If she were still living, my mother would have turned 73 today. It still seems odd that she's gone because despite her absence, there's not a day that I don't hear her voice in my head, chastising a bad clothing choice or encouraging outrageousness on my part--she liked my outrageousness. I miss her.

We certainly didn't have a traditional relationship. My mother was not naturally maternal (dad was the one who dosed you up with Alka Seltzer when you had a tummy ache or cuddled you when you were scared). She really couldn't handle us kids vomiting (she famously said, " I don't want to see this. It makes me sick to my stomach."). A cookie baking PTA mom she was not. She never sugarcoated anything when having to tell a hard truth. Her favorite catchphrase was, "That sounds like bullshit to me."

Conversely, she strongly encouraged our creativity, intelligence, humor and independence. She was what you would call the "fun" parent. She was the one who allowed us to invite 50 kids over on New Years Eve to turn the house upside down. For mom, the more the merrier. She thrived on the society of people.

She was born in England and never lost her accent or her love of English trappings: English food and Cadbury chocolate, paper pull crackers with the crown and prize at Christmas, plum pudding, tea and biscuits, bangers and trifle, Monty Python and EastEnders on PBS. She used the accent to her advantage when a cop would pull her over for a driving violation (she was a dreadful driver) and she always charmed the cop out of the citation.

She was a proud career women at a time when women didn't traditionally work outside the home. She's the one that encouraged family togetherness through group activity---water skiing, camping, sailing, the Liverpool gin rummy matches on Tuesday nights (although we all know that Grandma cheated). She loved to travel and thanks to this penchant, we were privliged to see the world when growing up. I was fortunate to enjoy a wonderful childhood and indeed, my parents were the reason why. And thanks to mom, we had enormous fun, sometimes to my dad's despair.

Unfortunately, when I moved into my teen years, the wanderlust that has always been part and parcel of my nature manifested itself. Combined with the usual teen angst, I was a handful. My mom never put up with it and we had our fair share of arguments. Once I left home at 18 to go and fulfill my desire to take on the world, our relationship changed. We were never wed to the notion of the traditional mother/daughter dynamic. When I matured, we became friends. In essence, that was the relationship that worked best for us. We spoke candidly to one another and genuinely enjoyed each other's company. This became the nature of our relationship that lasted until her death.

My parents divorced in 1995 and my mom, who had married when she was 20, made up for lost time. Men were always attracted to her--she was slim, dressed beautifully and was always perfectly groomed. She was the kind of woman that men love and indeed, my boyfriends in high school were all infatuated with her. So in this new period of her life, she began dating a series of men. One in particular, was 35 years old...when she was 65. She'd call me to gush about her vibrant sex life, which at times I found annoying (but only because my mom was getting a lot more action than I was!).

She began to travel extensively and long periods would go by before I'd hear from her. Unlike my dad who I would e-mail every day and call every Sunday, I'd get the odd call or e-mail from mom from some exotic location out of the blue. But on the occasions when we'd get together, we'd pick things up right where we'd left them.

My favorite photograph of my mother was taken when she was 69 years old. She was on holiday in Italy with a boyfriend (younger, no doubt) and the photo shows her sitting astride a moped in a form fitting sweater, black leather skirt, 3 inch pump heels and oversized sunglasses. She has a smile of abandon on her face and a halo of blonde hair frames her glowing face. That photo alone sums up the woman that my mother was: glamorous, adventurous, fearless, fun.

To her credit, she remained very close to my dad and they enjoyed time together as friends. Without her help, the caregiving during my dad's final illness would have sent me over the edge. She put her whole life on hold to help care for him, although at the time, none of us knew (and neither did she) that she too was terminally ill.

She lived her whole life on her own terms. And as expected, she died on her own terms. When her illness got to the point where she was uncomfortable and there was no amount of morphine to ease her pain, she wanted to end her life. She was living with me in her last months and announced this intent to me one day, without drama or fanfare, just matter of fact. I believe her words were, "Well, I'm done now. I'm ready to go." Since we couldn't accommodate her legally, we simply asked visiting hospice to provide us enough Ativan and morphine to keep her in a half comatose state until she passed away naturally a week later. I did so with peace because I know it was exactly what she wanted.

It took me a long time, most of my life actually, to understand and appreciate the character of my mother. She was a woman ahead of her time who never gave a rats ass what people thought of her. She was vibrant, a wild extrovert. She was one of those people who lit up a room when she walked in. As I get older, I see a couple of my mom's characteristics in me. And for all the disagreements and basic differences that existed between us, I'm grateful that we came to fully appreciated the strengths of each other.

We're not a religious family so we never discussed "where people go" after they die. I personally think we end up somewhere, I'm just not sure where, but I like to think that where ever or what ever that place is, the party got into full swing when mom showed up.