In the 1970s, my big Catholic family piled into the station wagon each summer to visit relatives in Nebraska and Iowa. I loved being in our packed Country Squire, parting cornfields, singing songs, and bickering over bingo. As we grew up, my siblings were always near. I never contemplating losing any of them until my brother, an athletic 45-year-old, was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. When that happened, we huddled close and prayed for a miracle. If granted our miracle, we were going to take a celebratory trip-just us seven kids and our parents, without spouses or children-parting cornfields again, under a clear blue sky. It was a hope-filled summer dream.
