A Letter in the Mail

I got a letter in the mail on Saturday, a letter from my grandson. He's five, and very sweet. Included with it is a letter from his Mama, my daughter D. Getting that letter made my day. Reading that letter made my week.

Now I just have to get my act together and write back.

I think I am one of the worst correspondents in existence. My first husband was definitely worse than I am, so I will not claim to be world's worst. Nope. I'm not the worst. But not the best, either. I am somewhere in between, but closer, much, much closer to the worse end of the scale.

When I was in high school, I had a pen pal. She lived in Japan. When she received a letter from me, she wrote back. When I received a letter from her, I thought about it, and then wrote back. The transit time was such that the exchange rate was about one letter a month. Then the exchange stopped. I am not sure, but I think I got a last letter and didn't write back. It might have been the other way round, but I don't think so. You see, I'm the bad correspondent.

I forget birthdays, and if I don't remember you are having a birthday, I don't send a card. Simple? Maybe. Margret was the one who always remembered who had birthdays, and when they had them. She reminded me.

Margret liked to get cards, and to send them. Birthday cards, definitely, but any sort of card was fine with her. I would help her looking up addresses, but she addressed the envelope in her own hand. She liked to choose cards to give, to send, and planned on trips to the card shop when birthdays were coming up. I kept a collection of cards for many occasions, and she liked to go through and pick just the right one. Sometimes my collection didn't have just what she wanted, and she had to settle for second best, or create a card. I can't think of when she made up the last original card, but I'm sure it wasn't in the past year or so.

Margret kept many of the cards she received. Some she had in a stack in a drawer in her dresser. One year her sister helped her put some of the cards she had received into a frame. There are Christmas cards, birthday cards, lots of valentines, some 'thinking of you' cards and a Halloween card. She hung it on her bedroom door, where, over the years, some of the card shifted toward the bottom of the frame. I would sometimes watch her studying the cards, and wonder what she was thinking. I never asked. Permit me to imagine her thinking "I got this card from D, it's very pretty. This one came from B, she has great taste. My friend W gave me this one with violets. I'm glad I have friends and family."

A Little Lovin

I was looking through some photos on my computer and found a very grainy one. I thought of posting it here, and remembered I had taken a frame from a short video and printed it for Margret because she wanted a photo of her holding a baby. I hunted some more, and found the video clip.

I was sad for a bit, watching, because Margret never realized her dream of being a mom. If you asked her if she had any regrets, I think she'd say it was not being able to have children of her own on account of her health issues.

Then I noticed how marvelously happy she looks, carefully cuddling and rocking her niece, and I had to smile. Margret was very very good at being an Auntie. This video shows how much she enjoys and values babies.

I Can Hardly Believe It Has Been Four Months

I found this verse on a message board:

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft starlight at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.

and it made me cry. The person who posted it also said "It is always hard for those left behind because to them falls the grieving."

That would be me. And a lot of other people. We're the "left behind" and "grieving".

I can imagine Margret in Heaven, because she was a believer. Her Heaven would be a place where the weather was warm and she didn't have to bundle up in sweaters and coats and hats, and snow boots, and wrap scarves around her neck and face to warm the air she breathed. There would be friends to converse with, too. Margret would talk to anyone, and she made friends easily. There would be babies to play with; Margret loved babies, and they loved her right back. There would be pools to swim in, parks to walk through with flowers to pick, and there would be horses to ride; she liked all those things. Food, don't forget the food! There would be all sorts of meals, and restaurants, and gatherings with food at the center. I miss her saying, "Mom, do you know what's for dinner?" I tried all the ways I could think of to get her to say, "I'm hungry," or "I want something to eat," but she insisted on asking "Do you know what's for lunch?" or dinner, or breakfast, or snack. It was a frustration, but it was how she let me know hunger was on her mind.

Margret, I love you. I miss you. I will remember you, always, as the most incredible gift of my life. Right now I grieve for you. Please don't be unhappy with me, it's such a big change from you here, hugging me, coming through the door of an afternoon with a smile and "Mom, I'm home!" to having the house echoing with your absence.

Margret does Yoga, and other athletic things

Before her decreasing oxygen saturations robbed Margret of her get up and go, and other things, she did lots of the things any normal kid does. She ran, she played, she climbed and hollered and played tag.

