Dear Connie,
I must tell you, cousin, that initially, I did not like you. You were a bug, the type I wished I could shoo away with a large flyswatter.

Maybe it was because you were the last of nine kids born when the farm was no longer productive. You escaped picking string beans in the hot sun or selling produce door to door, like me and your brothers did every summer.

You were the blond girl with a boyish figure with bright red nail polished toes who never wore shoes. I do not think you ever grew beyond 5ft and ever weighed more than 100 lbs. Outspoken to the point of almost being blunt, this tendency ran against my nature. Being a girl did not stop you from keeping up with your brothers swinging from ropes in the rafters of the barn or chasing down the sow.

I cannot pinpoint the exact date or time that I changed direction and truly saw you for the kind and loving person you were. When anyone hurt you, I do know you were quick to forgive. Maybe we both grew up, or maybe your heart was big where mine was small.

Once the farm was sold, I no longer came to Upstate New York, that is until you invited me to visit you to meet your new boyfriend, Kevin.
Kevin was short and muscular from his job as a furniture mover, and unlike your last boyfriend, he treated you like a queen.

I remember the trip to Buffalo. At Niagara Falls, we passed a joint around with the thunderous roar of the falls keeping us spellbound. (Well, maybe it was the pot!) I had never tried pot before, and to this day, I am surprised we were not caught. While it is now legal, I have since tried it again only once. Somehow not having the roar of rushing water and the fear of being caught dampened the experience.

A couple of years later, you really pulled one over on me. You called and said that you and Kevin were in town for the weekend and would like to get together. Having arrived at the restaurant meeting place, there were two soldiers in dress uniforms standing in front of the door.
It was you and Kevin. You both joined the National Guard. While Kevin looked like he was born to wear the uniform, your tiny frame seemed lost in the garment. However, knowing your toughness and for keeping seven brothers at bay, you must have been one hell of a soldier.

I got the sense that you and Kevin were just scraping by.

You confided in me that you were working days stocking groceries, and at night you were also working as an exotic dancer.

I had to ask you:
"I thought exotic dancers had to be well endowed."

"I just push them up a little to make them look bigger. The audience does not care; they just like to watch the dancing. After a few drinks, a grandma could be up on stage, and they would cheer just as loud."

You were working two jobs. Truthfully, it was another mistake I made by thinking you were not a hard worker.

A year later, you and Kevin came to our wedding. I was thrilled that you made the trip from Upstate New York; I know it was a sacrifice for both of you.
Listen, girl, you drove me a little crazy at the reception. I know your intentions were well and good, and I appreciate that. You wanted to "pass the hat" by collecting money from my guests. I stopped you cold.
"But that is what we do at home!"

"I know, but it is not done here."

You looked so rejected, and an hour later, you asked me again, and I had to shut you down.

It was the following year that Kevin called me. You went to the hospital for a simple procedure. I am fuzzy now about the details. I think it was to remove extra teeth. You often had trouble with your teeth being too big and overcrowded in your mouth.

Something went terribly wrong; you suffered from a lack of oxygen and were in a vegetative state.

I took a bus to Buffalo to see you. Kevin was there holding your hand while your eyes were open; they showed no recognition of Kevin or me.
"If I keep talking to her, maybe she will come back." Kevin kept hope for you for a time but finally gave up on your recovery.

I must hand it to him, Connie. When someone else would walk away, Kevin stuck with you. He would visit you every day for the next three years, talking to you about his day. He won the admiration of your nurses for his devotion.

You finally had enough of being poked, prodded, and turned over to avoid bedsores; you decided it was time to be free again and have your spirit and love soar with the angels.

Each year, you grow taller not only in stature but as the person I would like to be.

I miss you, girl.

Baby Huey

PS. I just learned that Kevin suddenly passed away last month. While I am saddened by this news, I am comforted that you are together again.