I seldom talk about my sister Evie Marie, a.k.a. Judy.

Evie was nicknamed Judy 
because she had Judy Garland eyes. I got stuck with Elenita-I guess I didn’t look like any movie star.

Born in Jamaica, 
she’s the third child and the only one born at home. I wish I had more information on her home birth but mom, my mom passed on. This is where the should haves, could haves, did not haves- the questions that grief will never answer or let you forget.

My sister
was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis years ago and though it is not medically proven I think the home birth was responsible in some way. Our family has no MS history unless it is lurking in the mud of truths be not told. 

It is not rapidly 
progressive. Evie’s eyes are affected which can make reading difficult and she has trouble walking at times. Heat and humidity exacerbate the symptoms especially in the summer when she’ll stay indoors most of the time.

She was 
an artist.
I don’t know if she continues to draw as I have not questioned her out of fear of hurting.  

Evie drew
realistic and dreamy poses of fictional characters created from the reading of romance novels. She was addicted to those novels. Yes, she read classics, but not as ferociously as she did romance novels. 

Gosh, did I mention she was a romance novel addict?
I became one too, 
reading her books as soon as she was done. I was reading Jackie Collins when I should have been figuring out what the heck Dr. Seuss meant with his words.

She
introduced me to rock music-Led Zepplin, Pink Floyd and The Who. I also went with her to see “Tommy” when it was released in the movie theatre.
Thinking back on that experience reminds me of my first concert, “Meatloaf-Bat out of hell”, too young to understand but I went with the flow. Once again, I should have stuck to deciphering, Dr Seus. 

Evie taught me 
to play chess for which I got pretty good at. I’m not so much the strategic kinda person but rather crush, kill, destroy. 

My sister took me 
to the Brooklyn Public Library once a week, where I was able to research all those biblical things the nuns never spoke of in Catholic school. I was a pro at using the card catalog, and microfilm. My love of researching was planted and Evie helped to nourish it.

My sister Evie, third one born 
did not make fun of my depression or say I needed meds when I expressed my hurt over some family members mistreatment. Her daughter never called me stupid, crazy or insane and insisted on addressing me as Aunt even though I preferred my name.

There are much more activities and interests my sister introduced and this play with words would turn into a novel if I were to list them.

I seldom talk about my sister Evie Marie, a.k.a. Judy.

But…
I did tell my sister I loved her and she said she loved me too and that means more than all the Pringle’s in the world.