Tag Archives: memory

September 23, 2026 · 4:00 AM

Remembering My Little Sister

Some lives are measured in years. Others are measured by the love they leave behind.

I’ve written about my little sister, Anna (named after my grandma), numerous times over the years. Every time I write about her, I remember something different: her infectious smile that could brighten anyone’s day, the sound of her sweet giggles, or a quiet moment that seemed so small then, but means everything to me now.

I was seven years old when Anna was born. She was my baby sister, and I absolutely adored her.

After school, she would stand at the window waiting for me to come home. Sometimes she’d run to the door with the biggest smile on her face, determined to carry my schoolbooks, even though they were almost as big as she was. We’d walk together, stopping to admire flowers, butterflies, and every little bug she could find. She loved picking wildflowers for Mama and would proudly hand them to her as though they were the most beautiful bouquet in the world.

Back then, I didn’t realize those little moments were becoming the memories I would treasure for the rest of my life.

When you’re nine years old, you don’t think about how quickly life can change. You don’t imagine that someone so small can leave such a lasting impact on your heart.

You see, Anna was only two years old when she died.

Her life was brief, but it was filled with love. She was cherished every single day she was with us, and she brought sunshine into our family. Even now, after all these years, I still think about her. I still miss her. I still wonder what kind of woman she would have become.

People often say that time heals all wounds. Perhaps what it really does is teach us how to carry our grief while the love remains forever.

In the years since losing Anna, I have found comfort in these words:

“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”
— Psalm 34:18

Love remains. It lives in our memories, in the stories we tell, and in the quiet moments when something unexpectedly reminds us of the people we’ve lost.

Anna will always be my baby sister. That is something time could never take away.

So today, on Anna’s birthday in Heaven, I’m honoring the little girl who loved flowers and butterflies, who brought so much love and sunshine into our family, who insisted on carrying my heavy schoolbooks into the house. Although her time with us was far too short, the love she gave continues to live on.

I miss her every day. And as long as I can tell her story, she will never be forgotten.

She loved picking flowers for Mama.

I like to think she’s still surrounded by them.

I share more of Anna’s story in Chapter 4, “The Little Green Dress,” in my book, Running In Heels: A Memoir of Grit and Grace. This time, though, I simply wanted to remember the little girl she was, the one who waited at the window for me, made those afternoons feel special, and found joy in the smallest things.

“And so we will be with the Lord forever. Therefore encourage one another with these words.”
— 1 Thessalonians 4:18

Recordando a Mi Hermanita

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Filed under legacy of love, Memoir & Personal Stories

Tagged as 1 Thessalonians 4:17-18, Faith, Family, grief, healing, hope, love, memory, Psalm 34:18, Remembrance, Sisterhood

October 9, 2024 · 11:25 AM

Happy Birthday, Mama! 10/10/34 – 5/14/23

Dear Mama,

I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday in heaven today. I hope you know you are sorely missed. It’s no secret we’ve been through some hard times together. Although you weren’t the perfect mother, I wasn’t the perfect daughter. Perhaps, we were perfect for each other. I pretty much miss everything about you. Never thought I’d say, even your bickering over something or about someone. I miss buying you trinkets, pretty blouses, and taking you to a nice restaurant. It was good to help you forget problems and enjoy your special day. Making you smile meant everything to me. In the end, it hurt to let you go, but seeing you suffer in pain was worse. I asked the Lord that you’d still be around on Mother’s Day. And God called you home in time; it was on Mother’s Day at 3 pm. You are totally healed now. You have no more pain. There is no discomfort or worry. You are with your Savior and loved ones who have gone on before you. Send them all my love.

Sending you kisses and all my love, Mama.

Always your Little Girl.

We Love You, Paul!

There are folks that come into your life and make such an impact, they remain forever imprinted in your heart. Paul was one of them. As I reflect on a memory of nearly a year ago, I wanted to share with my readers how one man made a difference to those who knew him. He was a godly man – a wonderful husband, father, grandpa, and friend. Although my husband and I had only known Paul a short while, he was one of the most endearing and God-loving individuals we had come to know, love and admire. His charm and wit were a breath of fresh air.

Last year, the ‘Andrew Sisters’ got to perform again for our church’s Sweetheart Banquet. Because of illness, Paul and his precious wife, Joyce, were unable to attend. So the Andrew Sisters went to them and performed “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy” in their home. It not only brought a smile to Paul’s face but it lightened up our day as well, while we hammed it up and sang (or rather lip-synced) our hearts out!

Paul Daugherty, we honor you. You will forever be missed on this green earth. We looked forward to the Blessed Hope, of that great reunion one day in the heavenlies.

Click here to read about last year's performance The Andrew Sisters – Near You 1947

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Filed under Paying homage, reminiscence

Tagged as "Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy" 1941, friendship, memory, reminisce, The Andrew Sisters

September 22, 2020 · 8:53 PM

Forever, For Always in my Heart

Soft, velvety cheeks. A round rosy nose. Dark hair like mine, but curly. Eyes, blue that sparkled like the ocean I’d seen in storybooks. I kissed her sweet-smelling face. Her soft, pudgy hand with tiny fingers, curled inside mine.

My sister, Anna, melted my heart. I won’t be alone anymore. I caressed her cheeks and whispered, “I’ll stay by your side for always.”

Soon left with the responsibility of caring for Anna, I became her substitute mother. I loved her and took care of her as best as a seven-year-old could.

Before I knew it, my baby sister turned two. Whatever we did, doing it together was more fun than being alone.

