It was late September, 2001, and we were bombarded with fear and disbelief and images of burning buildings falling to the ground. He was sitting there, watching it again, when the phone rang. The doctor, with a voice that indicated he had done this many times before, told him that the stomach ache he had been experiencing was actually fourth stage colon cancer that had metastasized to his liver. The doctor instructed my little brother to find an oncologist and set up a course of treatment. The doctor told him that there was little possibility for long-term survival. He was living in Tennessee, alone, having been recently divorced. There were relatives that lived nearly, but no one able to care for him, no one to help with the chemotherapy schedule or the meds or to talk to when it all became overwhelming. My sister, BG, is possibly the only living human who dreads cold weather worse than I do. She lived in North Alabama until she was financially able to move to Florida. In Se...