Happy Birthday in Heaven

“Interminable is the anguish of grief,                                                                                

lasting is the sorrow                                                                                                                

and solace…oh, so fleeting.”

We were Irish twins my sister and I. That’s a term that used for siblings born within a year of each other and my sister and I were born just eleven months apart. I arrived in July of '62, and my sister Norma came along in June of '63. We called her Normita or Mita because she was Mami's namesake. As her birthday and the first anniversary of her passing approaches, I've been thinking a lot about her, and these remembrances are bittersweet. I think we sometimes don't appreciate our siblings until we’re either all grown up or until they leave us unexpectedly as my sister did. That’s when we realize how special and precious it is, it was, to have had them in our lives. Who else, as we say in Spanish, "te podia sacar de quicio"  (riled you up) and at the same time loved on, and defended you with the same intensity?

Although Normita and I didn't look alike, because we were so close in age my mom dressed us alike those first few years. Everywhere we went, we wore the same outfits. It was cute, and it got us a lot of attention, although mainly I think it was because Mita was so darn cute. It was one birthday party each year for the both of us because Ma was frugal and smart. And for Christmas, she always bought two of the same toys. This way, Ma reasoned, it prevented the dreaded fights over which toys were better. That worked until one year when she tried to buy us each a Crissy doll. That doll was all the rage back in the late 60s with her pretty features and long adjustable hair, and we cajoled Ma for one for months. She finally caved and went to buy the dolls, but unfortunately, the store didn't have two of the same in stock, so Ma ended up buying one Crissy and one Tara and decided to let us choose which one we wanted. Shamefully, we both fought over the Crissy doll, and I don’t remember who won that battle. That skirmish was won, but ultimately the war was lost because Crissy suffered the consequence. At some point, her long adjustable hair was cut off out of spite. Chopped right off at the nub with a kitchen shear. Poor Crissy!

Mita and I were as close as siblings could be, but we also engaged in some doozy knock-down drag-out fights as we got older. Funny how I don't remember what those fights were about now, but I do recall them being intense. We'd fight but also try hard to restrain ourselves because we never wanted to hurt each other seriously. Naturally, we loved each other, but when we fought it was about venting the anger in one way or another. There was a lot of pushing, hair pulling and one-sided swearing. Not from me. My insults were pretty lame, usually about her weight (a sensitive subject, shame on me). I kept mine profanity-free, but Mita could shell it out when she was mad. I never took her words to heart though, because I knew she didn’t mean the things she said in anger.  That last time we fought I remember clearly. We went at it so hard that we bent Mami’s curtain rod and broke a leg on her favorite green pleather chair. Fear of Ma's wrath stopped the fight instantly as Mita and I worked frantically to fix the crooked curtain rod, and find something to right the chair, but yeah, we didn't fool Ma and boy, did she let us have it!

As Mita and I grew older, we learned to talk out our differences instead of attacking each other. Although we still fought at times, we were also each other's biggest defenders. Whatever problems we had as a family, well, those were our problems, so we both took issue with those who wanted to get involved in what was none of their business. Metiches (busybodies) were not welcomed.  And forget about trying to start a beef with me 'cause then you had to contend with Mita, and no one was a bigger defender of mine than my little sister. Once, in middle school, I made the mistake of lamenting to her about my supposed friend, Louise who had dropped me like a hot potato after a few short weeks of friendship.  A few days later I hear a commotion outside of vocal music class, and when I go to check it out, I see my sister, wagging her finger up at a terrified Louise. I was mortified! The poor girl was being scolded by a 5’1” tiny terror and the fright in her face was real because of course Norma wasn't alone.  She had her middle school crew with her, and one of them was Big Joanne. I think you can surmise by the name that no one messed with Big Joanne.

While we were growing up, our home was a hotbed of familial dysfunction as my mom and dad didn’t get along, to put it mildly. The few times my dad was actually in the house, it seemed as though anger and bitterness seethed in our home with an undercurrent of intense hostility. We walked on eggshells most of the time, trying not to be that person to set my mother off. I understood as an adult the whys of all that, but as children and then adolescents, my sister and I lived in a state of constant stress, and it was a painful and emotionally wrenching time in our lives. For my sister, it exacerbated her feelings of rejection. At times, she expressed how she felt unloved and unwanted by both my parents, but especially my father.  My father’s story is a whole other thing that I won’t go into here, but suffice to say the repercussions of his actions have lasted a lifetime and my sister, I believed suffered them the most. All she ever longed for was love and affection, and it came to her fleetingly, although she poured it out in abundance.

Norma also struggled with her weight, and despite being stunning because she was a beauty, inside and out, she lacked self-confidence. Depression became the story of her life, and it latched on, acutely and chronically. It just never let go. For anyone who has ever dealt with loved ones in the throes of depression, it is a pernicious and persistent battle that makes those of us who are on the outside looking in feel helpless and useless.  I was her older sister, and I wanted to protect her, but at times I just didn’t know how to do that. All I could do was pray and be there for her when she needed me.

Normita was with her husband for over 30 years. My mom used to call him, “su adorado tormento” (her adoring torment) because truthfully, their relationship was tumultuous and dysfunctional at times. They separated at points, but always got back together, because she loved him immensely. She stuck by him through thick and thin even when others told her not to and showed him what unconditional love was. I know he knows that because he loved her too and I feel his pain at having lost his one true love.

Norma loved her husband, but I know for a fact that her greatest love was her son. She considered Jordan her miracle because the doctors had told her that her chances of conceiving were slim due to a surgery she had in the early 80s. When he came along, he sparked life and relevance back into her being. She found her purpose, and it was to be his mom. Those of us who are mothers know what that’s about. It’s hard to articulate the love a mother has for her children because it’s an unconditional, all-encompassing, and transcendent experience. That’s what it was for Mita. She loved being Jordan’s mom. It gave her joy to see him grow up and become a responsible adult. She bragged on her boy and was proud of the man he became. There was no closer bond. Now that she’s gone, I feel a great sense of responsibility towards my nephew. It is through recollections like these that I seek to keep her memory alive.

I have so many more amazing and poignant stories I could tell about my sister, but I’ll save those for another time. What this post was for was to offer a glimpse of the wonderful person Normita was. In spite of her insecurities, her flaws, her times of woe, she also embodied enormous love. Ask our family. Ask our friends. When she loved, she loved fiercely, and you had a true friend for life. And she encouraged others, even when she was in the midst of discouragement. She loved the Lord, and always talked to others about Him. I was so encouraged to hear her friends in Florida tell me what an amazing and beloved person she was and how she would share her hope in God with them. She was a huge blessing in all our lives, and I’m thankful for the privilege we - my sister Carmen, my brother, Louie, and I had to have been her siblings.

So all of this is bittersweet because as I smile through the recollections of our time together,  I’m also tremendously sad that this June 5th on what would have been Normita’s 54th birthday, I won’t be able to pick up the phone and call her to wish her a happy one. I’m sad that just a month later we’ll have to reflect that a year has passed since she died unexpectedly. I’m sad that someday Jordan will marry and have children and they won’t get to meet their grandmother. The only thing I can promise is that they and others will know all about her because as a family, we will always strive to keep her memory alive. Norma may not be here physically anymore, but she’ll always remain in our hearts so happy birthday in Heaven, my beautiful Mita. We love you, and we’ll see you on the flip side.

P.S. I don't want to end this without saying that towards the end my sister and my father rekindled their relationship. It was a brief time where I saw a wish fulfilled for her and it gave her great joy to have her dad in her life. For that I'm thankful.