My mom... her and her family...

After reading long island dad's post about his grandfathers I started to think about my family and grandparents. A colorful clan I have here and will probably bore you with it but the thoughts are bouncing around my head.

My mom's parents both died before she turned 18.

Her dad was in the Army for many years and fought in Korea and I know there is more to his time in the service but my mom's quest to get his records seem to be for not. She has tried for years but there is always a reason given as to why she can't have them. The last one was that there was a fire in the corner of the storage room where his records were kept. This leads us to wonder if he was in special ops or some other top secret clearance and we will never really know. As my mom grew up her dad built their house from his own two hands. She shares the details with us and how proud he was. He also worked on cars and when he died he was restoring a chevel (sic) for her. Apparently he was a stern man insisting on absolute perfect manners always and at the dinner table you'd get the back of the butter knife to the knuckles if you were out of line. Military man or just strict? On the flip side he was very musical and played the guitar. Apparently he and my grandmother performed on the radio back in the day. He played and she sang. After leaving the service he drove a bus for the city of Pittsburgh. One day as he was preparing to return to the terminal he had a heart attack. He was taken to the hospital and never really recovered. He passed when my mom was about 15. He died in the hospital that I later gave birth to my kids in. I thought of him, like a circle of life thought.

My mom's mom, a few years after his passing, found out she had pancreatic cancer. My mom cared for her and watched her whither away and suffer. She was a woman who loved to laugh and sing and bake. I know I would have loved her. LOL. She died when my mom was 17. That left my mom in the care and guardianship of my great-grandmother (her paternal grandmother.)

My great-grandmother's name was Angela and my name-sake. She was, on the outside, a classy lady. Always dressed to the 9's (as they would say) and with her hair always fixed. A tough lady she lived in the city in a large boarding house. She died at the age of 85 from lung cancer and Art Rooney Sr. attended her funeral. Even at age 11 I remember seeing him with an unlit stoggie in his mouth. Later in my life the significance of him being there becomes an interesting mystery. In the last 6 years I have learned that back in the day my great-grandmother was a high-priced call girl who ended up running the boarding house and perhaps ladies in the large building? A lot is a mystery as was her life and how many times she really was married. So if she was a high-priced call girl, why was that well-known man at her funeral I wonder. Enough speculation. I do know my mom regrets naming me after her now. LOL. Heck it wasn't her idea, my dad said something stupid like 'if this baby is a girl and born on your birthday we'll name her Angela.' I must have liked the name because I was born on her birthday.

My mother had a rough life growing up. She ended up eloping with my father at the age of 17 and her older brother scared the heck out of her when she flew from PA to CA where my dad had moved to. She lived in hiding for a few weeks until she realized her brother was just trying to scare her. After she turned 18 they married. They are celebrating 40 years this August. My mom is a tough lady but kind and so giving. She lives with the notion that tomorrow might never come (like her parents who died so young) so you have to enjoy every moment. I gleened that from her. We talk every day, sometimes more than once a day. She is the one person I look up to the most. I truly love my mom.