She nourished her family with delectable Thanksgiving dinners, delicious Toll House cookies and delicate-as-air lemon pie. She tended to her customers with expertise, experience and enthusiasm. While the rest of us slept, she had her breakfast of coffee and matza, did laundry and dusted the house. Before others arrived at the store, she had prepared the coffee, gone through the lay-aways and organized everything for the day.

My mother, Anne Edelstein, was a formidable woman -- a combination of June Cleaver and Bella Abzug (without the hat). Except for her 15-minute "get a second wind nap" after dinner, I never remember her not moving about: her hands busily breading veal chops or making beds, her legs dashing from the basement to the second floor and back to the first, and her mind always one step ahead of the rest of us.

This energetic woman seemed too formidable for something as mundane as death. That is why the death of my mother -- exactly one year ago today -- filled me not only with loss and grief but also with a deep sense of shock.

My mother was one-of-a-kind: a pioneer who went beyond the boundaries of her era while still fulfilling her roles as wife and mother.

Ma grew up in Pittsburgh's Hill District with her immigrant parents and three siblings. Her feistiness enabled her to survive the challenging years of the Depression and to overcome her disappointment at being denied a college education due to family finances. Realizing that her dream to teach would never become a reality, Ma began a career in retail at Gimbels. She soon earned the reputation of being the best salesperson in the women's housecoat department.

Once Ma married and had a family, she followed the path of all her female neighbors in Stanton Heights. While Dad went to the office and my brother and I went to school, Ma stayed home and maintained our house.

But Ma wanted more than mah-jongg games, gin rummy clubs and socializing on neighbors' porches. I sensed this when she first took me to the East Liberty Library to introduce me to the world of books. I realized this when she talked to me about her hopes and dreams as she ironed and I played with my family of dolls.

Finally, in the late 1950s, once both my brother and I no longer came home for lunch, Ma took a daring step and got a 9-3 job. Women just did not work outside the home in that era, but Ma knew she could do it all. What began as a part-time job at Babyland turned into a 41-year, six-days-a-week job where customers insisted that only "Anne of Babyland" could wait on them.

But Ma still did the laundry and cooking, the grocery shopping and cleaning. When I asked whether I could contribute more than just drying the dinner dishes, Ma, the staunch advocate of education, always said, "Your job is to go to school. I'll take care of the rest." And she did, devoting her life to giving to others.

Ma made sure that neither my brother nor I had to struggle to earn our college degrees. She supported both of us as he pursued his medical degree and I got my master's degree in teaching. She applauded every award we won, and she encouraged us when things did not go our way.

Ma also lavished love -- and gifts -- on her grandson and two granddaughters. Thanks to Ma, my children grew up believing that all greeting cards came with crisp dollar or $5 bills tucked inside. They believed that all grandmothers sat on the floor and played house or school. And, thanks to Ma, they learned the reality behind the stereotype -- that all individuals, females as well as males, deserve the opportunity to define their own lives.

During the final two years of Ma's life, both her body and mind weakened. Yet, during my daily visits to the nursing facility, I could still find signs of the strength and courage that accompanied her throughout her life's journey.

I think of Ma whenever I ride the 71A Negley; the drivers on that route, who transported her to and from work, became her friends. I think of Ma whenever I pass the site of the former Giant Eagle at Center and North Craig. In the midst of her daily shopping trips, she always found time to chat with the cashiers and baggers. I think of Ma when I work with a student, knowing how proud she would be of my teaching career.

I think of Ma all the time, hoping that after all the years of hard work, she is finally at peace.