Alba Maria, my fearless leader…

December 15, 1949 – January 19, 2009

Alba Maria was the closest person I had on this planet until she went back home on January 19, 2009.  She was my fearless leader, even though I was one year older.  She went through all the growing up processes before I did, so she was the one I confided when I first went through the process of becoming a young woman.  She told me what to do and how to do it.  What pills to take for the pain and etc., etc.  She was always doing what papa and mama didn’t want us to do.  Alba Maria was always in trouble with mama.  I remember when she told me how we humans procreate.  I never heard such a thing before, and right there and then I decided I was going to become a nun.  All the nuns at our school were very happy and excited and plans were being made for me to go to Spain to join a convent.  That lasted until one day I noticed I was liking too much a tall, handsome boy in our class.  I used to get very nervous whenever he came around to talk to me, because he was a very nice young man.  I used to be chubby and had lots of pimples on my face.  He was a very considerate and compassionate person, even though maybe he didn’t know it then.  I started to question my vocation and the whole convent business deal was cancelled. 

Let me go back to Alba Maria.  She was extremely competitive.  Best in sports, of course.  She was always taking apart the radio, and fixing the tv set.  Trigonometry, Algebra and Geometry were like adding 2+2 to her.  So was Physics.  She used to question the Mathematics professor, and me and the rest of the class were in limboland.  She knew how to embroider, cook, crochet and made beautiful work.  She always won the awards our school had for this kind of crafts.  She had the most giving heart and was always thinking about others’ needs.  She was the first entrepreneur  in our immediate family, after my father.  That’s her in her store in the Dominican Republic in the 1980’s, showing in the picture.

We used to talk three to five times a day.  Ron used to ask me what the heck did we have to talk about so often.  Sometimes it was just a minute conversation or just to make a joke.  She was always telling me “I’ll call you back in a minute” whenever she was busy and couldn’t talk right then.

Her last words to me were “I’ll call you back in a minute.”  The pain was so intense, she could hardly talk.  I loved my sister with all my heart, I miss her so very much and she’ll always be one of the loves of my life.

Alba Maria, here’s to you looking good in heaven.

Loving you always,

Tu hermana, your sister,