I’ve been thinking a lot about heredity. Underlying it is my fear that my genes caused Constance’s brain tumor.
Like most people who have an exceptional talent, my mom loves to sing. I did not inherit her talent or enthusiasm for it. There’s only one note in my range...and it’s a Dear John note...asking me to please stop singing.
In the time of CRISPR, I wistfully envision a solution to our genetic challenges is on the horizon marching towards us. Those genetic innovations are coming too late to help those we’ve already lost, like Constance. It’s tragic that in this way, Constance was before her time.
Before Constance passed, I was prompt to the point of annoyance. Now, I find my indifference to so many things affording me a leisurely attitude to my schedule. Instead of worrying, I think ‘Que será, será.’