One particular evening, as I gazed into my sister’s baby blues, a sudden feeling of sorrow swept over me. Tears clouded my eyes. Something burned within my chest. I cried out, “Please God, don’t let nothing bad happen to her!”

Anna gazed at me with her gentle, trusting eyes.

“I’ll protect you,” I whispered to her. “For always.”

Before bedtime, we repeated a child’s prayer Grandma taught me, one that hung on the wall:

“. . . I pray thee, Lord, my soul to keep . . .”

That night I clung to my sister and kept the strange premonition to myself.

My legs trembled as I crept to her room and peered through the glass-pane door on my tiptoes. I saw a blinking monitor. Then I saw her—my baby sister—with soiled feet, still in her little, green denim dress, tattered and torn. She lay motionless on her back, her curly, brown hair matted with blood. Her face was bruised and swollen; her baby blues closed tight.

I felt light-headed as I slumped on the floor, pulling my knees to my chest, crying.

At the funeral, I held my breath and willed my feet toward the small white casket.

Grandma squeezed my hand. I took my finger and stroked my sister’s face, which reminded me of a plastic doll’s, stiff and cold to the touch. Heavy makeup could not conceal her bruises. Her little head—now swollen from the blow of the car that hit her—was cradled by a bonnet, much too small. She wore a new green dress, cleaned and pressed, without stains. Nor traces of blood.

I glanced up at Grandma. “Your sister’s in a better place now,” she choked. Then I placed a small cross under Anna’s tiny, rigid hands. My tears blinded me.

“. . . If I should die before I wake, I pray thee, Lord, my soul to take.”

Excerpt from “Running in Heels: A Memoir of Grit and Grace“

Each year as her birthday approaches, I think about how special my baby sister has always been to me. But those memories turn bittersweet, as it is difficult for me to separate how quickly we had to say goodbye to her, just a month after celebrating her 2nd birthday. Her memory will forever live in my heart, and for that I am grateful.

She Hurts No More …

A horrific day for our country. In shock, I watched the Space
Shuttle Challenger breaks apart and burns just seconds into its
flight. Five men and two women tragically lost their lives for
the good of all humanity. They lived their dream by serving
others. I may not have known them personally, but they died
as heroes.

Three months later, on April 3, 1986, sickness reduced an
eighty-six-year-old unsung Puerto Rican woman to skin
and bones as she lost her bout with cancer. She wasn’t affluent.
Refined. Or famous. But she was loved. Adored. And my
heroine.

When Mama called me and told me about Grandma’s final
moments, sobs stuck in my throat. She expressed how she
had sat at my grandma’s bedside, terrified, while listening to
her breathing in short, laborious rasps.

“Your grandma’s parting words were, ‘God is calling me
now,’ and then she gazed up at the ceiling.” Mama spoke dolefully.
“So, I asked her, ‘How do you know?’ But she didn’t
speak anymore. She closed her eyes and I held her close.”

Mama’s trembling voice was broken by sobs. “I . . . told her
that I loved her. And I said to her, ‘You carried me for
nine months.’”

I pictured that heart-rending image of Grandma’s gentle
countenance and Mama struggling to convey her love to her.
And I thought, Oh Mama, she carried you longer than nine
months. My insides ached, knowing that in her heart and
prayers, Grandma carried us all.

My grief came in waves. Looking back, I know God spared
me from becoming hopelessly morbid and consumed with
anguish. Grandma wouldn’t have wanted that. Knowing she
no longer suffered, I believed her final heartbeat didn’t mean
the end but the beginning!

I wanted to celebrate her life when I journeyed back to
help with her memorial.

Once a plump woman, Grandma had lost so much weight
in her final days. She had always loved a simple white Easter
dress that belonged to me and requested that when the time
came we’d bury her in it. My dress fitted her perfectly then. I
also asked that everyone wear white instead of the customary
black garments at her funeral.

White carnations—Grandma’s favorite—covered her
opened casket. I stood, my eyes caressing her still face, now
so thin. Vivid images of her life jumped into my thoughts. I
saw her on her knees pleading with God to be merciful to her
loved ones. I recalled her many prayers of gratitude for another
day. I pictured her lips mouthing the holy scriptures as she read her
Bible, with her index finger pointing to the sentences across
the worn pages. I could still hear the sound of her soft voice
calling my name. I remembered the merriment of her laughter
after listening to one of my silly jokes.

Hot tears blinded me and I couldn’t blink them away.
In my mind’s eye, Grandma came to me. I could hear her.
Feel her. Touch her. Her love, her hugs, and her kisses embraced me.

We honored her memory and her passing from this life
into the next.

A gentle breeze blew the heat of the day; the sun hid behind
the clouds. The scent of rain permeated the air.
As it started to drizzle, my heart was comforted. Grandma always
considered it a good omen if it rained on the day, someone
laid to rest.

Before long, her coffin lay in a crypt next to her cherished
husband, my beloved grandpa.

At last, Grandma’s labors had ended. Thank God, she
hurt no more.

(Excerpt from Chap. 37 “Running in Heels: A Memoir of Grit and Grace” by Mary A. Pérez)

Footnote: Dear Readers, on this Mother’s Day coming up, gone from us for more than three decades, I remember my precious grandma who I mentioned in my book. Matter of fact, both Mama and I miss her terribly. Grandma was the undisputed, caring matriarch of our familia; a ray of sunshine in our entire existence. She rarely complained or thought about herself. She was a selfless soul, showering love and kindness to others. Impeccable in my eyes, she truly was our unsung hero. We cherish her memories.