Always A

There was always a good reason I missed the significant occasions in my youngest sister’s life. Or so I would like to believe.

Obviously, the primary one was the 16 year difference in our age. I left our family household at 19 when she was just becoming aware of the complicated dimensions of life. The new unexpected family addition was a beautiful child but I was an ambitious young adult eager to set foot into the beckoning world and had little inclination to enjoy an infant.

And so we parted not only households but the opportunity to enjoy each other quite early in life.

Life moved on seemingly slowly. However each chapter that unfolded moved us steadily from an opportunity to ever truly appreciate the other The earliest and most significant chapter, of course, was the early death of our Dad. I was blessed to share 26 years with an incredible parent, who made such a difference for so many people. She barely knew the Father whose fatal illness was festering from the moment of her birth. The loss haunted her everyday of her life

Life was never the same for our family when Dad departed, I moved away and she embraced the metropolis we once shared,

I married and had four children. God granted her the first but not the second blessing,

Although she did achieve what I never could or did. My sister graduated after four years of college, and earned a Masters Degree.

Still there was a spasmodic contact because we were sisters. I became her confidante when she chose to find her own home as a single woman. A choice scorned for young women without veils at one period in history.

She met my love, my beloved and their mutual respect allowed her many visits where she met her niece and three nephews. Her upper west side apartment often provided them access to a city away from suburbia.

And as the chapters continued to unfold, the losses began for me. My beloved family of four flew their wings with my encouragement (and hidden tears) to far flung locations and God called him, my soul friend, my beloved, home,

When Mary and David (appropriately in the city we all knew and loved) made their commitment to share life together, I did not attend the ceremony, but like other family weddings, I live to regret it.

As her journey of life was winding down (without warning,) she and David became a source of comfort. But once again life interfered when I relocated to another far off location, and Covid lurked waiting to claim more victims.

My sister fell first, and David was not far behind.

Theit memorial today is the last opportunity two sisters could share. A piece of my heart is in attendance as I say goodbye and wish it had been so different for both of us, Mary Elizabeth Donlon Ray.