On behalf of my father Ron and family I want to welcome you for joining us in celebrating my mothers life. As I look around I see many of you who gave me the privilege of attending your loved
ones funerals and I thank you for being here and honoring my mother today.

 While my mother was a bit koo koo, she was a
loving grandmother to my daughter Jackie and my niece Miranda and great grandmother to my grand-children Kalina, Lucas and Jo-jo. 

She loved to write, sing, and shop for a good deal and I think she single handedly saved the home shopping club from bankruptcy. If there’s Kohls in heaven I’m sure she was there today picking out just the right thing to wear to be with us.

While growing up she’d tell me stories about living in Ohio during the depression and how her family was so dirt poor that they had to sneak her out of the hospital after she was born. She spent
many years of her life volunteering for charity and collecting for the heart fund, cancer research and other organizations. 

She was a campfire leader and  for my sister’s troop and loved doing arts and crafts with the girls. 

Despite telling me she wasn't ready for a second child when I was born, she still found some time to be a mother to me.

My mother thought she was Dorthy in the Wizard of Oz and when my wife Letcia first met her in Las Vegas she was dressed just like Dorthy right down to the braids in hair, 

We will miss her whimsical spirt, her singing in take comfort she has joined her past loved ones and hopes she finds happiness over the rainbow.

Miranda’s Memories of Her Nana
Dear Nana, 

Well, Nana, you really did it. Look at all these people here for you today.

And honestly, I can’t help but laugh, because you would’ve eaten this up. A whole day about you? You probably would’ve insisted it be made a national holiday. I can just hear you now: “Finally, someone’s doing things right.”

 And Nana, just so you know—I even wore this hat today. A hat! You know I never wear hats. But I did it because I knew it would make you smile. You had a hat for every single day of the year. It was your signature. You didn’t just wear them—you made a whole fashion moment out of them. And today felt like it needed one of those moments. 

 Let’s be honest, Nana—you weren’t just known, you were a whole production. You didn’t enter a room; you announced yourself. With a laugh that bounced off the walls, a wink that could stop traffic, and that unforgettable presence that just pulled people in.

 You didn’t just walk through life—you danced through it, leaving glitter and loud opinions wherever you went. You were an incurable flirt, a serial greeter of cashiers, and an actual five-star celebrity at Kohl’s. I’m convinced they kept the lights on just for you.

Part 1 B Miranda’s memories

God forbid I wandered more than five feet away—“Where’s my granddaughter?!” you’d yell across the store like I was lost in the jungle. Because keeping me close wasn’t just about safety—it was your way of protecting me from the world. And protect me you did.

 You made strangers feel like family and made sure your actual family knew we were loved—loudly, and often. You loved your grandkids like we were your own children. You prayed for us, rooted for us, worried for us, bragged about us to strangers in line.

 You went to temple and listed our names like we were up for Oscars. And every night, you’d pray that we were healthy, happy, safe, and—let’s be real—married off to someone Jewish.

 “Especially you,” you’d say, eyeing me. Well, I hate to break it to you, Nana—that one’s still in the works. But maybe from up there, you can pull a few strings.

 You were my best friend, passenger princess since I drove better than you and my personal bodyguard in fuzzy slippers. You knew I was being raised by a single mom, and you made it your mission to fill my world with double the love. You wanted me to have the best of the best—not because you were trying to spoil me, but because in your eyes, I deserved it. And honestly? I did. (Thanks, Nana.)

Part 2 
You tried to teach me Yiddish, but let’s just say the educational materials were a bit… limited. Somehow, I knew how to call someone a shmuck before I could even tie my shoes. I’m not sure I learned a single polite word, but I definitely learned how to roast someone in two syllables or less.

 And you called me a stinker all the time—probably because I was always testing your patience. But you secretly loved it. You were the only adult I knew who could outplay a kid. We had our own little world full of inside jokes and pranks. It was magical.

 And speaking of magic—or maybe a magic trick—remember when you tried to cut my bangs?  And somehow, they ended up almost non-existent? Like poof! gone. You looked at me like, “They’ll grow back!” But after that, I officially ended your career as my hair stylist. That was your last client. No tip.

 Still, your love showed up in every corner of my life. Like when my stuffed animal’s foot ripped and you sewed it up the same day, because you couldn’t stand to see me sad.

 Or the way you made me a whole chocolate cake for my birthday—so proud—only to find out I don’t even like chocolate cake. You didn’t get mad. You just laughed and said, “More for me.” Honestly, I think you made it for yourself from the start.

 And your birthday voicemails… those were the best gifts of all. You sang with everything you had—no shame, no filter, just pure love. I’ll miss those voicemails forever. I like to think you’re still singing now, just from a little higher up.

Part 3
And Nana—how could I forget—the tattoo drama. You hated them. HATED them. You’d see mine and gasp like I’d vandalized the Torah. “Why would you do that to your beautiful skin?” you’d say, clutching your pearls.

