When I was growing up, my parents opened our house to many, many people. Two of them lived with us for about three years, our foster sisters, Raisa and Mayra Godin. Their parents finally got out of Cuba and came to live in Bethlehem and Raisa and Mayra went on to have lives that didn't include sharing the bathroom with seven other children.

Last weekend, Raisa and Mayra's father, Roberto Godin, died. He lived in Bethlehem with his wife for years, until she died and then he lived in Delaware with Mayra and finally in Philadelphia with Raisa. So where should they have the memorial service?

They chose my parents' living room. So tonight I joined some of my siblings, my foster sisters, their spouses and children, their cousins and aunt, their in-laws, their high school friends and even a nurse from Roberto and Amy's doctor's office to remember a man who loved his family fiercely enough to send them to freedom. If he had not had the courage to do that, I might have had different foster siblings - or none at all - and my life would have been poorer.

It was a lovely memorial service and it was a wonderful meal afterwards, eating my Mom's lasagna and her eggless-milkless chocolate cake and sharing stories, memories and making new friends.

I am grateful that I have the parents I have. I am grateful for my foster sisters. I am grateful to Msgr. Grabish who performed the memorial and for the years he has served the Spanish speaking parishes in the Lehigh Valley. I am grateful that I knew Roberto Godin and his wife, Amy. I am one lucky woman.

Good night.