Three generations plus one reptile
It has been exactly five years since my mom relocated to ethereal ground. Sixty months since she pulled the rip cord on this dodgy mortal aircraft. 260 weeks since she ditched this earthly popsicle stand for one significantly more lovely, much more peaceful, and boasting an even better chocolate and fruit variety.
My mom. My children’s Grandma Lulu. Everyone’s Lucie.
She loved to laugh, debate, and educate, but above all, she loved to snuggle. She also had an amazing spirit of adventure. I mean, check out the iguana she is holding in the above photo. I was not about to hold that thing. It was huge, heavy, and super wiggly.
My mom was the first person in the pool at my wedding. She, in all seriousness, told me someone pushed her in, but, ha! I have proof! A throw-away camera from one of the dinner tables caught her in action. Her feet had just left the ground and were kicked out to the side, arms overhead, big fat smile, definitely no regard to the flowers in her hair that were about to get drenched. I can’t find that pic at the moment, I blame the move(s). When I find it, I’ll share it so you, too, can witness the truth, how she was.
She loved creamy frosting and cold chardonnay. Dry sourdough toast and a once-weekly can of Coke. She would have proudly sported a Bernie Sanders t-shirt to Saturday morning tennis. She was the lion-hearted champion of all underdogs, especially the socialist kind.
My mom. Our Lulu. Lucie. Not a day goes by when I don’t miss her high-spirited, bad-dancing, unfiltered, guffawing self. Tonight, in her honor, let us raise a glass to her magical brand of magnificence. A margarita glass to be specific, for she’d have had it no other way. On the rocks, no salt, except what is in the tears we shed as we snuggle, share stories, and think of her.