While writing out some facts about myself in the tagged section, I remembered a memory that I thought should be wrote down. There are many of these important memories and as I think of them I will put them in place.
My first memory was when the baby’s clothes caught fire while hanging above the stove in the kitchen. My mother put my little sister in my older sister’s arms on the doorstep. I must have been outside, because the picture I have in my mind is that of my older sister holding baby Karen, sitting on the door step, with my mother throwing buckets of water over the top of the stove.
I know this is my memory because Karen was 10 months younger than I and she died at 3 months, making me between 10 and 13 months old. Neither my mother nor my father ever spoke of my little sister other than to say, she died of rapid pneumonia, which claimed the lives for 57 babies in Halifax that winter.
Many years later, I told my mother of the memory, just before she died. She confirmed that it really did happen, but that she had forgot it. So I know I have a precious memory of my little sister now, along with all the memories of my precious mommy.