|Delightful mischief. (That is not the name of this horse.)|
“She was a wonderful sister,” Lorna says. “She was just wonderful,” clasping my hand with hers. Her hand is cool, smooth, and lovely - just the way her sister’s felt, only less crooked with arthritis. “She shouldnt have had to be that responsible but she took care of me. Only two years were between us, but she was my big sister. She always took care of me.” Lorna’s eyes get bigger as they look into mine, searching for understanding, for acknowledgment, and...almost... for a bit of forgiveness, maybe about having been the younger.
She didn’t wait for anyone else to make life happen for her. In a time without Facebook, pinning, skype, texting, cell phones, her only connections to the family and friends she left behind were limited to handwritten letters, the occasional telegram and the once-in-a-blue-moon visit. She could’ve stayed with the familiar. She could’ve shivered and pouted. Instead, she loaded up her Little Green Hornet with her belongings and drove west, an extra set of retread tires that her Butte employer had given to her as a parting gift in the trunk just in case. If she felt fear, she moved through it. Courageously. She said yes to life. Of all her stories, this is my favorite.
Lorna is 95 and sometimes her memory switches things - was it Daddy or Mama? - and today she shared this story with me many times, each time as if it had never been told before. We aren’t so different - I have shared the story I treasure many times too. Maybe there is a reason we tell the same tales over and over. Despite some discrepancies, some details don't ever change.
Corma was a wonderful sister. Corma was a wonderful grandmother. She lived with courage. She delighted in the new and different, standing tall and proud of herself and her family with graceful confidence.
Lorna’s eyes twinkle while she gently, firmly clasps my hand as she tells me the story again. Behind that beautiful twinkle and in her grip, is such familiar confident pride and gentle caring. Does she know how many similarities she has to my grandmother? When I close my eyes, I see her smile, hear her happy laugh and every now and again, I see a spark of her fire for life in my own heart and mind encouraging me to say “Yes, Go.”