First, my mother.
Shortly after, my father. 
A few of their friends, whom I call aunt or uncle.
A doctor with a chart and the result of a genetic test.
A hiatus for a while. 
Then, my first love, who adjusted my toes in my sandals when I could not.
Now, my forever love, who lifts me gently from the floor and dances to make me laugh.
And in between, my friends, always my friends.
Up the stairs, down the block, onto the dance floor,
Into clean clothes and to the kitchen for tea.
Someday, sons and nephews, whose hands will press to a pine casket.
Before then, a motorized chair, maybe not.
In any case, thank you.