Mami, Mamaie, Rodicel

I could write a novel about your life, and still not capture the essence of who you were to all who knew and loved you.

I often wondered in awe—how did you become such a devoted Mami, despite losing your own mother at just 9 years old? Even into your 80s, your eyes filled with tears when you spoke of her. You remembered the kindness of your grandmother—my Mamaie—whose warm eyes and wrinkled face defined comfort, and of Tanti Pera, who tried to make the best of things when others failed to see the gift they had in caring for you and your little brother. Maybe that’s what shaped your big heart—ensuring no one ever felt unloved, caring for everyone, even if they didn’t realize they needed it.

You taught me to love opera, the arts, and the joy of travel. You told me, “Children didn’t ask to be born—you asked for them,” a truth that shaped my own motherhood. You mothered not just me, but my friends, my husband, and so many others. The outpouring of love this week shows how deeply you touched lives—your impact, like ripples in a pond.

My boys and Danny adored their Mamaie. Max, Cole, and Danny will miss you deeply, but the memories and love you gave them will live on in their own families.

You gave me my pragmatism, gratitude, the belief that there’s good to be found in every situation—and that everyone deserves a chance.

I’ll miss your humor, our talks, our daily texts, and our time together. You’ll be missed by your favorite son-in-law, your grandsons, your brother, Monique, your family, your friends. We each carry a small hole in our souls that we’ll try to fill with memories of you—by doing good, as you always did.

Rest in peace and in power, Mami. You’re not here, but you’re always with us.

When I was 2 or 3, I’d knock on the bathroom door when you were in there, announce myself as I asked to be let in, with my full name and add, “Your daughter”, because I knew that you would do anything for your daughter.

Te Iubesc, Fetita Ta Iuliana Badescu