Lillian Violet Lowenstein Photo

Like a heroine out of Dylan Thomas’s poetry, my mother-in-law, 96-year-old Lillian Lowenstein “raged against the dying of the light” until she passed away in the early morning of Thursday, November 18. Having survived a broken collar bone (twice), hip replacement surgery, cataract surgery, one year of isolation during the pandemic lockdown, various infections, sepsis, a broken femur, and trauma surgery, we, her family, believed that perhaps she had a miraculous immortality gene. And she believed it, too, meeting all challenges in her life with the gargantuan feistiness inherent in a diminutive, 4’11”, 95-pound, Italian-American woman raised in Colma, California.

At the tender age of 16, young Lillian Scramaglia left Jefferson High School to help her family run their flower business, Colma Peninsula Nursery. The family’s industrial-sized, manual transmission delivery truck, its bed and sides spilling over with blooms and driven by a mere slip of a girl, was a frequent sight toodling up and down the nearly perpendicular hills of San Francisco, a vision of springtime brightening the damp streets and the fine florist shops of the foggy, grey City.

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