It's a chill evening in December 1978, and I'm sitting quietly in the second row of a Bucks County funeral home. My grandmother, my father's mother and the matriarch of our family, has died.
A formidable woman, barely 5 feet tall, Nanoi held her priorities dear. Chief among them were order and cleanliness, quiet and discipline.
Her home, where we often gathered for Sunday dinners, birthdays and holiday celebrations, was always immaculate. Furniture gleamed, doilies were pristine and starched, the leaves on each carefully tended houseplant shone.