We walked through our local parks together, and especially enjoyed the hikes through Jacobsburg State Park. All the girls liked to look down from the bridge and spot fishes lurking in the water below. Sometimes, if everyone were very tired when we reached the other end of the trail, I would let them wait together while I trotted back down the trail to the parking lot where we started. Then I'd take the car to meet them, and we'd all go home.

She did gymnastics and balance beam in special olympics here, and when she stayed that year at her dad's house, she did cross country skiing - and brought home a medal.

One Christmas I bought a gift certificate for riding lessons to give to the horse crazy B. Margret came with us, and the teacher offered her a lesson too. It didn't work out exactly as the teacher had expected, with Margret almost falling off. She needed a little more individual instruction than the other girls her age, but both girls got lessons. Margret even competed at a horse show or two, and brought home ribbons. She enjoyed riding. She enjoyed being around the horses. We were very proud of her.

As a family we each got our own bowling ball and shoes, and, surprise, surprise, went bowling! Margret was pretty good, too. I had to hustle to stay ahead of her. Husband was lots better than Margret or me, so we mostly competed against our own previous scores.

Margret and I joined a water aerobics class at the Y. She did great. While I swam laps in master swim, she developed a lovely backstroke with a little help from the swim coach. She was comfortable in the water, and able to swim the length or width of the pool.

After Margret was put on oxygen, her choices in exercise became more limited. I took Margret to Contra dancing (a little like line dancing, but not exactly, if that helps any) but she ended up sitting almost the whole time, too tired to dance much. We tried a yoga class, but that went WAY too fast, and again, Margret sat most of the class watching the other students. I inquired about individual lessons, and that worked much better for Margret. In a one on one teaching situation she excelled. Her muscle tone improved, her balance and coordination too. Some of the breathing excercises, when she had a cold or mild bronchitis, helped her make sure all the segments of her lungs were expanding as best they were able, and helped keep the cold from getting worse. At least in my opinion the yoga helped do that.

Yoga was a really good workout for her as she was recovering from pneumonia a couple years ago. The classes were paced to what she could do, so she was pushed to improve, but not too hard.

Margret practiced yoga with her teacher right up until she entered the hospital this last time.

One More ceramics photo

Thanks to Margret's sister B, I have a copy of the photo I was lamenting.

The cats she's holding, she did. The indian maiden (Pocahontas?) on the top shelf is her work. I did the ginger jars. The teapot and Belle from Beauty and the beast are her work as well. Over her shoulder you can see the head of another figure she painted. The mugs behind my head were collected by husband, from MusikFest.
Do you do ceramics? Buy greenware? Paint bisque ware? How do you amuse yourself and make presents at the same time?

I Made It Myself

I originally titled this I got angry so she could say, "I Made It Myself" but I like the short version better. It's pithier. It's right to the point. I think I get way too wordy, and eventually get to my point by way of Robin Hood's Barn. That's how my Dad used to refer to my series of digressions that eventually, if he was patient, would end with the point I wanted to make. But I digress...

Among the things I was told that Margret would never do was have a hobby.

Have I mentioned that the pediatrician who saw Margret in the hospital was a pessimist? Maybe I didn't, maybe he wasn't, but he sure sounded like one, saying She'll never do this, she'll never do that. And she won't do all those other things you expect of a normal child.

Yes. Listening to him could have been very depressing. (It was.) It could have thrown me into a deep funk. (It came close.) But when he implied that this girl child who had just been born to me was not of value to me, should not be of value to me (Get her on a waiting list for a state institution. The waiting list can be as long as six years so you should do it right away. Don't get too attached.) he made me angry. Very angry. Like Bruce Banner (character in the Incredible Hulk series, who says, "Don't make me angry. You won't like it when I'm angry.") angry.

When you make me that kind of angry, I may not turn green, swell up, roar and smite you, but I will dig in my heels and oppose you. I will assess my options and decide whether it is better to rise up against you, or to bide in patience until you go away. By making me that kind of angry, you lose credibility in my eyes, and you have already lost the war.

I had the support of the nurses on the maternity unit. I had the support of family. I had support from the kind women in the La Leche League. I had faith in my love for my baby. I believed that if I believed in her, and supported her, she would grow up to be the best Margret she was able to be.

Fast forward a couple decades.

Margret's sister C and C's friend G took me and Margret as their guests to a ceramics painting class. Margret had a wonderful time, and wanted to do more. I signed her up for a class of her own, and provided transportation. She loved it. She enjoyed chatting with the other class members. She came home glowing with good spirits. She brought home beautiful things she had painted herself.

