I don’t think a day goes by that I don’t think of my grandmother, Rosemary. She was just a force of loving-kindness. I can only hope to leave half the mark on the world that she did in her 66 years. So many of the qualities I like about myself come from her.

And she was funny… oh my god, what a sense of humor she had. And she loved to laugh. Her eyes had this crinkly sparkle that could disarm any curmudgeon. She’d make friends everywhere she went.

One time, when she was taking the Amtrack to visit us from Buffalo, NY, the train ran into some, I guess you could say, “delays.” In actuality, the last car, the one she was on, uncoupled from the rest of the train. Her car stopped, and the train kept going. Needless to say, she was pretty late arriving at Croton-Harmon Station in Westchester County. She exited the train no worse for wear, greeted us all with a hug and a kiss, and proceeded to regale us with stories about “James,” and “Duane,” and “Cindy,” and whoever else she shared the adventure with (I don’t remember the actual names, but you get the gist — they were all on a first-name basis, at least for their extended journey that should’ve taken 7 hours but took more like 11. That was Rosie.

When she was sick with cancer, and we’d talk on the phone, I’d ask how she was, and she’d be more interested in how we were. I remember one of the last times I saw her: I visited her in Buffalo and had my father’s car. She asked me to drive her to one of her radiation treatments. Of course, on the way home, we just HAD to stop at the hardware store to get some “Gizmo” for her washing machine (I believe it was a belt) so that my grandfather wouldn’t have to go get it. I guess she thought he’d be busy repairing the machine enough, so she would do her part.

One time, many years before, my sister and her boyfriend wanted to go to Niagra Falls, about an hour drive from Gram’s house. She was giving directions and they were going all over the place, “You take this one, and that one, then you go over this bridge and turn right at the gizmo… you know what, I’ll just go with you.” We had a lot of fun.

Another time she was visiting us and asked my sister to drive her to Caldor’s. “Why you wanna go to Caldor’s, Gram?”
“To get a microwave.”
“Why do you want to get a microwave?”
“To heat my pizza.”
You see, even in the early 90s, we didn’t have a microwave, so she bought us one.

Rosie had 8 children, countless nieces and nephews, brothers, sisters, and at least a score of grandchildren. She somehow managed to make everyone feel like he or she was their favorite.

She departed this earthly realm on September 30, 1994. 30 years ago. I was 17. It was brutal and devastating and the first real loss I ever experienced. And it was a big one.

I feel her in my heart every day, and I know that every time I make a stranger feel better with a kind word and a smile, or I make one of my hundreds of students feel seen and cared about, I am spreading her love throughout the world.

She was, is, and forever will be: Love.