STELLA

 CARMELITA ESTRELLITA and I first met at an adult day center where she and I were serving as volunteers. Her fondness for the elders at the center was evident to me right away, and her kind spirit brightened their faces each time she smiled. At the time, I knew little about this tall, long-haired friend of the elders, only that her gentle presence brought light to their days.

After a while, I stopped seeing her there at the center, and I thought perhaps her schedule had changed. It wasn’t until several months later in fall of 2015, during my volunteer shift at the Hospice House, that I found out the reason for her absence. As I made my rounds, I entered a room to find Carmelita nestled quietly in bed. I learned that after a troubled, and ultimately unsuccessful, course of treatment for esophageal cancer, she had decided to enroll in hospice. At just 60 years old, she had found herself in the final months of her life.

During my shift, we took time to catch up. I gave her some updates on our elder friends at the center, and she told me what had transpired in the months since our last meeting. Soon, however, she began to venture into her past, sharing with me her harrowing life journey, a string of abuses, mental health hospitalizations, and feelings of shame and doubt that arose from being a woman born in a man’s body. She recounted tale after tale of discrimination, of abandonment, of deep suffering. As a child, she bounced in and out of mental institutions, not knowing why or for what end. From an early age, she had longed to live as she felt, as female, but those around her had little tolerance for the transgender person. In her lifetime, she had been without home and family, a stranger to the world and to herself.

But it was her response to the suffering in her life, and to the abbreviation of her days, that rekindled the light in her I had seen so often in the presence of our elder friends. In the place of anger and bitterness, she had found purpose, hope, and love. She found the strength to forgive and the courage to smile. She found gratitude. She found family. She found faith.

In the course of our conversation, Carmelita expressed sadness that so little time remained to share with others her discoveries and the messages of hope woven into the tumult of her life story. On her iPhone, she had recorded a poem she composed called “Book of Mine,” the beginning of a project that she hoped would preserve some of her stories for the benefit of others who, like her, have endured suffering in their lives. She said, “I would like to make a book.”

Her request set in motion the project from which the book Little Star has evolved. Deeply moved by the intensity and honesty of the stories she had shared with me, I offered to work with her to make the book a reality. Having designed a number of books in the past, I was very excited to collaborate with her on this—and I was humbled to take on the task of collecting and representing her words (and artwork) in this way.

Over the course of a few months, we met almost weekly in her room at the Hospice House to record her stories and to make art together. Carmelita has loved to write all of her life, and she studied painting in New York and at the University of Virginia. So with art supplies generously given to her by her friends, she put pen to paper and brush to canvas, rendering scenes that are a mix of memory and imagination, as she talked to me about her experiences. We recorded the conversations with her iPhone, which I later transcribed for publication in the book. While she spoke, I also took the opportunity to draw her, as a portrait artist is eager to do, and I have included these sketches in the collection of memories that the book contains.

In the months of our collaboration, I could see the blessings that had inspired the messages Carmelita wished to share with the world. In stark contrast to the abandonment she had experienced early in her life, a steady stream of friends and family ebbed in and out of her hospice room, sometimes carrying her out to her favorite places around Charlottesville, other times releasing surges of tears and laughter as they mended old wounds or remembered times of joy. From her bed, she was even able to stay connected to the elder community with which she had formed such a strong bond. She continued to show her support for a local initiative called Friends of Elders, a group of volunteers dedicated to eliminating loneliness, isolation, and abuse of older adults in the community. And in the midst of the turmoil she endured in the months following her diagnosis, she had even found the love of her life, a friend who stood by her side through it all. What she had longed for in all those years of suffering seemed to blossom in this last chapter of her story.

But I also could see the fears and the distress that naturally attends confrontation with one’s mortality. She had nightmares and sensations of immanent death. She described the ways in which her body was beginning to lag behind her conviction to be and to love in the world. She lamented the impending loss of the relationships that had enriched her life so deeply in the past few years. Thus, entwined in her messages of love and forgiveness are inevitable insecurities that death cannot but evoke in us all. But she did find some solace in her friendships and her faith in God. She found hope, too, in the sense of purpose that our project had given her.

Carmelita impressed upon me that she would like her messages to reach others who face struggles in their own lives. She said, “I think I’m already making this book by the people I’ve talked to and the people that come in here—it’s had a good effect on people.” From my point of view, I see this is true, and Little Star is yet another way to spread the seeds of goodness she has sown so far. It is a snapshot of her indomitable spirit, a little star whose light will shine when that of her body has faded.

One of the most moving accounts contained in this book is the story of the bond that Carmelita formed with her aunt at end of her life through a shared interest in literature. She called their time together “a blessing for both of us.” I feel the same way about the time I have spent with Carmelita. She has opened my eyes to dimensions of suffering I had never understood and to the capacity of the spirit to find beauty in it nevertheless. She showed me the power of forgiveness, which the pages of her book have the potential to awaken in all of us.

–LC, 2017

For more information about Little Star and to order a copy of the book, please email Lauren Catlett at lec2c@virginia.edu.