Family
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I take no credit for the images on this profile.
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I love my sister. That is no secret. I also love my brother, he is a wonderful man and he has married a wonderful woman who I also love- his children are sweet and I also have love to give them. They make great playmates for Irma.
My parents are in my heart just as much. Mother taught me to be kind and respectful. Father taught me to dote on my passions. And I am thankful for them both. Together they are my backbone. Had they treated me as others did, I would not be the same as I am now. My mother was particularly happy that I kept her garden from wilting in the winter. My father was thankful for my help. It was the very least I could do for them and I would do it ten times over.
My brother is special to me as well. He is six years my senior, and as children he would often stand up for me. Sage is still on my side and I am thankful, but his wife doesn't exactly voice her opinion of me. She is a nice woman, respectful to everyone. But she seems to falsely judge me. I've come to have sharp eyes and intuition, it is part of what I am. I can tell that she isn't overly fond of me and makes an effort to keep me away from her children. As good an actress as she is with me, I seem to be the only one who knows the truth of her feelings. I do not mind it though. She is part of our family, and so she deserves my kindness which I will give her.
Irma is my younger sister, and is only six years old. Despite the age difference, she is one of my most cherished friends. She is paralyzed in the legs and is incapable of walking. I do not mind carrying her at my hip if she needs to be elsewhere. I do not mind caring for her when she asks me. The weight of her disability does show through at times and she cries. Irma wants nothing more than to be able to play with the other children in the neighborhood. I would grant her wish if I knew how just so I could see her rosy cheeks stretch into a smile. My heart always swells when people are happy.
My grandmother, or Nana, as we call her, is somewhat different. She is weathered and wrinkled. She is worn by the energy the children have. But even if her skin is a little tougher, she still loves us. Nana hums as she sews. She often speaks of when she was young, and how she would sing for people. She still does at times sing Irma to sleep with a lullaby she used to sing to my mother. Nana is brutally honest as well, and has always treated me differently. I do not mind it. Nothing that she says ever hurts me even when I feel it sting.