 You tried every bribe in the book: “I’ll buy you those boots you wanted—just please, don’t get another one.” Or, “Lunch is on me if you promise that’s your last.”

 And once, I told you, “Nana, maybe I’ll get a tattoo in memory of you.” You rolled your eyes, sighed like I’d broken your heart, and said, “Please don’t.” Not even death could change your opinion on tattoos—and honestly, I love you even more for that.  

 So here’s to you—my Nana. The woman who made checkout lanes feel like parties, who turned bedtime prayers into Broadway monologues, and who loved with a fierceness I’ll never stop feeling. This day—your day—is for you. I know you’re somewhere up there with your mom, reunited at last, probably gossiping and shaking your heads at all of us. I hope you feel the love pouring out of this room.

 We love you forever. Keep rooting for us. This isn’t the last goodbye. I will see you again and until then I love you And maybe—just maybe—put in a good word about that nice Jewish man, okay? With all my heart, Your little stinker - Miranda

The poem I read at your funeral service 
Part 2

Two spirits reunited, no more time lost—
Holding each other no matter the cost.

Though we had our moments, as mothers and daughters do,
She still tried her best to be there and push through.
In her final weeks, I gave her my care,
Held her hand tightly, just to be there.

She was a fighter, wild and bold,
With a karmic soul, rich and old.
Her journey was winding, her love ever true—
And her spirit still dances in all that we do.

So here’s to my mother—flawed, fierce, and grand,
With a shopping bag in one hand and strength in the other hand.
She gave me her laughter, her fire, her song—
And though she is gone, her love lives on.

When I was a girl, with a troop by my side,
She led our campfires with laughter and pride.
With stories and songs under star-sprinkled skies,
She taught me to stand tall, to be strong, to be wise.

She said, “Don’t take no”—and oh, did she mean it!
She’d return anything, and always would win it.
With a stare and a smile, she’d conquer the floor,
She truly believed she owned every store.

She loved to act, and she’d steal every scene,
As Ado Annie in Oklahoma!—lively and keen.
She’d dance to Soul Train, stay up half the night,
Watching Nancy Grace ’til the morning light.

Before online shopping was a thing on the rise,
She was buying through TV with sparkle in her eyes. QVC, HSN—she knew every deal,
Because shopping, to her, was a way she could heal.

Every store we walked in, she’d proudly declare:
“This is my daughter!”—she made sure they were aware. And if I wandered off? She’d shout out my name, Because keeping me safe was more than a game.

We’d ride our bikes through Reseda’s streets,
No car? No problem—just pedals and beats.
With wind in our hair and laughter our song,
Those little rides helped our bond grow strong.

She wasn’t a chef, that much is true,
Spaghettios and takeout always came through.
But she fed me with love, in her own special way,
And I never went hungry at the end of the day.

When Miranda arrived, her heart overflowed,
Her love for my child endlessly showed.
She danced with her, laughed, even learned how to twerk— Who knew that Grandma still had that perk?

Her hair was long—down to her tuches, she’d say,
And she wore it in braids in the most playful way.
Just like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz,
She made it her look, and she wore it with cause.

She was the soul of the party, a bold, vibrant spark,
With a laugh that would echo and light up the dark.
She talked to her mother who left far too soon,
Wishing and wondering beneath every moon.

She missed her so dearly, since she was just twenty,
And now I pray they’re together, catching up plenty.

I have tansformed your guest bedroom into a Wizard of Oz magical place woth your treasures, the poster Jackie made for your funeral and reception amd had the two other AI photos with you as Dorothy made into 11x14s. I know you’re looking down from above and loving it. Sorry we didn’t do this while you were alive.

I know you’re going to love your Memorial Service and Celebration of Life reception today. Your granddaughter Jackie has worked hard to make it very special. We’re happy that you didn’t have to suffer for too long and went peacefully to see the thr Wizard. You’ll be in our hearts forever.

My mother has always loved toys. She was thrilled to add this one to her collection.  She had never heard of “Mensch on a Bench” or that the creator had been on Shark Tank several times. However she loves being the center of attention and frequently goes into stores singing to whoever will listen as well as reciting rhyming poems to the cashiers and sales personnel. Rather than be mortified, I usually pretend that I simply do not know this gregarious woman. Happy to be living in the shadows of my mom, brother and Tik Tok famous, social influencer daughter Miranda Lapkin.

I'm sorry for the loss of your Mother. I'm grateful to her for creating one of my best friends, Gail, who grew up to be a caring, compassionate individual. Gail then created her beautiful daughter, Miranda, who fortunately has Gail's wonderful traits.

OBITUARY

Ann B. Levine

November 10, 1936 – June 14, 2025

Groman Eden Mortuary & Eden Memorial Park

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