in memory of miki
On Thursday, the world grew dimmer as we tragically and unexpectedly lost Matt’s mother, Micaela Rauch Tsavaris.
My mother-in-law, Miki, was a force—larger than life. Always dressed in her signature Nike kicks and often a bold red lip, she was armed with a quick wit and chutzpah for days and unapologetically herself. If you were lucky enough to be brought into her heart, you were loved fiercely, completely, and without reservation.
One of my favorite memories was our last trip to visit Miki and Art in Manhattan, just before they moved to Guelph. She and I took Angel to the playground in Battery Park City, then to buy him a Bluey doll, and wandered around the city together. After indulging in days of New York’s finest, I casually said, “I really need a salad.” She looked at me, smiled, and said, “I know just the place.”
Next thing I knew, we were at The Odeon, sitting a couple of tables away from the mayor, and I was eating Beef Tartare and sipping an Aperol Spritz—not exactly the salad I had in mind, but that was Miki. She had a way of lifting the curtain on life and showing you its hidden gems, insisting that you embrace the finer things, always on her terms.
That trip remains one of my most cherished memories—stomping through the city, just the five of us (sometimes with their dog Buster in tow). Dining on a sailboat, enjoying soft-serve from the neighborhood Mister Softee truck, stopping to watch a pickup basketball game, and visiting iconic spots. Even the quiet moments in their apartment, gazing out at the Hudson, riding the gold elevator up and down—it was magic, every bit of it.
Miki always called me “the child of her heart,” and though we faced our share of challenges, we worked through them, and our relationship became one of the most treasured in my life. She understood her son—my husband—who she adored and was endlessly proud of. She and I also came to understand one another in a deep way, as we found balance in the beautiful, chaotic yin and yang of our family. And I know, without a doubt, she trusted me to take care of her boys—Matt, Angel, and Art—which I will continue to do, with even more ferocity.
Her love for Angel was something else—next to Art and Matt, that child was her everything. She often referred to him as “hers,” and though I sometimes had to bite my tongue, I couldn’t deny the profound, limitless love she had for him. It was as vast as the ocean.
On Friday, as I stood in a coffee shop, eyes swollen from hours of tears, I turned around and was greeted by a bright red flower, bold and unapologetic. It felt like Miki, showing up one more time—radiant and beautiful, a reminder that she’s still with us, somehow.
The void she leaves will never be filled, but the love and grief we carry for her will inform how we live out the rest of our days. We thought we had more time and we didn’t.
Until we meet again, Miki.
We love you. Always.
(And I know you're still with us, telling me what to do. Keep doing it.)
