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When we met, I was 17 and lived in Room 206 in our college dorm. She was 18 and lived right above me in Room 306. Yes, we were admittedly dumb and immature kids, but we hit it off almost immediately.

Over the past 27 years of our friendship we’ve shared nearly everything.

Love and hate.

Wins and losses.

Joy and sorrow.

Because of our close friendship, I was fortunate enough to meet her mother, Teresa, many times over the years.

I stayed in her home. She cooked me meals. I made her laugh.

Last November, Teresa came down with Covid. By mid-January, after living alone in the ICU for more than a month, Teresa was gone.

Ciappa and Teresa.

The last time we spoke was over FaceTime last June, when Michelle dropped off Robot and Bad Guy. I said something stupid. She laughed. Michelle rolled her eyes and probably pushed me out of the way. That was kind of our dynamic.

Like the daughter she created, Teresa was a smart, kind, and beautiful woman. She was quick with an invite into her home, and just as loving as your own mother once you got there.

She is missed.

Learn more about Teresa, and Michelle’s loss, here.

And then, please, for the greater good of all humanity, do something Teresa never got the opportunity to do: go get vaccinated.

Lasagna with hard-boiled eggs is remarkably delicious,


Old Poop!