Our mother June, though often donned in holiday-themed sweaters and polyester stretch pants, was progressive in the ways that mattered. She adopted me and my sister in the early 1960’s when it was not part of the mainstream. She let me cut my long locks so that I could have a shag like David Cassidy from the Partridge Family when I was in 3rd grade. She finally got pregnant when she was 39 with our brother and this was viewed as high risk for that time (1970). She helped me pick out vests and ties from my father’s closet so I could wear suits in Junior High. She accompanied one of us in our teens to get an abortion. She didn’t bat an eye when I came out as a lesbian shortly after my father died (1992) and embraced the interracial partnership that I was in for 14 years. She was there for each of us as we navigated and ended painful, abusive marriages – two of which ended in divorce and child custody battles. We watched her thrive after her husband died suddenly at age 63 – an active alcoholic and Korean war vet who held her back in many ways. Mom would go on to travel abroad, to join multiple community groups – one of her favorites being the Red Hats. She felt strongly about the state of the country and much like me, had a great disdain for Trump supporters. One of my favorite memories about this was her giving the middle finger to the woman’s car with all the pro-life and Trump stickers; mom would tickle herself and let me know that she also did it when I wasn’t visiting! She was also a proud Philadelphia Eagles fan, wearing a team shirt every time they played and believing she had the power to impact the outcome, depending on which shirt she wore! She also loved debriefing at half time or at the end of the game and stating who should be left go or fired. She was full of life, generous in Spirit, mischievous and the quintessential badass for her time. We miss her EVERY. SINGLE. DAY.