Margaret’s Gift

I felt relief when hearing the news of Margaret’s passing. Margaret was my very good friend Lisa’s mother and eventually, my friend. Kenny and I did not know Margaret very well prior to Lisa’s sudden and untimely death September 17, 2022.  We came to know her, at least in part, in the year and a half that followed. We visited her weekly at her home where she lived alone, hanging onto independence with all her might. Struggling to make new memories, Margaret clung to memories from her past and enjoyed telling stories to her friends who frequently visited. Stories of raising her six children, her tenure with BSF, biking across the country with her husband, and traveling to Paris for their 50^th wedding anniversary. We’d bring her a meal or flowers or something I crocheted. Lisa had told me gifts were her love language.

And she was always trying to give us something. “Take it,” she’d say, pushing a towel or cook book or small trinket into my hand. I enjoyed paging through her collection of The Barefoot Contessa cookbooks, reading her hand-written notes in the margins, which recipes were hits with her family, which ones were duds and why, how she altered favorites for potlucks or parties. Is that what Lisa meant was ephemera?

Of course, we couldn’t take anything, not from someone who probably did not know what exactly she was doing. With one exception.  We did take her up on her offer of a Christmas tree from her property.

Margaret’s failing memory made it necessary for her to move to a memory care facility. We kept up weekly visits as best we could. We watched Margaret’s health and memory slowly decline. I often wondered why God allowed the kind of suffering dementia brings. But even in her decline, she never forgot her Albert or her Lulu. And she never questioned her faith. In tender moments and hushed tones, she would sing a hymn or quote scripture verses. Those memories were solid.

In time, I realized Margaret’s end of life was one of God’s great gifts to me. Despite the dementia and not always remembering my name, Margaret’s warm smile was proof she knew me and welcomed my company. Her pace was slow and her presence calming. At times during moments of clarity, she shared simple wisdom. Forgive. Laugh. Trust in God. She may have understood that our visits were what I needed and that they helped me more than they helped her.

Margaret passed away quietly in her sleep in December, one month before her 90th birthday. I felt relief for her. And release for me. Our time together over those fourteen months replaced the shock and sorrow of Lisa’s death with comfort and healing.

Human life, in any shape or form or disease state, has value and meaning and purpose.