Elisa's Blog
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
It was raining, on the happiest day of my life.

In Guadalajara, in the summer, it rains pretty much every afternoon. The rains are heavy, intense, with droplets you can see bouncing upwards from the puddles; the sky darkens, and as you blink to shut out the startling brightness of lightning, you hear the loud crack of thunder that inevitably follows it.

And on that day, the 17th of July, 1982, I remember sipping orange soda through a straw while sitting quietly with my dad at that hospital cafeteria, looking at the raindrops sliding hesitantly down the glass windows, counting the minutes, seconds, before I could meet him.

Yesterday: so I see this post and I try to come up with something to post in reply, amidst the stream of happy tears. Can't. Come back today, more composed, forbidding myself of a reread until after I write these words in testament:


Elisa, my dear dear sister, I love you like no tomorrow.
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