The motor of the Singer sewing machine sounded like the engine of a truck, a loud sound that vibrated my table. Its yellowish surface with all the scratches from use showed its age—over thirty-six years of ownership. I was impressed that it lasted so long and that it still works! Old stuff was built to last. I brushed the fuzz, oiled the bobbin case, wiped the exterior clean, and began to stitch. Aunt Mary lent me this sewing machine when I was an undergraduate at Valdosta State University. I used it to sew and earn a little pocket money. After graduation, I returned it, only to receive it again years later when her eyesight failed and she could no longer use it. This sewing machine has now become my heirloom in memory of her.

Aunt Mary’s old Singer, now my heirloom.

Aunt Mary, my father’s sister, was a kind and courageous woman. She followed her husband to a new country, built a life from scratch, and raised her children there. When I arrived in the United States, she welcomed me into her home and helped me adapt to a new culture that felt overwhelming and foreign. She guided me when I lost my way, comforted me when I was hurting, and encouraged me to strive for my best. My father entrusted her with my care, confident that I would be in good hands during a time when I, too, was starting a new life from scratch.

Aunt Mary (left) with my parents in Greece.

I flew from Greece to Jacksonville, Florida, in August 1990 with a single suitcase and two hundred dollars in my pocket. My aunt and uncle met me at the airport, and I spent three months in their home in St. Augustine. In those early days, I missed home and everything around me was unfamiliar. But my aunt made the transition easier. I remember when she took me on a two-week trip to Tarpon Springs, a Greek community of sponge divers. She introduced me to St. Augustine’s Greek American community, their Greek dances and festivals. Their way of speaking, a mixture of Greek and American, sounded funny to me: words like “caro” for “car.”  

Aunt Mary and I dressed for the Greek Night. I had sewn my dress on her Singer.

Every afternoon, we walked around the neighborhood, although I was always a few steps behind. I still moved at the slower pace of my hometown, Rovies. Aunt Mary reminded me, “Here we walk faster, for exercise.” She taught me American habits, like showering every day. Back home, bathing was a luxury because it meant heating water in buckets over the fireplace.

During those three months, I went everywhere with her: to the nearby Publix for groceries, the St. Photios Shrine where she sometimes worked, and restaurants where we would share meals. I used her sewing machine to sew new sheer curtains for her living room, and I helped her with cooking and house chores. In the afternoons, we sipped Greek coffee while crocheting and telling stories about our family in Rovies. Sometimes, we would have coffee at a Greek friend’s house and watch soap operas. In the evenings, we watched movies together.

Aunt Mary shows off the sheer curtains I made for her living room.

Throughout my college years, I spent every Christmas break with my aunt and uncle. They always made the holiday feel special, giving me a gift and preparing a delicious meal before I returned to campus. I still remember the wonder of the first Christmas. I had never seen so many gifts gathered under the tree. Back home, Christmas was simple, and gifts were practical things like a bottle of lemon-scented cologne, socks, or pantyhose because money was scarce. My first Christmas gift from them was a book titled One World Many Cultures by Stuart Hirschberg. Its essays about the cultural differences and experiences spoke to me about my own journey between two worlds.

As I grew familiar with American customs, I learned a lot—sometimes by making mistakes. My aunt understood where I came from and knew that all this new freedom could be confusing and misleading, especially since she grew up in a similar tight-knit, traditional family. She was always there to guide me and help me become an independent woman who made thoughtful, respectful decisions.

When I graduated in June 1995, she was right there cheering me on. She was so proud that I earned a college degree, the only one in my immediate family to do so. Before I returned home, she and her family gave me a green set of luggage as a parting gift. Thirty-one years later, I still travel with this luggage.

When I returned to the United States in 2002, I married someone I had known since my college years. My aunt immediately liked him and spoke highly of him to my parents, who had never met him. She welcomed him into our family with the same love she had always shown me, and, of course, she treated him to plenty of Greek food. Her approval meant a lot to me because my parents trusted her judgment from afar.

In her later years, aunt Mary’s life was full of grandchildren and great-grandchildren. She had planted her own family tree in a new country. She passed away peacefully at ninety-one. She had lived a long, meaningful life shaped by experiences in two homelands. She was a strong, brave, and loving woman. Her kindness and love touched my life in countless ways. Each time I thread her old Singer sewing machine, I am reminded of her. I will surely miss her.