Eleanor was more than mother — she was my friend. And she was a grandmother to my girls. Some days I miss her more than my own mother. The memories I have of her are ‘fresher’ — more real — less traumatic.

She was funny as hell. When I first married my husband (the younger of 2 brothers) she told me, “Never believe them when they tell you ‘One time won’t matter’ — that’s how we got Steven!” Steven is my husband’s older brother.

She was a feminist before feminism was cool. She did as she damn well pleased. It made my heart glad when her 3 granddaughters along with her grandson & 2 sons were the pall bearers at her funeral. She would have liked that.

Thank you for reading her story. It’s how we keep them alive, you know? If only just for a bit longer. ❤