First, I’ve been thinking of the connections we make as we go through life. Some good, some bad, some unmemorable as time passes. As we get older, we have an opportunity, hopefully, to learn and grow and reconcile some things. Each decade brings a different awareness and a different way of thinking about things and a different importance to what we care about.

My dad only made it to 40. Me at 40 was a scary thing to behold. Still trying to figure things out, still so unsure of myself, still using all my defense mechanisms to hide from authenticity. What would people have said about me at age 40 if anything at all?

So many of the stories I have heard about my dad have been negative colored by dumb things he did or hurt feelings or resentments. Many of the bad or broken connections he made going through life were unreconciled. I don’t know but I think he was still trying to figure things out and figure out who he was. I think he was still running and using all his defense mechanisms to hide from his own authenticity. Unfortunately, he never made it to the decades where you start really thinking about what matters to you and who you really want to be. I’m sure there are some people out there who figure these things out earlier, those healthy people you imagine are out there somewhere, but he wasn’t one of them and neither am I.

Most of my memories are a jumble of images like a movie montage of memories, little snapshot moments. Some of my memories, I think, are not really memories but have become so from the images in the few photographs I have. Some are things I clung to as a child when my parents split up so I could be like him like cream of chicken soup and Thousand Island dressing and green onions, radishes, and raw potato with salt.

I do have some real memories. Dinner at a steak place and a movie on my birthday. At the restaurant, we’d wait in the bar area and my dad would order a White Russian or a Seven and Seven or if he was splurging, a VO and Seven. We saw Smokey and the Bandit at the theater back when Burt Reynolds was cool. We saw Top Gun and I remember being embarrassed and uncomfortable sitting next to my dad during the love scene just waiting for it to be over.

So many things make me think of him. Burgers and battered onion rings and homemade vanilla milkshakes, hamburger patties served with eggs, corned beef hash made outdoors while we were camping or out on the boat. Level 42 and the song You’ve Got Another Thing Coming by Judas Priest, which he blasted on a drive during a winter day. Short boots that zip at the ankle and Chaps cologne. It’s so weird the things that you remember.

My dad loved to laugh. I remember him watching an episode of the TV show Fridays with Michael Richards and laughing so hard he fell out of his chair holding his stomach, tears streaming down his cheeks. My dad was the kind of guy who when he smiled and laughed, you could see it in his eyes.

He loved being outdoors. We camped and had great meals and campfires and smores. He loved boats and from my early teens, always had one. The first one was rough and he worked hard to waterproof and reupholster and paint and fix, then trading up each year or two or three for a better boat. He loved spending time on the boat, the feeling of the wind in his hair and sun on his face.

He loved going for drives and always loved a sports car. He loved going to the cider mill on a crisp fall day for warm donuts and cold cider.

I also wish I had gotten to know him as a person. I knew him as a child. I knew what he let me know. I knew brief glimpses and shallower conversations. I would have loved to talk with him about so many things, to have been a be part of things, to get to know him as an adult, to have the conversations that matter, to have him know my children and be a part of their lives.

When his birthday came around this year, I just wanted him to be remembered.

I tried to post on her birthday but it’s difficult to find words to express what she meant to me and how much I miss her presence in my life.

In my life, she was always present, even across the miles. She was a cheerleader, a confidante, a drill sergeant, and a comforter. She was matter of fact and blunt at times, but always honest and always wanting my best. My parents got separated and divorced when I was a kid and no matter what was going on with who, Nana was always there. When my dad passed away, she was one of the few people I could talk to about it and she’d listen and tell me stories. When I got married and divorced and met Tom on the internet and traveled across the country and then got married, she was there.

So how do you choose which memories to share when you have a lifetime of them? When none of them can encompass who she was or what she meant to the people who loved her? I have no idea. So I’ll just share a little of what comes to mind as I type this and maybe next year, I’ll share some more. I think putting pen to paper (or typing to screen) really helps you think through and process things so here goes.

So many things make me think of her. Plain Hershey chocolate bars, ice-cold Coca Cola in a can, Pall Mall cigarettes with lipstick on the tips, and Halston perfume, heating pads, those white cotton bedspreads that had a bumpy design all over them, cheater glasses, and leopard print, Pittsburgh. Pittsburgh was her city and she loved it. Every time I’d bring someone new – a friend, my kiddos – she would drive us around showing us the sights, taking us to Mt. Washington to ride the incline. I don’t even know how many times I’ve ridden that thing. When you were there, everything was about spending time with you.

