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My mom called a little while ago. My cousin Steve was life-flighted from Bucklin, Kansas (very close to Dodge City) to Wichita for what they thought was a heart attack. Steven is my age - 52. Mom and Daddy had five daughters. Uncle Dewayne and Auntie Iris had three boys. They were all pretty much our ages. David is between Kathy and Terry, Steven is a few months younger than me, and Eddie is a few months younger than Judy. When we went to visit Grandma and Grandpa every summer, we all had a cousin to hang out with. My little brother and sister weren't around yet cuz there's 10 years difference between Judy and Cheri Lynn. Steven was my cousin to hang with every summer.
He's a big ol' farm boy and has always LOVED to pick on me. That's okay, that's what boy cousins do. Grandpa taught us how to drive (ohmigawd!) when we went to visit so we could "drag Main" on hot summer evenings. Grandpa would lay down in the backseat so no one could see him cuz that would be sooooo uncool, but we didn't have driver's licenses, don'tcha know. If Steven was in the car with me and I didn't hit the gas the exact second the light turned green, he'd glance over and in his "good ol' boy twang" say "It don't get any greener, Sal," or "What's a matter, Sal, don't like that shade o' green?" You know, nasty things like that.
As it turns out, Steven didn't have a heart attack. It may have been a clot. They aren't sure. They're running a battery of tests to find out the source of the problem. He woke in the middle of the night with horrible chest pain and pain in his left arm. We all know what that indicates.
My dad was 52 years old when a heart attack killed him. I was 43 when one damned near got me. Steven came very close, and it isn't over yet.
I can't begin to tell you . . . well, you know.
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