Steve wrote this tribute to my mom on his mailings today. We both thought it was too good not to share with everyone on my Blog.

So I guess that is just the first part of our long summer that is just ending. Ending with the summer is the commands I used to hear as I came in the door to hurry up and sit down in the kitchen and have a cup of coffee that was already just fresh poured for me. Also ending is my tip
toeing past the baked goods that were always on hand, so I would not gain too much weight with each visit. I know I will never hear her tell me how I am her favorite son in law, because I take care of Fran so well. Of course I will not hear her say that to Mike, because he takes care of Roz, or to Randy, because he takes care of Amy. We were all her favorites, and we all felt loved by her.
My days of playing pinochle, partnered with Dad against Ma and Fran, and my days of complaining when she forgot what she was doing and played the wrong suit, that is ended to, along with the smile on her face when she had a good hand, and knew that there was nothing we could do to stop her. I will also miss that same smile when she set a verbal trap for Dad, just before giving him a good blast for leaving wet coffee on the table, or some other such thing.
Jo has tried to fill in making pasta for Sundays, and we had pasta, sitting at the same tables, this time out on Jr and Jo’s driveway on a wonderful sunny Sunday, but it was just not the same. The pasta was just as good, and the meatballs and spaghetti were close enough for me to not notice the difference, and the sauce was great. Dad still made the salad, and still left huge pieces of garlic in it. The oil bread that Megan made was the same as the oil bread that Ma made.
But we did not have to wait for Ma to finish serving everyone, and then herd her to the table as she tried to get a start on the dishes. We did not have her telling us that it just was not the same, that too many people were missing, that the group of twenty gathered around for Sunday pasta was just not enough people for her. (I was afraid sometimes that we might have to go into traffic, stop cars, and get strangers to come in and share the meal).
So an era of overcooked pasta, hot salad, incredible familyship and fellowship, and Ma’s smile ended with the summer, but her memory will keep everyone that knew her warm for many years to come.
Hey Ma, this one is to you . . .

S