My grandmother, Liza Gottlieb, died last night. In typical Liza fashion, as in not to be outdone, she died in cheeky unison with the Chelsea bomb explosion and on the same day of the same month on which my dad died (in case we were planning to forget her to grieve for my dad, of whom she was always dismissive). But seriously, this woman made me everything that I am (the great things and even the shitty things), she was a force of nature, to be awed by and/or reckoned with. She was so immeasurably important to me and will never stop having my whole heart. It’s absurd since obviously this is mostly good news given her recent suffering and her ancientness but a piece of me died with her, even though my promise to her was that I’d take her with me. As a younger woman, she was such a funny, intense, loving, hateful, dignified, ascerbically critical, demanding, generous, compassionate, stylish, capable, playful woman. She had nerve. This presented itself as effrontery, protectiveness, audacity, and even flirtiness. She was a total firecracker so it makes sense that she went out with (as in alongside) a bang. Sleep well… although that’s just an aburd request…since you never did sleep well, and you’d be just incensed to be impulsively encouraged to…and since it’s like I’m pretending that I have the power to will a state that mandates itself.