Living with cardiomyopathy is like living with a time bomb-it's going to go off. You just don't know when. It's a helpless feeling to know that you can't do anything to stop the death. It's so sudden and comes out of nowhere.

Such was the case in the death of my son, Randy. He was my baby and the apple of my eye. In 1978, he was 17-years-old and already working at his first real job-bagging groceries and taking them out to customer's cars. He was strong and healthy and smiled easily. He had always been athletic, and the job suited him well.

Randy was in the parking lot at work when he turned blue and collapsed. My daughter, Paula, was visiting Randy at the time. She said that the ambulance arrived and the paramedics were defibrillating him, but he did not survive and was pronounced dead at the hospital. We all wore Holter monitors for a time to help the doctors try to figure out what had happened to Randy and to determine if any of us had the same problem. Their findings were inconclusive.

We moved to the country to get away from the memories in our house. We bought horses and found that working with these gentle animals was helpful and healing. Our oldest son, Stevie, seemed to find great peace and consolation in the horses.

Paula and Stevie remained close, sharing the loss of their youngest brother.

Then in 1984, with no prior warning, tragedy struck our family a second time. My husband, Steve, left the house to go to work and found Stevie lying dead in the driveway. His car door was open and the motor was running. He was 24-years-old. Steve began CPR and an ambulance soon arrived, but it was apparent that Stevie had been dead even before Steve found him.

A medical diagnosis was finally made. Our boys had died of idiopathic dilated cardiomyopathy (DCM). The doctors explained that it was probably familial, which led to my husband's diagnosis.

My daughter, Paula, who never wanted to be an only child, suffered for many years from the loss of her brothers. My husband, Steve, passed away in 2001 from DCM and congestive heart failure. I found solace in my job as a bereavement counselor, helping others who experience a tragedy or loss in their lives. I always try to be compassionate, have empathy for others who are suffering and share what life has taught me. You can survive, even though it isn't easy.§