Her family was everything to her. And people gravitated around her and became “family”. She collected people like others collect things and made friends everywhere she went, always striking up conversations. She went to Grateful Dead concert once to see what it was about and, of course, met all the people that were sitting around them. She was always interested in hearing people’s stories.

Sometimes she would frustrate me like when I went to stay with her one summer while Tom was in MCSE training. I started walking to lose weight and she would go into drill sergeant mode and if I didn’t walk long enough, she was on me to get back out there and suck it up. Or I’d show up for a visit and she’d say, “You need a haircut.” and she’d make an appointment right away with Lou to go get it done. Or she’d take me to get some school clothes and boy was she blunt – no, that looks terrible. I don’t like that. But now, on this side of things, I’m glad she was tough on me. She was also a garage sale queen and always found the most beautiful, highest quality, designer things at bargain prices. When I was a kid, I HATED it but now, I hope I’m growing into that.

And SHE was tough. She wasn’t just talk. On one visit with a friend, she took us all over Pittsburgh, doing the tour, showing off Pittsburgh. I would later find out she had noticed blood in her urine but she waited until we left to go to the hospital – and had my grandfather just drop her at the hospital because it was no good him just waiting around the hospital. She went to work cleaning houses for a wealthy family and adopted them into her life and her into theirs. She watched their kids when the went out of town and they just loved her.

I can still hear her voice in my head, saying my name, “Krissy” (her pet name for me), and I miss calling her and talking to her.

My mom wrote a wonderful obituary for my Nana and that’s probably the best way to end this.

BACHMAN AUDREY MAE (McAULIFFE) Age 89, died, at peace, at home, in Somers Point, NJ, surrounded by her family, January 23, 2017. She was born October 1, 1927, to Daniel J. and Mary (Mame) McAuliffe, in Pittsburgh, PA., the youngest of three daughters. She went to grade school at Sacred Heart School in Emsworth, PA, where she met her lifelong friend, Marianne Monteverde, who survives her. She graduated from Avonworth High School, in Ben Avon, PA where she was a cheerleader and popular student. After graduation, she went to work for the telephone company as a switchboard operator until her marriage to Roger Bachman, December 27, 1947. Her sister-in-law, Donna Bachman Fischer, who also survives her, became her lifelong friend, a real sister in every way that counted. Audrey loved to read, sew, played bridge with great skill, and enjoyed dominoes. She loved to skate and to dance, both of which she did well. Audrey possessed a sharp, delicious wit, and she loved to laugh. She took great pleasure in her garden and delighted in the first real tomatoes of the season, her hostas, her daffodils. She loved a good bargain, was a champion garage sale /thrift store shopper and thrilled at her great finds, which she generously shared with friends and family. Audrey read her newspapers every day, and many magazines and books and had an insatiable curiosity about life. She never got lost, she went on adventures and had some remarkable experiences. She loved her hometown, Pittsburgh, PA and was very proud of its history and its revival. She loved the Steelers football team, and Pirate baseball. She was a basketball fanatic and watched the games throughout her life. She could and would, strike up a conversation with anyone, anywhere, and people responded in the most remarkable ways. People would disclose all sorts of details about themselves and their lives, and within minutes of meeting her, no one was ever a stranger to Audrey. She made friends everywhere she went and many valued her counsel. They repaid her kindness with their own, and some were there to ease her passing. She always said she was blessed and so lucky to have had so many good people as her friends. Most of all, Audrey loved her family and the best times of her life found her surrounded by those who loved her, celebrating the milestones of their lives, and sharing stories and a good meal. She found her happiness in their happiness and delighted in their achievements. She made sure they knew how much she loved them and how proud they made her feel. She left all with that love and her best wishes for them and their futures. She was predeceased by her sisters, Peggy Wright, and Bette Sollar, her husband, Roger; her son-in-law, Tommy Repici; her granddaughter, Lorrie Chabosil Kaawar; and her great-granddaughter, Emily Robbins. She is survived by her four daughters, Sharon Pfahler (John), Terry Bachman (Mike), Aimee Repici (Tom) and Pollyann Bachman; her grandchildren, Krista L. Robbins (Tom), Kendra L. Wright (Brody), Thomas R. Repici (Jessica), Michael R. Repici, Matthew C. Repici (Vivianne) and Jonathan D. Repici; great-grandchildren, Angela Robbins, Andrew C. Robbins, Samuel W. Robbins, Brian S. Wright, Kaiya Wright, Jared Smith, Josh Kaawar, Cecelia Repici, Robert Repici, and great-great- granddaughter, Stella Williams.

Miss you, Nana!