The sweat was thicker on his forehead. It was forming shining beads. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry," he apologized weakly. "I guess the damn, damn itching is...getting to me."Judy felt a surge of sympathy for him, but no regret for her outburst. She knew it was getting harder and harder for him to fight, and she had to keep him going, any way she could. Of all the symptoms of his disease, the worst was the itching. He described it as a creepy, crawling sensation just under his skin, as if the flesh was. I never knew my mother, nor have I even seen photos of her. My father said she died in a fire in our house in 1978 while he and I were out, and we moved to California right afterward to start over. All our memorabilia was destroyed at the same time. My parents were both only children whose parents died even before they got married. My dad was not the warmest most communicative guys in the world. He rarely talked about my mom, and answered questions about her tersely. The only things I really. More

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