Remembering Marge

I wrote this the morning after Marge passed. I've sat on it for a few days, but decided to post it. She deserves to be remembered by more than us. And though she never served in the military, she served in her church and in the school she taught in.

Marge and I had a relationship that always seemed to require an explanation. I was her neighbor, before that I knew her because she was my in-law's neighbor. She was much older than me, but we became friends. Her husband, Elmer, was older than her and he was a handful. When we'd see him climbing up a ladder to clean his gutters, I'd send me son out to help. My son was so sweet as Elmer explained the proper way to clean gutters dozen of times.

We just sort of inadvertently adopted them. When they went to Florida one year and Elmer's health became more precarious, they stayed down there. I talked to Marge every week or so. It became clear that Elmer wasn't going to leave his care center, so they came home to Erie. Elmer moved into a nursing home care unit and Marge moved into an independent apartment in the same building. She spent most of every day with him. But once a week, I'd drive to the other side of town and pick her up. We'd work at cleaning out her house. Her short-term memory was slipping, so sometimes we'd pack up a box and minutes later, go back to check it and repack it. It took the better part of a year to pack up the house in those once-a-week visits. We'd pack an afternoon away, then she'd come next door to dinner. The kids simply accepted Marge was ours and required no explanation.

When Elmer passed, Marge's adoption became even more important. When a doctor or someone who didn't know us assumed I was her daughter or granddaughter, we laughed and I'd explain I was her fungus...she caught me and couldn't get rid of me.

When the minions came along, they went to visit her every week at the nursing home. Sister was the receptionists and they loved high-fiving her. Frankly, they'd high five any resident who came down the hall as we went to Marge's room. They grew up at the nursing home. When Marge's mental status declined further, she needed to a care unit. There is an east side location for the home and we moved her there...within walking distance of my house. It was so much easier to visit more often.  Last summer, the minions would dress up in a superhero costume and climb on their scooters (it's hard to ride a bike with a cape) and we'd go make sure everyone was safe in the home. They felt as if they owned her new home every bit as much as her old home. By now, Marge couldn't tell you our name, but she knew we were hers and she was ours. The minions kept her well stocked with pictures and the occasional sweet treat.

After my surgery, the first place I hobbled to afterwards was to visit Marge. I crutched my way down the hall on Christmas day because no one should be alone on Christmas. No one should not see family. And that's what we were. When PA went into lock-down, we couldn't visit Marge. She was long past the time for phone calls, so I kept tabs on her by talking to the amazing, wonderful staff at the nursing home. They called a week ago to say she was going downhill. They called Friday to say that we could have a compassionate visit. So we gowned and masked up and went to see Marge one last time. I took along cards that the minions had made her. One said I love you, one had Marge, the minion and a robot, and one just had a picture of a minion and Marge. That night, the home called just after midnight to say she'd passed. She was alone and that breaks me heart. In our family, we don't leave loved ones to pass alone. But I hope she knows she wasn't truly alone, because we were family. She was ours and we were hers. I was her fungus...she caught me and I stuck.

I did an interview this week, talking about my Hometown Hearts series. I said that it was like so many of my books, the heart of the stories is family. It's about what makes a family. In the interview, Julie asked about what led me to write so many books with that question...what makes a family? It's because I've learned that family isn't about genetics...it's about love. And Marge was family. She will be missed. She is mourned.

I didn't meet her until later in her life. I knew bits of those years before me. She grew up on a farm, the baby of a big family. She was a second grade teacher at a Catholic school. Religion was very important to her. She met Elmer later in life and they were inseparable. She loved sweets. She was always smiling. She was stubborn as could be, but she was always smiling and laughing as she told you no. She loved the minions. One of my favorite more recent memories was visiting her one day during a wild game of bingo. The minions helped not only Marge but some of the other residents. And they were so very intent on their assisting. When Marge won a round, they gave a hockey-worthy cheer and she let them pick her prize. They agonized over what small decorative pillow she should have. And then the oldest minion took to it her room and told me he put it right in the middle of her bed so she could see her prize.

But I know that pillow wasn't the true prize. Marge was a gift to our family. And she will truly be missed. And though she didn't serve in the military, today seemed like the perfect day to remember her.

And to all those who served, and all those who gave their life to preserve our freedom, thank you. You are remembered and we appreciate you.

Holly