As she lay quietly on her bed, the thick August air puffing through the cracks in the window sill and filling the room with its sticky heat, I imagine her craning her feeble neck from the pillow. She is straining her ear closer and closer to the whisper of a breeze, listening - hoping - to hear the sweet song of her sisters in the cities and country towns. The song of opportunity given, at long last. I imagine her smiling and resting her head back again as she sighs relief over the victory of a 72 year battle. And Charlotte Woodward Pierce spoke softly, "I was at the first meeting held at Seneca Falls, when I was but a young girl, little knowing the broad field awaiting laborers."

She was the last living member of that first meeting; the last living woman to have signed a declaration for liberation - for equality. For the right to vote. And here, 96 years after that right was won by our Sisters of the past, we stand tall as individuals of this world. We are welcome and free to make our way in society as independent beings, uninhibited by many of the strict social constraints characteristic of the vast majority of our country's history.

You may smirk with a comment ready regarding issues of equal pay for equal work, female hiring percentages, or sports coverage. Yes, I agree - there are some lacking areas, but let us focus on the joy of what has been achieved! On August 18, 1920 the 19th Amendment was passed and accepted as a permanent fixture in our Constitution, allowing women a place in the realm of men. Giving more than a place, but rather acknowledgment of human existence.

The Seneca Falls Convention, held in July of 1848, was the first stepping stone. Charlotte remembers of the event, "I do not believe there was any community anywhere in which the souls of some women were not beating their wings in rebellion. . . ." She drove over 40 miles, accompanied by as many of her friends as could fit in the democrat wagon, to the convention and was met by the sight of women in an exhilarating crowd and - shockingly enough - roughly 50 men seeking admittance to the event. The change had already begun, women were already being accepted - even if only by this small number - by men.

When, over seventy years after the young Charlotte was inspired by the voices of Lucretia Mott and Elizabeth Cady Stanton, the Vote was finally won, she was asked if she would vote. But at 91 years old, with ill health and her eyesight fast fading, she knew that she would never have the opportunity to make good on her long sought after dream. Her final words on the matter were simply, "My heart is with all women who vote. They have gained it now, and they should not quarrel about the method of using it."

There is no existing voting record for one Charlotte L. Pierce in the next election year - 1924. This thought alone gives me a mixed sense of both loss and pride - not one woman from the Seneca Falls Convention ever saw the fruit of their bravery and passion. Their vision, the fruition of which has been life giving to innumerable shifts in our society to the betterment of women, was never realized in their life time. All but one were gone long before the dream became a reality - and even she was forced to stay on this side of the Jordan and only watch as her sisters marched proudly into the Promised Land.

They, the strong and determined 68 women who signed the Declaration of Sentiments at Seneca Falls, committed themselves to the improvement of society - not for themselves, but for me. For my sisters. For my dearest friends. In the year 2016 I can choose on some quickly approaching November day to walk to the nearest voting booth, with my head high and no fear in my heart and say "I choose this one." I can even choose to stay home with a book, a cup of tea, and no pants.

You see, don't you, that the choice is ours because they obtained it for us? And think - just imagine with me for a moment - the glorious day when we can look about ourselves and see that our words, our actions, our decisions and demands were the turning point for equality in society. When we can say that our fight bought social acceptance for our daughters - and our sons. That we influenced humans to live as humans, to love as humans, to be peaceable and just.

No, I am not the next Lucretia Mott.

I am not the next Elizabeth Stanton.

I am not the next Charlotte Woodward Pierce.

I am not the next anyone - I am the first Rebekah Ann Smith.

And you - dear, dear sister. You are the first of your kind. And together? We're going to heal this broken world of ours.