From last Thursday through this Thursday, I saw my sister Jeanie, and her partner, Bob, every day. Today after rain, sleet and snow, she was at her house. We were here. Both of us accomplished something; we had warm companionship; electricity. The comforts of home.

But I miss her. Miss them. I am full of our conversations. Of looking into her clear brown eyes and Bob's blue ones as we speak. I'm still marveling, so many years later, about these people—my sisters and brother—that I met in childhood. And I am grateful to Andre for bringing me to family, and being with us.

Our mother's birthday was 3 days ago. In certain ways, I long to communicate with her more as years pass since her death. When we were young, she let us know that all four of us "were planned". She was an only child, and although her stories of time spent with her many cousins sounded full and fun to us, she said she was lonely. She determined that she would have more than one child. Give us sisters or brothers. She did both. From the cocoon of my life, my family, I thank her—but never enough—for giving me these gifts: my sister, my sister, my brother.