Happy Birthday, Cora!

These tributes begin with the eldest members of the family and will end with the youngest. Cora is the last accolade, but first in our hearts. (Edit: Reese was born in 2022 and has her own post here.)

I never experienced that ache and desire for a baby that women describe. I never had any children of my own. My sister was born when I was 11 and I did my “mothering” with her. I don’t feel that my life is missing anything without my own kids. My life is full of travel, businesses, relationships, renovating houses, risk-taking, and goal-meeting. I don’t notice the lack of a little one. So, I never knew that kind of love – the heart-wrenching love for a pure and defenseless child.

Until now… 

Cora is born in the early morning hours of February 28th, 2016. The evening before, Mike told us that Erin was in labor. I can’t sleep from excitement, so I get out of bed and start driving towards my family in the middle of the night.

By the time I arrive in West Chester, so had Cora. I gingerly hold that miniature, swaddled baby and we secure our bond. Without fanfare, we become “Mare and Tora. Partners in Adventure.”

Cora’s name for me starts as “Ah-Me”, a shortened “Aunt Maria”. Abby the dog is “Ah-Be”. Kiara (my cat who has since passed) is “Ah-Be-ish”, which translates to “kind of like Abby”. Ah-Me morphs into Mare. It’s not Aunt Mare, just the super familiar, condensed, cool, and casual “Mare”. My name to my family is forever Mare, as Cora baptizes me with the language of a sprite.

I believe that my primary role in Cora’s life is to make her feel fearless and know she can conquer everything. I like to expose her to new encounters and show her that life is an amazing adventure. I relish thinking up new things for us to experience. Cora is an eager and happy accomplice.

In the back seat of my car, I strap an out-of-place child’s seat. When new friends point and cock their head questioningly, I defend Cora’s car seat saying, “my niece”. I love that car seat. When I glance in my rear-view mirror, I remember a tiny blond head sticking up above that safety harness. I can hear her voice reprimanding me over Taylor Swift’s music, “Mare! NO YOU sing! TORA sing!”

I recently buy a new car. I remove the car seat to prepare for the exchange and it takes me a few days to reinstall it. When I visit Cora with the new car without the car seat installed, she seems concerned. I explain that I would soon replace the seat so we can “do stuff”! Her face lights up, she jumps up and down, and says, “We DO STUFF? What STUFF?” I describe some of my past favorite excursions with her.

I remember when we went to the Helicopter Museum for the first time. It is a lovely museum on the tarmac of the tiny Brandywine Airport. We played in the display helicopters, ate a picnic near the runway, and watched the planes take off and land. Sometimes, the pilots come over to talk. Cora calls the museum the “Mare-seum” because we went there together often.

And when we went to the SPCA. Cora had a fixation on cats ever since meeting Kiara. Kiara is buried in my parent’s woods and we walk down to say hello to her monthly. At the SPCA, Cora played in the kitten room for hours. When she grew tired of the kittens, we played with the puppies. She had a toothy smile the entire visit.

I remember when we went to see the horses, or “ney-neys”. A friend of mine is on the board of Thorncroft Equestrian Center. She allowed Cora to ride a horse, even though she was technically too tiny and too young. Blew. Her. Mind. She was fearless and calm and poised. We were impressed.

And when we made Christmas Ninja cookies. Cora called me “Mare” for the first time and I didn’t even realize it. Erin pointed it out, once she watched the video I had taken. Cora loved watching the cookies bake.

I remember when we went to get our passport photos taken. And then we went to the police station for the friendly cop to take our fingerprints. Both are necessary to expand our adventure boundaries.

And the time we went to see the zebras at the zoo. Cora fed the giraffe lettuce. When she fed the giraffe, it wrapped its tongue around her little hand. All she wanted to do was to ride the zebras.

I remember how Cora loved to imitate the ballerinas on the TV, so we went to the children’s dance recital. She sat mesmerized for an hour without fidgeting.

And the time when Cora’s parents couldn’t attend her swim class so I went in their place. We were in the water and I was holding onto Cora with a solid grip, with both arms encircling her body. (Nothing was going to happen to her while I was in charge.) The teacher said, “We usually hold the children out in front of us, gently under their arms so they can actually swim.” She made a point not to look directly at me, even though when I glanced around, I was the only one holding so tightly. It was a struggle to let Cora swim free.

I remember when Cora was fixated on trains. We stood on the local train platform and watched commuters load and unload. Many, many months later, Cora and her grandmothers took the train to go to the city for a special lunch. Cora told Grandma, “Mare showed me this.” It took Grandma a minute to remember that we HAD come to that station. My heart soared that Cora remembered.

There were times when Cora can’t come along when I do “stuff.” I try to include her remotely.

I went on a road trip around the United States and sent her postcards from everywhere. 

When I went to work in Alaska, I sent a postcard saying I was almost at the North Pole, I saw many reindeer (leaving out that they were served for lunch), and Santa says hello.

Once, I went to Watkins Glen State Park in New York. The hiking path goes behind a waterfall. I made a video of the experience and sent it to Erin for Cora. When Erin showed Cora the video, she was pouty because she wanted to be there too. She wondered if she could swim in the waterfall.

Early on, Cora learns that I have an insulin pump attached to me. She watches carefully as I test my blood sugar. Then she says, “Tora now?” I tentatively ask, “You want me to test your blood sugar?” She nods her head. Cora doesn’t flinch when the lancet pricks her finger. I breathe easier when the reading flashes a normal number.

Here is the usual procedure for blood sugar testing. First, I put the strip in the glucometer and wait a few seconds for it to warm up. Then, I prick my finger. After putting the drop of blood on the strip, I wait for the reading. Last, I lick the blood off of my finger. Cora watches me do this many times.

Cora wants me to test grandma’s blood sugar. I prick Grandma’s finger and milk a drop of blood to the surface. Before we know what is happening, Cora bends down and licks the drop of blood off Grandma’s finger. She looks so proud of herself that she knows how this procedure works. My mom and I are stunned, speechless, and unsure what to do. She looks at us back and forth, trying to understand our silence. We smile and move on, bringing another drop of blood forth. This time, we stop her before she can lick it again.

Last week, Cora got a splinter in her pointer finger, minutes before my whole family was coming over to her house. She won’t let anyone take out that splinter, because she says she is “waiting for Mare.” I arrive last and that is the first thing Cora shows me, holding out the afflicted digit. I remove my bag, take off my coat, scoop her up, and position us on the couch.

Cora sits on my lap, quiet and thoughtful as she calmly watches me work the tweezers. At one point, I ask if I am hurting her. She says, “Yes”, but continues to let me remove the wooden pieces quietly. Once the splinter is gone, she tells me “tanks”, that it feels better. I glow with pride because of the confidence she places in me.

Often I wonder if Cora’s little mind will remember all we do together. I realize while she might not remember every activity, she will remember the trust we built. Because of all our “stuff”, we develop an everlasting connected relationship.

While my wish is that there will be none, I hope Cora trusts me with the other “splinters” of life. If kids exclude her for the first time. When she experiences her first break up. If she doesn’t make the team. When Mom won’t let her have the car. If her prom date dances with someone else. When Dad grounds her for sneaking out. If she is hungover the morning after her first college party. When she fails her neurology exam in med school. If her plumbing backs up in her first house. When she spills wine on her wedding dress. If her child won’t stop crying. When she forgets part of her first State of the Union address.

She will remember that my most-revered job is to dull her pain. She can be confident that I will be her confidante and help her see her way through. In my role as her aunt, “splinters” are my specialty.