The story of our family is not your traditional run of the mill story...

Our story is unique

Our story is a story of love, sacrifice, self-denial and forgiveness

It wasn't boy meets girl, boy marries girl...although that part is true. Our family is a patchwork of sorts, a scientific experiment if you wish of grafting and ingrafting. I leave the interpretation to you.

Loyd and Daphne were the head of our family, Lloyd was all brawn and brash, she was all brain together they loved and cared for us in their unique way. Daddy was the party animal, the noisy one. She was not quiet but willing always to stay in the background.

First was Suzette, Daphne's niece who won her heart very early. I was next from the hills of Frankfeild, Clarendon, green and extremely rough around the edges to put it mildly. Daphne spent most of my formative years trying to reform me.

We were her girls. She did everything with us and for us. We went everywhere with her. We were her handbag. She dressed us alike. Our hair was combed the same, which was no easy feat, as Suzette had too much and I was severely lacking...

She was an adventure...

She was a teacher and a scientist by profession and we would help her look for frogs and cockroaches for her dissection classes. The only thing she was afraid of were lizards. I came in handy with those and when she needed a mango high up. She played games with us. She sang with us. She helped us with our homework and my learning challenges. Suzette didn't have any of those. I recall when we shared a room, that the wall on Suzette's side was clear while my side had charts with all the things I was struggling with in school. was She taught us how to cook. Tried to teach us how to clean our room. She attended all our functions and activities. She drove and picked us of from extracurricular activities. She was just there with us.

When Suzette was fourteen and I was thirteen, Tash rode into our lives. Daughter number three. These are Daphne's children, her daughters. She has never called us step-daughter, niece or ward. We were her daughters and she loved us.

In our teenage years, the years we were brain damaged...she was simply our friend and guide. As adults, she was our constant support and encouragement. And we miss her terribly.

On the night of her death, as I grappled with her passing, I wrote this poem...