A Sisters Love

One of my greatest inspirations in life was my beautiful Grandmother Elmira (pictured). She was the light and the rock of our family and when she passed away in June of 2012, I found myself desperately trying to remember all of our conversations we had together, I rummaged to find all of the cards she sent me over the years for my birthday and holidays. I found myself tracing my fingertips over her handwriting. Her handwriting was beautifully scripted, she seriously could have made a living doing the writing for fancy invitations. In those words she wrote in my cards, I remembered her story. Her story begins in Panama. She and her three sisters grew up in an orphanage. My grandmother was the second oldest child, but she was also known as the one that was the nurturer and protector out of the three sisters. My grandmother never really told me her story from the beginning, but she told me she would always cherish those days in the orphanage. She never felt like she was mistreated and she felt that she was well taken care of and provided for. She had her run-ins with the other girls in the orphanage, but from what I understand she didn't tolerate any mess from any of them either. My grandmother loved to climb the mango trees that grew in the backyard of the orphanage. She would pick the mango's and eat them right off the branch. When she spoke of climbing those trees I could see in her eyes it was more than likely when she felt the freest. The sisters went their separate ways as they got older each making their way to the states and living separate lives. They briefly kept in touch, but not enough my Grandmother would say. After my grandmother passed, I received a card from my Grandmother's younger sister in California. I wrote her a letter in return thanking her for her kindness not knowing how she found out she had passed. See, we had never met any of my Grandmother's sisters or even spoke on the phone. She surprisingly wrote me back within the week and I noticed she also had the same handwriting. It was beautifully scripted just like my Grandmother's. She had written how she was saddened to hear that her older sister had passed, but she would always remember her being the protector and the nurturer that she was and she appreciated her for all she did for her sisters growing up. She noted my Grandmother was fearless in everything she did. I certainly knew that part was true. After I read her letter she included a poem she had written. I was stunned to see this talent and felt so connected to this woman whom I had never known. We had something in common, she loved to write, and this is where I believe I found the connection to my Grandmother that I was looking so desperately for. Sometimes, you have to know where you come from, to get to where you are going in life; I always say. I have an understanding of my Grandmother's life by simply reading these words in a poem. Grandma, I hope you are free now. I can see you now with your long hair blowing in the wind and you climbing in the branches of a mango tree. Until we meet again, thank you for loving me. Special thanks to my Grandmother's sister for sharing her words. They will always be treasured.

Untitled - Written December 30, 2001

Four sisters born of the same mother, each living a life completely foreign to the other.

The only connection is the memory of a sister, a time, a place, and the desire for a re-connection, in a remembered laugh, a look in the eye, the spirit, the soul, for a moment caught in the glimmer of time, of kindness past, a sweetness, and the innocence of a childhood long ago. The paintbrush of time nuances of memories treasured, each stroke more dear, with the passing of time. I thank you, my mother, my father, and my sisters three. We were a family for only in a fleeting of time. Was that what God wanted for us? To know, to experience, a measure of time filled with love, an openness, a connection, a sweetness. If only fleeting in time, forever and never forgotten note played the hearts strings of God's love. -E.C