Forty years. That’s the number of anniversaries I’ve been able to celebrate since my successful kidney transplant. If only my dad had been so lucky.

I think about him when I see my youngest grandchild graduating from college and preparing for my granddaughter’s wedding next year. I think of everything he missed.

Polycystic kidney disease runs in my family. Three of my six siblings also had transplants and our father died of the disease in 1954—before transplants were a possibility. One of dad’s sisters, my Aunt Alice, had a transplant too.

I knew for years before I was diagnosed that I might end up with the same condition. It was scary seeing how sick my dad got and knowing it was hereditary.

When I was diagnosed at the age of 21, I would never have dreamed I’d be writing you this letter leading up to my 80th birthday. I’ll be forever grateful to my brother, who was my best match, my kidney donor. His wife too, who so kindly went right along with it.

We know that research is key to improving prevention and treatment and it’s the only thing that will lead the best researchers in the country to a cure for kidney disease one day. Living with kidney disease has taught me something: don’t ever give up.