I still miss her!

It's been two years since our mother died. I still miss her and sometimes she appears in my dreams-alive and well. That's not to say she was easy. I never knew what to expect.

Our nicknames for her were: Mater, the "Big M" (her name was Mildred), and lastly, "the Queen" -- a name bestowed on her by her caregiver, a name the Big M loved.

What she was, was unique. She had a quick wit, and as she grew older, she became less and less politically correct. One day I wheeled her into the medical building elevator. A heavy woman entered just as the doors were about to close. The Queen looked her up and down, then said in her customary stage whisper, "There's a weight limit on this elevator!" I wanted to disappear. People pretended they didn't hear her. By the way, the Big M was a bit on the plump side herself.

I'll never forget one of the many times she was in the hospital. She was notorious for playing the call button as if it were a pinball machine. One day when the nursed failed to respond quickly enough, the Queen took matters into her own hands and called 911. "I need help," she told the person on the line. "Where are you?" they asked. "Second floor, Cedars Sinai Hospital," she replied. I think that was when my mother became my role model for being one's own advocate!

Tell me some of your favorite memories of your mother!

Best, Fran

Hi, I'm Barbara author of "Feeding Mrs. Moskowitz"

Let me start by saying, though I dearly love my sister, it's really annoying that I look older than she does, especially as I'm the younger one! Fran inherited our mother's fine bone structure and perfect teeth. I don't think either of them ever had a cavity! Life isn't fair, but then again, that's a lesson we learned early on from Ben, our father, a distant and difficult man. Early photos reveal a handsome couple; he a young lawyer, and our mother a recent college graduate with a degree in journalism. There are no later pictures of the two of them together.

They were a match made in heaven -- and in hell! Dinner time at our home was straight out of Marat-Sade, with Mater (our mother's nickname) often making an offending item for dinner that she knew our father hated. Baked potatoes were particularly lethal. Sitting across the dinner table, Fran and I would look at each other, squirming; we knew what was coming. We prepared for the inevitable explosion. Dinner was served, a baked potato sitting squarely on each plate. A build-up of tension, and then our father, outraged, would scream at our mother: MILDRED, YOU KNOW I HATE BAKED POTATOES! WHY DID YOU MAKE ME A G-D DAMNED BAKED POTATO!

Mater would run to the kitchen in tears while Ben fumed and Fran and I sat frozen, waiting to be excused from the table. As long as I can remember, we called our mother, "Mater." Later, as she aged, she became "the Queen." It suited her.

Anyway, Fran saw "Meet Me in Saint Louie" seventeen times during that time, hoping to create the family we never had. And I......well, more to come!

Hi, I'm Fran Yariv author of "The Caregiver"

I'm the oldest, so I think I should go first. I'm a fiction writer (six novels). My sister, Barbara, is an Emmy award-winning (daytime) film editor. Our book "Feeding Mrs. Moskowitz and The Caregiver: Two Stories" is publishing this spring with Syracuse University Press. It consists of two novellas, "Feeding Mrs. Moskowitz," by Barbara, and "The Caregiver," by me. Both stories explore the world of the elderly with, what we've been told, "humor and pathos." For me -- ten years of advocating for our elderly mother through three assisted-living facilities inspired "The Caregiver." I'll leave it up to sister to tell you about her inspiration for "Feeding Mrs. Moskowitz."