…would have been 83 years old today, if she were still alive. But she died in April 2000, and so all I have today are memories of the love she gave me when very few others in my family could or would. I miss her mostly because she would have liked the person I am today but also because she would have loved my children, one of whom was barely three years old when she died, the other born nine days after what would have been her 77th birthday. My grandfather called her “Hon,” her birth name was Anunciata, her grandchildren called her “Gammy,” and I always loved her more than I seemed to be able to let her know. I like to think she had some idea, though, and, in some sense, I believe she knows that I’m okay these days, too. Namaste.