My grandmother passed away yesterday. She went the way she always told us she wanted to - in her own home (“The only way I’m leaving this house is feet first!” as she always liked to say). She had no live in help, and she still managed to drive herself around until fairly recently. She survived her husband of 50 years, Silverio, and two of her children, John and Vincent. She is survived by her two daughters, Therese and Maria, eleven grandchildren: Maria, Vincent, me, Nicole, Vinny, Bianca, Jenna, Nicholas, Brianna, Grace, and John Heidt, and her great grandson, Bobby Jr. She loved gambling, bowling, detective stories, the Yankees, cooking and entertaining. I always looked forward to holidays at her house because there would always be a huge party in the garage and family everywhere and never enough chairs but somehow always leftover food. She baked us cakes in the shapes of all our favorite superheroes and princesses and cartoon characters. My cousins and I will always have memories of the inevitable Avon Christmas Gifts of varying levels of functionality that we all always pretended to like. Until a few years ago, she was what my mother would call a “bingo smoker” which meant she could smoke an entire Doral 100 in two drags, because you have to be able to suck down a whole cigarette before your numbers get called. She loved her beautiful home in Acworth but she was a New Yorker through and through. Every time I played a show in New York she would tell me, “tell Brooklyn Gracie says hello!” I still remember the red cellar doors on her house in Bensonhurst, and I’ll always remember my cousins and I running around her yard in Acworth, bruising my ass falling out of the tree, my grandpa taking us fishing in his rowboat, and feeding the stale bread to the ducks.
I spoke to her on Easter Sunday, the day before she passed away. Our conversation was short, but I wished her a happy Easter, and the last thing she said to me was, “You always think of me. I love you, I love you, I love you!” I had no idea that would be the last thing she’d say to me but I’m glad it was. Ciao, Grandma, I love you too.
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