My good friend G’s mother passed away yesterday. She was 92.
I met G’s mom when G, JennBo and I went to D.C. for some KPMG tax training. Was it really over ten years ago? Sheesh.
The best part of that trip was meeting G’s family: G’s very BIG, very ITALIAN family. Some were alarming, in a fun and nonthreatening way, of course. (Confirmed: G takes after his dad.) But overall the G clan was a warm and loving bunch.
I remember G’s mom as being in the kitchen, which is how I remember my grandmother and pretty much every woman in my family. So it felt like home. And meatballs. There was something about meatballs. Either she was making them or we were talking about them or several of us were eating them, perhaps all of the above. Meatballs and the making thereof have always been a mystery to me so it kind of stands out. That, and the search for a specific Yellow Cab, which we never did find. But that is a G’s Dad story for another day.
G sent me a message to hug my mom. I pass his words of wisdom on to you:
HUG YOUR MOM. NOW.
You are in my thoughts, G, along with your dad and the other G and D and A and all of your kooky and loving brothers and sisters. Much love, Sheila.