is definitely what they'd want.

Be good to yourself, Lucky!