On Mothers� Day. My poor dad.

You know, my mom died the very day before her 50th birthday, forever sealing her fate as a �forty-something� instead of a �fifty-year-old.� Apparently, no one in my family can just die on some random day � there has to be some sort of message or significance.

Buncha showoffs.

I haven�t accepted that my grandma�s gone. In fact, we stayed in her condo in Pittsburgh during the funeral and all that goes along, and it was extremely difficult for me to accept that I wouldn�t come down the stairs and find her, drinking her OJ, smoking a ciggie, and doing a crossword, like I�ve seen her a zillion times before.

You should see her obituary. I forgot how amazing her life was.

At the age of 13, a troupe of dancers lied about her age so she could join them and tour, performing professionally in New Mexico. She danced and did acrobatics � and made good money for a woman her age at that time � until she met my grandfather, a professional drummer with the Big Bands. This was all in the Big Band/Swing Era. He was Jewish, she was Catholic, but they got married anyway and moved to Kentucky, where my dad, his brother, and sister were born.

Eventually, they settled in Pittsburgh, where they decided to go into business for themselves. They got involved with Tupperware, and ran the most successful distributorship in the area. I have memories of playing in a warehouse just FULL of freaking Tupperware. Yeah, I played with containers and lids growing up. No wonder I�m such a weirdo.

I remember not liking my grandma that much growing up. I liked her okay, but she was bossy and crabby and my sister and I would talk about her when she wasn�t around.

And then I grew up.

And she and I became friends. I found out my grandma was truly, hysterically funny. She did that thing people tend to do when they�re older, where they decide life�s getting short and there�s no time for tact and they�re just going to SAY IT. (When my sister and I were both living with our boyfriends, there was the famous incident where she informed us that we were �free milk.� We still joke about that one.)

She�s always been a smoker and a bit of a lush. Unapologetic � the best kind. Must be where I got it. She loved Christmas best because every year we�d all get together and my aunt�s house, eat a gourmet meal, and drink and smoke and dance and sing oldies until 2 a.m. (Wholesome, huh? Don�t judge.) She loved nothing more than being surrounded by her family. She�d laugh and dance and give silly presents.

My favorite memory is when she traveled to the Keys to visit before her annual stay in her Pompano Beach time share, and we had a great time. She stayed with Neal and me, and it was during that trip that she and Neal became buddies forever. They looked out for each other. She hung out in the Keys for a while, then we drove with her up to Pompano Beach for the weekend. She took us to this great restaurant that offered insanely cheap meals as long as you were checked in by 6 p.m. (Unfortunately, she forgot to tell us there was a deadline, and we�re like, �God, Grandma! Quit rushing us! We�re coming!� It made sense later.)

She ordered a whole lobster. And gleefully ate the entire thing. I don�t know where she put it, since she was always, always skinny as a rail.

I miss her. A lot. I all ready miss my mom so badly, that I didn�t know I even had ROOM to miss someone else.

Apparently, I do.