All women in my family carry blue eyes fluctuating in shade. My sister and I are the products of opposite gene pools, except for the shimmering blue eyes occupying our contradicting faces.

My sister’s eyes are like the cloud-free sky on a summer day. Compared to her dirty blond hair that cascades in paper thin sheets, her eyes sparkle like new diamond earrings yet to be worn. Through times of heartache, they have shed tears over lost loves. Yet they manage to shed the tears of happiness at the sound of her daughter’s first word. Like her, they carry a world’s worth of emotion.

My eyes are the lightest and brightest of my family. When the sunshine hits them, they carry bewitching powers that shine in swirls of baby blue spirals. They are carefree like drifting the day away on a boat cruising around a lake. Like me, my eyes float through the stresses of life like an unoccupied pool float.

My mom’s eyes are a deep blue like water at the depths of an ocean. Her eyes sparkle during times of joy—the birth of her first grandchild, high school graduations, the birthdays of her three children. Yet they glaze into a matted haze during crises—the death of her father, the loss of our dog, her childrens’ heartbreak.

My mom’s eyes are the warmth I seek after a day at school—comforting and caring. Like her, they are the calm before the storm of a protective mama bear.  

All women in my family carry blue eyes fluctuating in shade—watching as life passes like the withering waves of water. Don’t blink—you’ll miss the best part.