In the fall of 2012 I discovered that my oldest sister Nem was diagnosed with Lupus. I hadn’t heard much about the auto immune disease but I knew it would be something very difficult for her to live with. All my life my sister has been this high energy, tightly scheduled, organized woman. She has always eaten healthy, and taken care of her body. How on earth could some illness come in and fight against her body the way that Lupus does? It’s called the invisible illness, with good reason. She appears to be just as normal as anyone else, but inside she feels pain, weakness, and fatigue. She may not feel able to smile much anymore, or laugh as often, which breaks my heart. But I know that she is trying.

I will admit that I have been a selfish sister. Questioning why she no longer has the energy for small outings, or spontaneous get togethers. She has always been someone I looked up to and love dearly. How is it that this person I care for so much can be in so much pain? Through all of my questioning, and frustration with her I began to realize that she is strong enough for this. If anyone were to cope with Lupus it is her. She is selfless in her sacrifices. She has enough strong will to fight. She has enough discipline to keep the healthy lifestyle her body needs. When God places obstacles in our way it’s so difficult to understand why. There is no doubt in my mind that my sister was chosen to fight this illness because she is strong enough. She has always been an inspiration to me, and that will never cease.

This past year I have struggled with finding a way to support Nem. What words would be pressing enough to give her comfort? There is not much that I can say to make her feel any better. She has had to sacrifice her diet, lifestyle, and put her future dreams on hold. . The best thing I can do, and anyone can do is teach people about this illness. Spreading the word is just the beginning. Last year our family stood around Nem in the busy streets of D.C. at the annual Walk to End Lupus. We raised money for the foundation to help find a cure. I’m happy to say that we had a blast last year, and we will be walking again this April.

My sister, I know you struggle in your classroom, grasping any bit of energy you can to teach a pack of 4th graders. I know you struggle as a wife, which carries so much weight and responsibility in a home. I know you struggle as a sister, and daughter feeling as if you have not given us enough. But let me tell you today, you are most possibly the strongest woman I know to date. You have never been more inspiring, or beautiful to me. I nub you!I love you in our sister language. Yes we have a language that only the three of us understand. We are extra special.

To learn more about Lupus visit this webpage.

When I was younger I had the worst migraines. They would come on so suddenly. I’d be sensitive to light, food, and scents which left me feeling nauseous. Though my younger dramatic self was convinced I needed to seek medical attention my mom was always able to patch me back together. She’d lay me down with a few saltine crackers, and turn on a funny movie for me. I’d lay there for hours until I felt better. All the while she would come check on me. She’d refill my ginger ale. Check my temperature. She’d make me feel cared for and safe. There was a time as a teenager that I slid down a gravel driveway, and scraped both of my knees. I was at a friend’s house and managed to laugh it off as blood poured down my legs. When I got home and saw my mother I crumpled in her arms. Full of emotion and pain I burst into tears. I couldn’t hide my pain from her. She sat me down, with a glass of water and bandaged my wounds.

The next day my mom took me to the doctor where they cleaned and bandaged me up. The nurse showed my mother how to wrap my knees properly, and she watched very intently. I squirmed a bit during the process but didn’t make a peep. The next day when it was time for her to clean and re-bandage my knees she made me as comfortable as possible. She propped a pillow and towel under my knees, and began the cleaning process. She did so in a very cautious manner, but goodness did I scream. She looked at me confused. “You didn’t make a sound when the nurse did it.” She said. “But you are my mom.” I thought. I can be vulnerable around you, and you will still love me. I screamed, and cried, and begged her to stop, but she knew best. When it was done, she patted me on the leg and said “Jah” like she always does when she wants me to calm down and realize something is over. The simple translation for it is essentially an abrupt “done!” I’d always feel embarrassed after I’d make such a scene. Yet I’m not sure if I ever thanked her for all she’d done for me when I grew up.

How a single mother was able to raise three sane girls is beyond me. We gave her some struggles I’m sure. Trying to keep up with the oldest, but also needing her support. Keeping the middle and the youngest from pulling hair, yelling, and clawing each other to death. She must have had the most difficult time with us. But she always kept us safe. She always made us feel beautiful. Ultimately, she tried her very best to give us everything she could.

I still marvel at the healing power mothers have. I will never understand it until I am one myself. I watch my sister-in-law Ashley with my two nephews, and how they adore her. Any little bump or scrape she can make better with a kiss, and a squeeze. To all of the young mothers out there I encourage you to fill your little ones with love, and positive words. Your words hold so much weight in your child’s heart. What you think of them is what they will think of themselves. Teach them to stand up when they fall, and learn from their mistakes. Comfort them when they are at their worst. Be patient with them when they are disobedient. You are your child’s comforter, and caretaker. Take pride in your role as their mother. Not every woman is blessed with the chance.

If you are a Lugo you have dark hair. If you are a Lugo you know your home cooked meals. If you are a Lugo you tilt your head back after a good meal and say “Uhh”

You’ll have to ask my uncle how that one got started. I have no idea where it came from, I just knew that when I was little and I ate at the Lugo table it was second nature to tilt you head back and say “Uhh” It signifies a satisfied belly, and compliments to the cook.

• When you lived with the Lugos, you tried your very hardest to tiptoe around after 9pm, and keep the giggles under control for those who have to wake up very early for work.
• When you lived with the Lugos, you had to either make it to the shower before Emmanuel, or risk having a cold shower.
• When you lived with the Lugos, you learned to live with boys.
• When you lived with the Lugos, you had a designated parking spot.
• When you lived with the Lugos, you’d wait eagerly for the flan in the fridge to be flipped, and ready.
• When you lived with the Lugos, you’d run out to grab the groceries like it was a family event.
• When you lived with the Lugos, your eyes grew bright when you saw new dixie cups of Limber De LecheFrozen dessert consisting of Evaporated milk, coconut milk, cinnamon, vanilla, and sugar in the freezer.
• When you lived with the Lugos during hurricane Isabel, lots of ice cream was eaten, and charades were played.
• When you lived with the Lugos, pranks were pulled.
• When you lived with the Lugos, you had to get used to things like embarrassing stories being told over and over again, and monkey masks.
• When you lived with the Lugos, many cousins ran from room to room.
• When you lived with the Lugos, you looked forward to Saturday morning pancakes on the table. And maybe, just maybe there would be sorullos too.
• When you lived with the Lugos, you always felt safe. You always felt loved.
• When you don’t live with the Lugos, you miss all of these things just a tiny bit.

We lived with the Lugos a number of times growing up. Every time carried a new batch of memories. I’m so grateful that we had, and still have family nearby to depend on. Thank you Lugos, for taking all of us crazy Rodriguez girls in. We would have been lost without you.