Unfortunately, you’re me.

I was teeming with rage, ranting to you over snacks at your kitchen counter. Another day at work, another day fighting the systems that be, another day wondering what the hell I had to do to make change and why I had been so compelled to pick this fight as my career. Another day hating the patriarchy and navigating my way through destroying it. My son stirred from his nap, pulling me out of my angry trance and back into complete infatuation with my new role: mommy. I returned from his room with him cradled in my arms to find you had not moved a muscle, as if you had frozen in thought following my ranting. I sat back down, and your eyes truly sympathized for me when you crinkled your nose and said. “Unfortunately, you’re me.”

That was a loaded statement, Lisa. An overwhelmingly positive one, yes, but loaded. If I’m you, I am A LOT of things. You’re a mom to me and my sisters, a Nonna to my son, and a mother figure to all of my friends whose moms couldn’t hold a candle to you. Already, I’ve got pretty big mom shoes to fill. You’re also an amazing wife to my dad, a dear and devoted friend to a lucky many, and a powerhouse nurse and teacher. You’re literally known in our community of 7000 as the woman who does everything. You are beloved by most, feared by some, and you’re absolutely right. You’re all of the good things that people love and see in me.

You are fierce and not to be trifled with.

“It’s a bad idea to get on Hannah’s bad side”: that’s one I’ve heard from my peers since I was a teen. As someone who had spent a great deal of her teenaged years on your bad side, I can say I get that from you. Some kids had “I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed”, but I had the Lisa special: lecture for the wrong-doing , let them linger in their mistake, and have them learn their damn lesson. Each lesson packed a mean punch, but the driving force behind each one: be self respecting, and be respectful of others. Your expectations weren’t usually unrealistic, even for a self obsessed teenager, but I wouldn’t be your kid if I didn’t push those boundaries, either. The best part about the Lisa special is that it had always extended past the walls of our home— it was handed to anyone who dared to disrespect you, your family, or even the kid in line for the Ferris wheel. I have seen many asses respectfully and promptly handed to many people in my lifetime as your daughter, and it’s truly been an honour. I’ve always been so proud that you’ve stuck up for those who needed it... and I guess that’s why I do what I do for a living.

You are unapologetically you....and comically blunt.

“Hannah tells it like it is, and she makes us laugh”— that point goes to you too, Lis. If I make them laugh, you’d make them roar. Every friend of mine has a quote of yours that makes them laugh no matter how long it’s been. From “have you sat on the toilet?” being the perfect diagnostic question even if my arm had fallen off, to asking if I had brushed my hair with buttered toast after emerging from the basement hungover. Harsh? Yeah, a bit. Hilarious? Definitely. You aren’t trying to hurt feelings but damn, we all know you aren’t trying to save them either. Sometime’s it’s a much needed reality check, like “seriously? dump that asshole” when someone complains about a deadbeat man, or the ever-popular and biting sarcastic “huh... good one.” after we gloss over a recent poor decision. Sometimes it’s a joke at your own expense, like your “hair-do by mix master” look. No one, and I mean no one, gets it sugar coated. That’s just you— I know it, everyone around you knows it, and we love you for it. You don’t apologize or dull yourself down for anyone. You have been you always, no matter who you’re with or where you are; there aren’t multiple versions of Lisa, we all love the same one. The same Lisa who once looked me up and down (in one of my more questionable fashion choices) and told me, “well, I’m not sure how anyone still likes you.”

You are generous, in every sense of the word.

“That’s so thoughtful of you! Wow, you didn’t need to do that!” Phrases that now echo into my life after I watched you give and give and give to so many people. And I watched you truly enjoy giving. I watched you feel joy through selflessness, and I watched you prefer to do it without recognition or praise. You showed me that you’ll never become poor by giving to those in need. And I’m not talking about just giving money or gifts— you gave your time, your attention, your talents, to anyone who needed you. I’ll never forget that time you literally baked our family friend a wedding cake once, just because she needed it. You aren’t a professional baker (though your baking is definitely top tier), you were working full time, you had three daughters driving you insane, and you decide to make a wedding cake to feed over 100 people. It was likely agonizing; you worked with fondant and gigantic layers and there’s no way that thing fit in our fridge organically. But you never complained, and you didn’t care. You were happy to help and to give. I’ve watched you guide a lot of lost souls, and pull a lot of people to their feet, only for them to continue on their paths without you, and you simply wished them well and moved on to help the next soul that needed you. You took care of yourself, you took care of your family, and when your cup was full from the love you already gave, you shared that love. When I share, I don’t want any thanks or recognition, either. I just want everyone to know I do it because you taught me to.

You are the greatest mother, woman, and feminist I’ve ever known.

You spit in the face of the patriarchy just by existing, and you high kicked through that glass ceiling in a monochromatic outfit with a matching high heeled boot without even breaking a sweat. I had never once considered that I might not be able to do something because this world was a man’s world— I did not grow up in a man’s world. And that, quite possibly, is the reason any of my other Lisa-isms could be planted, grown, and nurtured into what they are today. Perhaps as a child, I saw my mom as fun, loud, and social, but today I see that, above all else, you are proud to be the woman you are. Not proud in the stubborn, ignorant way; proud in the confident, beautiful, feminine way, even on your bad days. That’s great news for me on my bad days, on the hard days, after another fight with the system.

Because fortunately, I’m you.