I have led a charmed life. My life has been filled with good times, bad times, and everything in between.

I grew up in a small town in a loving family. We knew our parents loved us, and so did our grandparents, great grandparents, and Effie.

We did not have a lot of money, but we had everything we needed and most things that we wanted. My brother and I had toys and bikes and a pony. Most of all, we had each other.

My brother and I always got two pairs of shoes every year: a pair of penny loafers to start school in the fall, and a shiny pair of patent leather shoes for me, and a pair of dress shoes for my brother for Easter.

I was convinced that we were rich when I got my first pair of high-top Converse sneakers for gym class when I was twelve.

No shoes were needed for summer, and I loved the feel of the hot pavement on my bare feet. The blackberry briars stung like bees on the bottoms of my feet as I ran like the wind across the horse pasture to visit our pony.

My brother and I had the entire summer, every summer, to play and kick loose the imaginary bonds of elementary school. We were wild and free and life was good.

Our sister was born, and our family was five. We, the young, grew up and left home. Our parents had prepared us to live our best lives, and that we did.

My brother went into the military and had a most incredible career. He traveled all over the world and he is the most successful of the three of us. He is my heart.

My sister became a nurse, traveled the world before having her son, and then settled down to save lives. She is my hero.

I was a gypsy child. I ran away and joined the circus, and I have been traveling the world for over forty years. I love my family, friends, animals, genealogy, books, and my gypsy life.

After spending most of my life in airplanes, tour buses, hotels, and theaters, Covid-19 arrived on the scene and shut down show business. “The Show Must Go On” was no longer true and I was sent home over eight months ago.

I lost my source of income and my way of life in an instant. And I thought, “This is not good; can it get any worse than this?”

Two months after I lost my job, my nurse sister saw me and noticed that I had lost a lot of weight. I was also in pain, so I did not protest too much when she said to take myself immediately to the ER.

I went that afternoon, and I was on the phone with her when the ER physician came into the exam room to tell me that the CT scan had revealed a huge mass in my abdomen. I did not cry.

Ten days later, I was lying on an operating table, waiting for a surgeon specialist to remove the eight pound, football-sized mass which we all hoped would be benign.

Covid-19 regulations allowed no one to be with me during this surgical ordeal or the recovery I would face afterwards. And I thought to myself, “I’m scared. Can it be any worse than this?” But I did not cry.

After the surgery was over, I stayed in the hospital for almost a week, recovering and waiting for the pathology report. It came back and I received the news that the mass was malignant.

I was shocked. That was not the result that I had expected, but I did not cry.

I also did not cry when the surgeon told me that I would have to have three rounds of chemotherapy. I would do whatever was needed so that I could resume my charmed life.

I had the chemo, wondered if things could get any worse, and wondered if I was ever going to cry.

In looking back over the past few months, I realized that I had gone through all of the storms — the loss of my job, the cancer diagnosis, the surgery, the chemo — without missing a step or asking why this had happened to me.

I always faced forward and kept marching ahead. I don’t want to say that it was easy, because it was not. I still asked myself, while still not crying, “Can it get any worse?”

And then it did. Tonight.

My brother called me. I wanted to hear from him, but this was not the conversation that I wanted to have. He has been to the ER, the ICU, and soon he will lie on an operating table.

I know now why I could not cry for myself: I was saving my tears for my brother. My tears have not ceased since he told me his news. I would gladly trade my life for his.

Yes, it could be worse, and it is. Life will never be the same. I am down on bended knee asking God to spare my brother as the tears stream down my face. My heart is breaking.

It is raining in my heart.