My great-grandmother passed away, at 94, in the winter of 2017, more than 30 years after her husband. Out of all of the stories I've heard of Marge and Walt, it sounds like true love. They met each other at boarding school, 1938-1942, where they were allowed to hold hands in the courtyard on Saturdays. They got married in their 20s and had four kids. Walt was drafted in WWII, and became an ambulance driver. To note, he was a conscientious objector and refused to carry a gun. My grandfather (their son) still has the letters they sent back and forth somewhere. The reason I'm writing about there is two-fold. In a few days, some family is gathering to spread my great-grandmother's ashes and I am not able to attend. I wrote something that my grandmother is going to read for me, as that is as close as I am getting, but it cannot possible be enough. Today, March 21st of 2019, would be Marge and Walt's 74th wedding anniversary. I believe they would still be together if there were alive. Right now, they are probably holding hands on some courtyard in the sky. Message for her memorial. The Mother Marge I knew was mystical. I remember when I was very young, that I would knock on her door, coming in only if she said I could, and play. She would let me use the toys in her living room, but note that I was absolutely not allowed to take them anywhere else. The toys lined a single shelf, and were always there. Those moments were special. The stories played out in my mind, and I was quiet, for the most part. There was something so lovely about how she would sit at the table and I would sit on the floor, and we would just be.
The last memory I have of her is strong, and I will never forget it. I was at the farm for Christmas in 2016. She found me sitting on the couch, one evening, and asked what I was doing. I remember her sitting down next to me and talking me, talking to me like she always did, like I was an adult worthy of talking to. I feel warm when I think of it. Before she left, she referred to me using “thee,” a term I’d been told she only used with a few people, rarely if at all. My mom said she and her sister would use it with each other. The term meant something special to her, and she gave me a petal of it to share. I remember that moment, with no context other than her being there with me. I miss her a lot. I never got to spend much time with her, but I enjoyed the moments we shared. I love her and she is always in my heart. Every time I saw her, she would make me think, it was always something. There was always this energy about her. If you stared at Mother Marge, she would stare right back.
2 Comments
Suzy Cashwell
3/22/2019 06:39:52 am
She loved you very much, I know. She was such a strong personality, and sometimes a little abrupt, but there was never any doubt that she loved her family, especially her husband, children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. It must be hard to miss this weekend at the farm, but I'm sure she knows you want to be there.
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Whit
3/28/2019 11:36:02 am
That means a lot. Thank you, Suzy. Love you so much!
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Who Am I?Hi there! I'm Whit, my pronouns are they/them, and I write a lot.
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