A letter to my matriarchy

My grandmother, mother and sisters, so much of what I now am comes from each of you.

My granny, who, if I squeeze my eyes closed, I can just see your outline in a doorway; a kind shadow of my history. You are the soft toy rabbit I still have on my now-adult bed, bearing the scars of constant love for thirty years. You too are the faded recipes handed down to my mum, which we were all reared on. The Christmas pudding with its foil wrapped coins, and one 'bachelor' button. After a long stretch when mum thought she was going to have three eternally-single daughters on her hands, one Christmas she changed it to a 'baby' button. Footloose and fancy-free, we picked through the pudding very carefully that year.

To my mother. You, of all the matriarchs make up the most significant portion of me. My fingers which crave to be covered in soil and watch things grow. My hands that try to sculpt fabric just as you do; unsuccessfully. The three of us girls grew up wearing the products of your labour and skill; finely smocked dresses which undoubtedly ended up covered in dog hair and grass stains.

You and I have exactly the same Irish eyes, which you share with a sister; as I do. A pale sky blue like the bottom of the town lido where you'd sometimes set me free in the summertime.

And my trail-blazing big sister. You are my itchy feet. I grew up receiving your postcards from far-flung places in our rural mailbox where starlings nested. All the way from Pakistan, Iran, and Iceland you'd write. I didn't recognise you when you returned. Skin tanned from travel, your rucksack years older and full of trinkets from the world. At seventeen, I could feel my wings wanting to flap right then.

As a small child you would gather stones from our driveway, carefully putting them in mum's preserving jars and keeping them under the bathroom sink. Now I find myself on beaches and islands, on the other side of the world, picking stones to add to my collection. Next to my bathroom sink.

And I can't forget my other big sister who I spent so much of my childhood looking up to, my neck now aches. You are the ever-limber dancer's muscles that act like strings, keeping us all together. The constant and reassuring hand on my shoulder which props me up when times are hard.

And now this family has two tiny girls who join this feminine history. With the same big blue eyes, they learn from each of us. Wearing the beautiful flowery smocked dresses that inevitably end up covered in dog hair and grass stains.