I got this voicemail from my dad. “Hi Suzanne, there’s this important Anniversary I need to tell you about, please call me back.”

Aunt Joanne’s stories were peppered with the names of famous people who’d graced her path and the fabulous places she’d been.

When I am out watching the kids trick-or-treating in our neighborhood, I'll be on the lookout for the ghost of Mabel Monohan.

“Mom,” he says, “I thought you’d be more emotional.” “Well, I’m feeling pretty good about all this,” I reply, “My job is done."

My father has never been one for face-to-face communication, but he always did know how to make a statement.

We attempted to surf the sand like Aladdin on magic carpets before taking our new kick-boards out to the foaming blue ocean.

My stomach turned as the wheel spun, the ball bouncing over blurred black and red numbers, this money he was risking was two month’s rent.

Truth is, I wasn’t always the best mother. In some ways it is amazing he and I made it out alive.

“God saved you once, I don’t know that you’ll get another chance.” But I let the screen door slam behind me, invincible.

Mom loved the idea that, if I married Finn, I might not only get married in the Catholic church, but she’d also have Catholic grandchildren.