In the last week I lost two important pieces of my childhood, two cousins who, each in their own way, carved a niche in my memory and heart.
One passed away on June 1st after years of fighting against a rare and terrible brain condition that robbed him of movement, balance, speech and mostly other bodily functions while keeping him cruelly aware.
But this blog is about his sister, who passed away four days later and lived an ocean away in Canada.
Even though I only had contact with her through her adult daughter–she was not good at keeping in touch with her family outside Canada–she was and always will be a cherished memory of mine.
She was seventeen years older than me, the only girl in a household of males but led and taken care of by two amazing women (my namesake aunt and my grandma, Alice). Her brothers and her were taken in by their paternal aunt after misfortune hit their family. My aunt brought them up along with my dad and his brother who had also moved in after my grandfather’s death.
As a kid, I used to spend weekends with my cousin in my aunt’s big house while she spent her weekends in a vacation rental up north.
My cousin was the coolest and I was her biggest groupie. She wore mini-skirts and knee-high boots. She knew all the popular tunes and dances. I remember dancing with her in front of my aunt’s big radio, doing the Mashed Potato, the Twist, the Swim, and the Locomotion. She was dating a soldier who was fighting a war in what was then a Portuguese colony in Africa. I was privy to a lot of her love letters (never anything inappropriate). She was a working woman at a time when most women were still expected to “settle down” and be home bound.
People whispered about her sometimes–even as a child I was aware of that–because she referred to conform and I LOVED that part of her personality and admired her for it.
I may have given her an unrealistic halo of coolness but that’s how my childhood mind and heart painted her then and still does. She will always be my rebellious cousin whom I looked up to and, even though I hadn’t seen her or spoke to her in years, I will miss her.
Gina, you’ll live forever in my heart.
Photo of Gina dancing with me and my cousin, Alice in my aunt Natalina’s yard.
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