The Musings of a Sister

With a forceful sneeze, I sat down. Vera came to mind as she always does these days. I am aswim in her habits and notes, always grammatically perfect. Vera presented herself. The view from an observer's head is as faceted as a pile of broken glass. People remembered her. They were all right at the same time in the catchment of every and all impressions.

In enigmatic coping, she accumulated tininesses and packed them down. She said of herself in her latest years that her memory and mind had turned to mush. Perhaps she felt so, but her copious notes and records never termed "diaries" give the lie to "mush". Much is revealed in examining her papers and notations. There are stitcheries and beaded lines unseen by her family especially. It could be called a tapestry hung the wrong side out. Added to the composition are observers' memories of her. Put all together they make understanding of this misunderstood woman easier.

She is especially present in my own mind when I know she would never wish to be present in social situations. That is, how she did not become the mature woman in all the states of adult responsibility must be considered. She had much potential, more perhaps than the minds of our parents could hold. They assumed she was capable in all phases of her infancy, toddler stages, her latency, and her teen age, never assuming graduality of growth. Their good intentions ran only to the border of their own developed morality and sense of health. They were wanting in the sphere of information they were willing or capable of taking in. They eschewed mainstream medicine among other disciplines.

My sneeze burst into my musing and there Vera was.