Day 43

I am grateful for my Dara.

That means "aunt" in their Filipino dialect, so roll that "r." It's her birthday today, and I think she's 75. She lives in Austin half the year, the Philippines the other half. Here, my two cousins are helping to celebrate her birthday. The pictures they sent showed the typical spread, which is enough to feed the troops of a small nation.

When we lived in the Philippines, we went to her house frequently. She was always in the kitchen, always cooking, feeding, and providing. Her face had that light, misty glow of someone toiling over a hot stove in 90 percent humidity.

I didn't know until I was in high school that when my youngest cousin, Corazon, was born, they all said, "She looks like Cyndi!" (We were back in the States by then.) My aunt said it was because she craved me the whole time she was pregnant with her. My mom explained that whenever we would go to the market, I would always have to sit with my aunty because she couldn't get enough of me. That's why she would always squeeze my cheeks and fairly pinch the life out of me. As a child, it isn't very fun, and I didn't understand. I loved her and knew she loved me, but I didn't get the whole mashing and squishing thing.

She has survived heart surgery, stomach cancer, diabetes, and her husband, my mom's brother. She was my mother's best friend from the time they were girls and the closest thing Mom ever had to a real sister. Her love, sweetness, and generosity are utterly endearing and make me want to shrink her and put her on a necklace to wear around everywhere. She is that charming.

Thank You, Lord, for my sweet, sweet aunty.