It's been so long I can barely remember the cause of the family rift that kept me separated from an aunt, an uncle, and cousins for many years. All that remains clear is that a once-close family split apart because of disagreement and hurt feelings and that my grandma -- the glue that held this family together for more than 50 years -- was heartbroken. She did everything she could to repair the damage of her splintered family. But despite begging, pleading, and continued prayers, reconciliation seemed impossible -- until it became evident this sweet woman was about to die.

The progress was slow and began with a rallying of family members at my grandma's bedside. She was somewhat incoherent at the time, and I'm not quite sure if she realized her broken family was on the mend. But I hope she knows, in some heavenly way, that she is the one who ultimately brought everyone together.

After her passing, we all gathered for her memorial service. We took turns spreading her ashes at a tree planted in her honor. We talked and visited and laughed and ate. We broke the ice and opened the door for further interaction. It was refreshing to mourn the loss of Gram without overriding tension and conflict.

I'm not sure if family relations would have continued without what happened next. I suspect we may have all returned to our lives and gone our separate ways, happy we had reconnected but still missing the closeness we once experienced. But then cancer entered our lives, shocked us all, and gave us all reason to stay in touch.

I was diagnosed with breast cancer not long after my grandma died. And the same people who came to her bedside came to my rescue in ways I never would have imagined in the heat of battle. The same people who for years were absent from my life were the ones offering me support and encouragement and love. They helped me get better.

Once I was better, life returned to a somewhat normal routine. And maybe we would have routinely slipped back into our selfish ways. But illness struck again, requiring we all step back up to the plate.

My uncle, who has lived with diabetes for many years, was faced this year with losing his foot. Thankfully, he found specialists who gave him hope and reason to travel every month for several months to a clinic in my city, where eight family members live and where options never before available to him became a reality -- both medically and personally.

My uncle is doing well, walking on his foot with the aid of a brace. And our family is doing well, as a result of frequent visits, lunches, and continued laughs.

It took death and disease to bridge the gap that existed for much too long between the members of my family. And just this weekend, after spending a glorious weekend with my long-lost cousins, I realized we have possibly arrived back where we once started -- before whatever led to our disagreement and hurt feelings drove us apart.

I believe Gram is smiling down upon us at this very moment, content at last that her three beautiful children -- and their children and their children -- are again a happy family.

Former Cincinnati Reds pitching coach Vern Ruhle died Saturday after a year-long battle with myeloma, a cancer of the bone marrow. He was 55.

Ruhle, who missed the entire 2006 season following his diagnosis, had recently undergone stem cell transplants in hopes the procedures would successfully treat his cancer. But complications of the disease rendered the attempts unsuccessful.

Ruhle served 12 years as a major league pitching coach and worked in Houston, Philadelphia, and New York before joining the Reds in 2004. He had a career record of 67-88 with a 3.73 ERA.

Ruhle is survived by his wife, Sue, his daughter, Rebecca, his son, Kenny -- and his Cincinnati Reds family.

"The baseball and Cincinnati Reds families mourn the loss of an excellent coach, wonderful husband, and loving father," the Reds said in a statement. "In his 35 years in professional and collegiate baseball, Vern touched many people inside and outside the game. We are privileged to have been a part of his life. He will be greatly missed."

Journalist Lynn Sherr is grieving the husband she lost to lymphoma in 1992. It's taken her many years to fully appreciate how his death affects her and while she once felt pressure from well-intentioned, clueless friends who urged her to move on, Sherr is now completely peaceful about her on-going, long-term grieving process. In fact, she fully plans on grieving -- for the man whose ashes still sit in her lingerie drawer -- for the rest of her life.

Sherr writes in her new memoir, Outside the Box, that it was during an interview with a pioneering psychiatrist about the agony of loss when she made her stunning revelation about grief. It's when she realized she would never fully recover from grief, that it is just fine to never fully recover.

Grieving individuals do not always follow the standard stages of denial, anger, and acceptance. Yet they often feel forced into these boxes by medical professionals, family, and friends who try to move them along and consider them abnormal if they don't get on with life in a set amount of time. But each person's pattern of grief is as unique as each person's pattern of love -- and stages and boxes just don't work. Sherr's breakthrough moment came at the exact moment she learned this.

"Bingo! I didn't have to follow anyone's pattern," she writes. "I didn't have to stop being sad. Not only was sadness okay, it was necessary. Nobody can tell you how to mourn. And it's not self-indulgent; it's not wallowing; it's hanging on to something important. We should not avoid bereavement. We should embrace it, welcoming our moments of sorrow as a time to reconnect with the person we've lost."

Sherr reconnects with her husband every chance she gets. He was her best friend, her deepest love, her soul mate, her pal. And she doesn't plan to move on -- ever -- from the sadness that keeps them connected.

Ryder Cup golfer Darren Clarke lost his wife Heather to breast cancer last month. Clarke has not played competitively since July 21 when he took time off from golfing to care for his wife. Since her passing, Clarke has been thinking and regrouping and mourning the loss of his 39-year-old wife and mother of their two young sons. Now, he is ready to re-enter the world of golf. He is ready, he says, for the upcoming Ryder Cup.

Clarke says his game is good and while his decision to return to his sport was tough, he is returning only because he knows he can fully contribute. And he knows his wife would have wanted him to play so he made himself available for selection. Clarke could not have qualified automatically due to the time he took off to care for Heather but he was eligible to be selected -- and he was. Clarke is grateful and prepared for the challenge. "I am stronger altogether," he says. "I've had to face up a lot of tough things. I hope I've come through it a better person."