Memories

I am the youngest of 4 children by 12 1/2 years. My childhood and their childhood were completely different. Born in different countries and in different lifetimes, it seems. I don't have memories of my siblings childhoods because I wasn't there. I don't know the houses they lived in when they were really little, or their weekend house. I have visited the apartment they lived in the years before moving to the US, but that was over 10 years after they had, by most means, abandoned it.

I am jealous of their life. Of their time with my parents that I never got to have. Of having young parents who had all the time in the world to play with. I am jealous of those 15 years (the difference between my eldest sister and myself).

Beyond the jealousy comes my want, my need to know about that time. To know what they played, where they lived, what they saw. The only way for that to happen is if they share their stories. My eldest sister, Margarita (I call her Mara, others call her Marga), is doing just that. She began on her own accord, but I encouraged her to keep going. As I learn about her childhood, I learn about who they were and why they are who they are now.

It also got me thinking that I need to write down my memories. So I will. I'll begin, soon. When I can. Or as they come. I'll look through my albums and think about the memories associated with them. I'll try to decipher which are memories and which are just remembering the pictures themselves.

I will also re-post my sisters memories here for my own needs. Later.