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we were blessed.. there are so many who have siblings and often find themselves trying to learn each other as unique and very different individuals

i have always had siblings that i looked up to for my soon to be 65 years because of being the last of this family of 10 or 11.. because my youngest brother died at 5

losing our oldest sister is like losing part of the air I breathe since day one

i grew up with my nephew Curtis Martinez and nieces as if they were the extended siblings all my life

all my life memories are shaped by what this family of characters, that can often get on each others nerves, that can be ever so theatrical, that are very different in each of our personalities, that share a devotion and reverence for each other, in spite of our ups and downs and even our quarrels.  

Daddy was that happy provider and gave us all an anchor of love, joy, jubilation, laughter, music, dance, theatre, and proud legacy of protection to and for each other.

Mammy was the fierce, stern, strict and the most courageous family cornerstone, moral compass, rule of law, and showed us that nothing or no one could or would try to come between her love and her children.  She was that… she did not allow anyone the right to disrespect her children.  

And after Daddy died, she was that fortress that each one of us had to come home to, to know that her love was her lifetime sacrifice for us.

To say the least, when Vicky was diagnosed with final stage terminal pancreatic cancer less than 2 months ago, none of us was ready.    I was in denial.   My friend Chantal had just died.  This is not happening.  This couldnt be.  Not to Vicky.  

Vicky was to me that good girl all her life.  She just wasnt wayward like me  or the rest of us.  She was to us this paragon on virtue.  She was always demure.  As a matter of fact,  she had only lately started to wear red  and loved it  even though, she would see me in all my flamboyance, and remark under her breadth,  how coskell i could be.  But somewhere along the way, she got used to it, and would actually, enjoy it 

She loved her, some Sonny.  Her dearly departed husband.  Both she and Sonny were my godparents.  And she so loved her children Curt, his wife Dianne, Lisa Gylla,  and her grans and her great grans with a knowing that was so intimate.  She knew each one to her soul.

More than most she loved to pray. We grew up in tradition and faith. She was so devout in her faith journey.  

I knew she prayed unceasingly for me,  and each of my loved ones, just like she did for her children, her grandchildren and great grans.  

Without overt demonstration, she was there to take care of us,  of me.  With a call ever so often,  Grace how are you,  how is Daryean,  how is,  and she’ll list all the names of our brood.  and say I’m praying for each of you in my thoughts.

And that is how I just know… love is prayer.. someone holding you up, wishing only for your wellbeing,  sharing kindness, blessings and always present.. just a prayer away , and  a visit.

And in her own intimate and unobtrusive way,  she gifted me the meaning of Surrender.

It was not about how,  whether I was a religious, or not, whether I chose to or not to practice tradition, whether i might not or choose to attend Church.   In her own simplistic way,   she was a source of peace, comfort, respite, hospitality, feeding the hungry, teaching, sharing, caring, and giving to each and everyone she loved and met along the way.

In the end, her wishes were to make things as simple as possible. 

Nothing grand.  Nothing too obvious.  Her privacy was particularly important to her, because she did not want to be a worry to others.

And what a gift to me, and to all of us, is How to Surrender.

None of our presumed fixations with what is conceived, perceived or believed,  just Let go and Let God.

One of the last songs she enjoyed was one our Mother Rosie would sing at our family gatherings.  I so dedicate to our Queen,  Vicky,  Victoria Clare … Love Continues