What I Learned From Gammy

1. Always dress nicely
I was packing on Thursday for my grandmother's funeral, pulling pre-maternity clothing out of boxes, trying to squeeze myself into suits that once fit, visiting with blouses and sweaters that I once love, feeling betrayed by the fact that they no longer button. After about an hour of trying to fabricate a decent oufit out of odds and ends, I pulled on a stretchy black skirt and a turquoise sweater set from a million years ago and stared at myself in the mirror. The skirt hadn't really been all that nice when I bought it at least six or seven seasons ago; the sweater set was sort of stretched out and although I vaguely remembered it was stained, I couldn't find the stain in the dim December light. Had it been anyone else's funeral, I would have shrugged, told myself that I'd just given birth a month ago and no one expected me to look that great, and been on my way. But because it was Gammy's funeral, I heard her voice in my head saying, "That's what you're wearing to my funeral??" And so as soon as I arrived in Palm Beach I had my brother drive me to the nearest Ann Taylor. I ran in, leaving him with a screaming baby, and came back out twenty minutes later with an outfit that fit properly.

2. Women can run their own businesses
My grandmother was the first business woman I was ever aware of. She ran a wholesale bead business in the garment district for decades. She was always flying off to Germany and Japan to buy beads, and sometimes when I would visit her in her office on West 38th St. she'd be meeting with customers in a big glassed-in conference room. She had a booming, distinctive voice that would rattle the walls of the room as she pulled on her glasses to inspect various beads, or pushed display cases across the table for customers to view. It all seemed very important and glamorous, but never so important that she didn't have time for me. She kept a big tin of beads in her office for me to play with, and let me run around in the stock room in back. one of my favorite memories from my childhood is the way that stock room smelled, like a combination of dust and cardboard. It was dimly lit and held rows and rows of plain boxes filled with beads. I loved to pull open the boxes because you never knew what kind of beautiful bead you might turn up.

3. Be generous
Gammy was always sending us an endless stream of presents. As a kid I used to think the UPS man worked for her. I remember the sound the truck would make as it pulled up to our quiet suburban house. It would idle in the driveway like a little piece of Manhattan right in our front yard, and the UPS man would hop out with a surprise package. Sometimes the packages were for me or my brother, sometimes she'd sent several pieces of jewelry for my mother to chose from. The arrival of the UPS truck was always the highlight of my week. To this day, when I see a UPS truck I think of Gammy.

4. Never wear fake jewelry

5. Put your stockings on one leg at a time

6. Always be glamorous

7. You can never be too happy to see someone
Gammy always made me feel like my phone call, my visit, my appearance in a room was the highlight of her year. It wasn't until her funeral that I realized she made everyone feel that way. Her face would light up, she'd give you a big hug and kiss and tell you how thrilled she was to see you. I'm not sure I will ever get over the fact that she will never meet Milo, and that he will never get to experience her unmatched ability to make someone feel special and immensely loved.

8. New York is the best city in the world
My grandmother loved New York, and she especially loved Manhattan. As a kid I would arrive in Grand Central with my mother and the world was instantly transformed. Gone was the quiet, bland greenery of Connecticut, replaced by the glorious bustle of commuters, the echoing high ceilings of the train station, and I'd know we'd arrived in the only city glamorous enough to be home to my grandmother. This was New York in the early eighties, when it really wasn't all that glamorous, when there were scores of homeless people living in Grand Central, when garbage piled up on the streets during the garbage strike, when SoHo had good streets and bad streets and a hologram museum that we used to visit after dropping our bags off at my grandmother's office. But Gammy's New York was a wonderful, exciting place full of trips to the theater (pronounced thee-tah), whirlwind shopping expeditions through Lord and Taylor (itself a place of unmatched beauty, filled with the scent of a million perfumes and an old-fashioned art deco escalator), and dinners at Shinbashi, where Gammy was on a first-name basis with the kimono-clad waitresses. It is no accident that I have chosen to make New York my home, and that Milo can be proud to call himself a fifth generation New Yorker.

I will miss her very much.