Growing up, it’s easy to be absorbed in your own world. As children and teenagers, our focus is naturally inward as we navigate growth, learning, and self-discovery. Coming home from school, I’d readily share the details of my day with my parents, but the thought of asking about theirs rarely crossed my mind. It’s a common phase of life, this self-centeredness, a stepping stone on the path to empathy and understanding.
In my younger years, my parents were pillars of strength, seemingly untouched by time or worry. They were simply ‘there,’ always supportive and present. However, as I’ve aged, a shift has occurred. Now, I find myself thinking about their well-being, genuinely curious about their lives and experiences. I cherish their stories from younger days, their current feelings, thoughts, and aspirations. Their happiness has become a central concern in my life. Looking back, I wish I had been a better listener in my youth, less eager to talk and more patient to hear. This reflection on my relationship with my parents and understanding My Family Tree Now has been a gradual but profound evolution.
My mother often shares cherished memories of her childhood in Loganville, Pennsylvania, a place deeply connected to her grandparents. Visiting Loganville with her is always a special experience, a journey into her past that has become meaningful for me too. Our tradition includes a delightful lunch at Brown’s Orchards, followed by a leisurely walk through their charming market. No trip is complete without indulging in old-fashioned ice cream at Carman’s Ice Cream shop, a true local gem. Each time we’re in Loganville, my mom makes sure to point out her grandparents’ house, a tangible link to generations past. In Loganville, surrounded by these touchstones of her history, I feel closer to family members I never had the chance to meet, understanding a deeper layer of my family tree now.
During one visit to Loganville on April 8, 2010, Mom and I took an unplanned detour to a cemetery. Here, many of our family members who succumbed to Polycystic Kidney Disease (PKD) are laid to rest. It was a powerfully emotional experience, watching my mother walk among the tombstones, sharing stories of each person and explaining our connection to them. This visit to our family plot was more than somber; it was life-affirming, a poignant lesson in understanding my family tree now and the legacy of PKD within it.
We know that PKD in our family lineage began with my mom’s grandfather, Kervin, who passed away at the age of 60. Kervin and his wife had ten children, and my mom’s mother was among those who inherited PKD. Many of my mom’s aunts, uncles, and cousins also lived with this genetic condition. On that significant spring day in Loganville, Pennsylvania, we paid our respects to them, acknowledging their places in my family tree now and the impact of PKD across generations.
PKD tragically claimed the lives of my mom’s half-brother, Jack, at 60, and her sister, Donna, at just 48. Donna lived in North Carolina, and I only spent a week with her when I was 15. I remember her in kidney failure, sitting on the floor in our spare bedroom, surrounded by her medications. Unbeknownst to me then, she had decided against dialysis, choosing to let the disease run its course. That visit, though brief, remains a treasured memory. While I respect her choice, I’ve always wished she had chosen to fight for more time.
My mom’s mother, Pauline, affectionately known as “Mickey,” faced a formidable battle with PKD. She was a fighter, but she passed away before I was born. I regret never having met this strong woman, the matriarch who shaped my mom. Mickey began experiencing health issues in her mid-40s and passed away at 53. She endured eight years of dialysis but was apprehensive about a transplant. Sadly, she never reached that stage. Her cysts continued to grow, causing severe abdominal enlargement. Ultimately, both of her kidneys were removed. Tragically, seven weeks post-nephrectomy, her bowels ruptured. Despite surgery, she succumbed to complications from PKD, bleeding to death a month later. Her story is a stark reminder of the aggressive nature of this disease and the importance of understanding my family tree now in terms of health.
My mom, Pam, is 57 and was diagnosed with PKD in her early 20s. She has managed high blood pressure since 30 but remarkably, her original kidneys are still functioning well. She has experienced only occasional pain and no cyst bleeds. I am profoundly grateful for her current health. My brother, Brandon, 36, also has PKD. He has four children, and we know his eldest son, Branson, has inherited the condition. I was diagnosed at age 10 and have faced more severe PKD-related complications than others in my family, becoming the first to receive a kidney transplant. This personal journey has given me a unique perspective on my family tree now and the unpredictable nature of PKD.
This is the story of our family tree and PKD. Standing in that cemetery in April 2010, alongside my mom, surrounded by the tombstones of our relatives, we were left with many unanswered questions about our family history. Why did they pass so young? We felt a mix of sadness and profound gratitude. I could reach out and feel my mom’s warm embrace, hear her voice, see her smile – a living testament that our paths might diverge from those of our ancestors. I encourage everyone to be inquisitive, to ask questions, and to learn as much as you can about your own family tree, especially regarding health, while you have the chance. Understanding my family tree now is not just about the past; it’s about empowering our present and future.
What does your family tree of PKD, or any hereditary condition, look like? Taking the time to explore and understand your family history can be an invaluable journey of discovery, connection, and empowerment.
