I'm sorry if Chapter 15 of my blog (the one on handling grief) was a downer for you. It was an upper for me, because I got to put things into perspective for myself, and benefited greatly. In short, I observed that (1) losing someone hurts something awful, (2) I'm pretty much a wimp, (3) I seem to be taking my sweet time recovering from it, and (4), as they say on Broadway, “The show must go on!”

Today's chapter should be measurably bubblier, because it's about that show. That is, about maintaining the quality of life.

My current patient and kid sister has numerous diabetes-related maladies — including short-term memory loss — but I have come to realize that the good times we share far exceed the bad ones. What does it really matter if she can't remember what day it is? During my own senior moments, I often don't know what day it is, myself! Of much greater importance, every day in our caregiver/patient relationship has moments in it as rich as those we enjoyed together over seven decades ago.

True, Rawbaw rarely remembers what we did yesterday or today, or what's planned for tomorrow, let alone further down-calendar, but her long-term memory is razor sharp — worlds better than mine. When she tells me how I teased her in 1943 when she was 3 years old and I was in kindergarten, we get to laughing like two village idiots.

She even remembers the names of all the kids who lived on our city block of Orizaba Avenue in Long Beach, Calif., during World War II, the games we used to play, our parents' pet names for all of their children (Kay Reenie, Sook, Mikey Boy, Bird Legs, Chee-Chee, Babe, and Gifted Child), and the myriad details of growing up in a rented house directly across the street from Frances Willard Elementary School.

So, life here is much more than trips to doctors, clinics, and labs. It is a replay of wonderful old memories and a flourish of new giggles.

Rawbaw also still plays a mean game of Scrabble — and wins more than her share of our card games. We are running “Kings in the Corners” into the ground, but neither of us minds. Nor do we mind eating Burger King Whopper Juniors for lunch almost every day of our lives.

As you may have guessed, a sense of humor is essential to our day-to-day happiness. As it happens, Rawbaw's penchant for mirth is as strong as her play instinct. I once thought I was the morale officer around here, but it has become clear that she handles that duty now.

So, life here is much more than trips to doctors, clinics, and labs. It is a replay of wonderful old memories and a flourish of new giggles. More than that, it is a lively, unlikely adventure, begun late in life by two siblings who have no doubt that it will be a long story.

Rawbaw is an inveterate joker. Every morning she tries to reason with her funky dog, knowing that she (the human, not the hound) will be outsmarted. Rawbaw's shameless mutt has reduced the game of fetch to “One Fetch.” Doggie Brooke (a.k.a. Flub, Wilhelmina Big-Hiney, and Dog-Dog) invariably escapes through the doggie door to the back yard with the ball, showing constant disdain for the time-honored game of chasing it and and bringing it back. As the dog slides victoriously out the doggie door with the ball in her big mouth, Rawbaw invariably says, “You little rat.” They really enjoy “One Fetch,” now that Rawbaw has conceded that the dog was brilliant to think of it.

Atheists and agnostics use their free will to argue that when we die, the lights go out and we are no more. Gad. What a bleak outlook. How do they get out of bed in the morning? Better put, why do they get out of bed in the morning? (What's the point, if nothing you do in life counts?)

Look, I put a lot of time and energy into my life, loved a lot of people, established warm relationships, lived and let live, followed all kinds of rules, and almost always behaved so that people would say nice things about me at my funeral. To me, all this is a matter of faith. Not a faith you can put a name on, but it makes me assume that all God-fearing mortals will end up in Heaven to match notes on their lives, thank God for having made their lives so rich and rewarding — or, if such is the case, have Him explain why their lives have been so difficult.

He will definitely have to tell us why some people get all the breaks and some people get little to none. I have been pondering that one for a long time.

Yes, I'm a religious primitive, and I can live and die with that.

A bit more about luck. Mine has been phenomenal. I met a young woman in 1958 who would eventually refine me and define me. I feel sorry for every man who didn't find such a force to reckon with. How empty my life would have been without the girl who had me figured out before she met me. (I think I've mentioned elsewhere in this blog that Carol was psychic.)

That girl was a real piece of work. At age 4, when her mom was scolding her for one of the many naughty things she had said or done, she drew herself up to her full height (maybe 2 feet tall) and snapped, “I don't like your attitude!” She put up with authority but didn't take it too seriously. Carol finessed school, getting B's without much effort. She loved to play. Actually had a “Recreation” major at Michigan State University, and also spent a lot of time in the college dorm playing canasta (never losing a game — she had a mind like a steel trap). In short, she was so into recreation that she never got around to graduating. When I met her at Camp High Sierra in 1958, she had traveled with her parents to almost every state in the Union and had visited the Grand Canyon several times. Her folks had spoiled her, but she had good instincts. I was singularly blessed that one of them led her to me.

Be grateful to God for having known and loved the people who added so much zest to your life before they left it.

I've had an embarrassment of riches. I was destined to have extraordinarily good fortune, in great company. I've been surrounded by wonderful people, including the parents I got, the siblings I grew up with, and the beautiful girl I chased until she caught me and put me on a course of serious behavior modification for the next half century. I think all this talk about pure dumb luck calls for one last tip about coping with loss:

Be grateful to God for having known and loved the people who added so much zest to your life before they left it.

Flash. A sudden epiphany. I've just figured out my place in the universe. It's a small place on E. Eldorado St. in Appleton, Wisc., where I am looking after my kid sister and myself as we grow old together, possibly outliving her funky dawg, and trusting in our Maker to take us home when we breathe our last. Not exactly your cosmic overview, but it sure works for me.

—Michael E. Hearons