When I was young, my mom and I moved to New York to take care of my Nannie who had breast cancer.

My Nan fought like hell, and we spent a good bit of time in Bronxville.

We lived in a one-bedroom apartment, which was part of a big yellow house that had four or six units. I can’t exactly remember. We lived on the second floor.

My mom gave me the room, and she slept on a pullout couch. The story goes, she wanted me to have my privacy, but I think she secretly wanted to be closer to the record player and keep me away from late night TV. She was resourceful that way.

The whole place had wood floors that were always cold in the morning. Our landlord was super cheap, so my mom would wake up early and bang on the radiator with a wrench to get him to turn on the heat. She was bold that way.

My Nannie died at fifty-nine years young. I didn’t understand how young that was until I was much older. She was my first funeral. I cried when they closed her casket. Such an odd way to say goodbye to flowered house dresses and all the complications that go along with family. My mom was devastated by the loss of her mother, but she held the pieces of her family together. She was strong that way.

My mom is going through a tough time right now. Her strength is being tested, and she will need all her resources. I have no doubt that even all these years later she can still smack a wrench on a radiator if she chooses.

Things are bound to get cloudy in the coming weeks and months, but my mom comes from a long line of kick-ass women. I am certain she will do them proud and find her way through on the solid foundation of how far she has come. She is a survivor that way.

My thoughts from the laundry room. Body Pillow.

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