After a time, I signed up for the class too. I got annoyed spending time driving back home, puttering for a very short interval, then going back to pick her up, when I could stay and have some fun.

There was some, "Mom, would you do this for me please?" but the teacher knew she could do it herself. I knew it too. I had my own project to try to finish. So she did it herself. And she did it very very well.

She used many of the pieces she completed as gifts. I wish I had photographs of all of them. One she made as a gift to her youngest sister was a half size baby bunny. Another was a duckling she gave as a gift to Nana.

Nana had a collection of ceramic ducks and geese on her kitchen windowsill, and Margret's duckling had a place among them. We got to see it each time we visited at Nana's house. It made me smile to see it sitting there in the sun. Every time. Here it is, the leftmost duckling. Sorry this is blurry, but it is the only picture I found of it in my collection.

I don't have any photos of the bunny, or of the cat she gave one aunt for a mantle decoration, or of most of the other pieces, but they were very nice. You may take my word on that. One of the pieces Margret kept was an angel. That's Margret's angel in this next picture.


One year she made a bunch of ceramic boxes and used them for gifts to family members. She made extras and let me take them to the craft fair with me to sell. Here is a close up of some of her boxes.
And the following picture shows some of her pieces on display on my table at the craft fair at Amore Farms
Another year she made snowflake boxes for almost everyone. She proudly said, "I made it myself."

Hobbies, she had a few. Another one she had was knitting. She made scarves for family members for Christmas another year. I taught her to knit with knitting needles, but it took her a very long time. She was interested in a knitting machine, so we looked into getting one. She got all excited about it, so we got one for her. I helped her cast on, then she did the knitting. I helped her cast off and do the finishing. I am convinced she could have done the cast off herself if I had insisted, but she was so excited to go on to start the next scarf that I gave in and did it for her. I have to look for pictures of them for another post.

Margret's Kids

About 5 years ago, I was chatting with a friend, a Florida teacher of bilingual first graders, mostly immigrant, mostly poor. We were talking about some of the way she made learning, and especially learning English, more fun for her kids. Viewmaster viewers and reels with educational themes helped interest the kids in learning, but she only had 2 viewers, so it was a long time between turns; if only she had a few more.

Margret wanted to help, so we went shopping for viewmasters. She picked out 2 viewers, and 2 sets of reels. I bought an extra set of reels, and we sent them to Florida.

Our friend the teacher was on beyond pleased, as I'd only mentioned one viewer *chuckle* and her kids were thrilled.

Margret received a thank you from all the children. SHE was ecstatic!

The teacher and I spent less time online at the same time, and gradually lost touch.

Recently I received this from the teacher:
I'm SO sorry that I'm late in learning this! My students over all these years that Margret has supported..sent love gifts..greive for her! You and all the family are in our hearts & prayers.

Livin La Vida Loca, or Margret in New York City

One of Margret's desires was to go see a live concert by her favorite singer. We did that. And here is photographic proof. Note: Margret did not normally use a wheelchair. The distances we intended to cover on foot in the city, and at the speed we intended to travel, she would have been exhausted and miserable, so I rented one. The folks at the rental place cheerfully added holders for TWO oxygen tanks on the back, so we had the one in use, and a spare. Thanks guys!

Margret got to see Times Square in the rain. Not exactly dancing in the rain, but you are encouraged to use your imagination.

She got to see a police man riding his horse.


She went sight seeing on the Sightseeing bus.
She got to look down from the Empire State Building to see the world spread out below her
but she much preferred being inside the gift shop, picking out something to bring home and gift to her friends.

She got to tour Radio City Music Hall

She got to pose with a real Rockette.

Margret got to see her favorite Latin singer at Radio City Music Hall. Live and in concert. She was thrilled.and to visit, and pose, with other Ricky Martin fans.

Margret and Frank Sinatra

Margret and Frank Sinatra. I'd never thought they had much in common, if I thought about it at all, which I don't think I did. *wrinkling brow while trying to decide if that made any sense*

Today, reading over the lyric for My Way, I see they had quite a bit in common. Margret lived a full life:

She got to see Ricky Martin live in concert at Radio City Music Hall, and from great seats.
She and I did a road trip, by car, to Oklahoma to visit her little sister and her niece and nephews. We had a great time.
She enjoyed time spent with her little cousins and nieces and nephews at Thanksgiving and Christmas gatherings.
She got to go out with her respite person, to do dinner and a movie, or go shopping, or whatever else she desired that they could fit into an evening.
Over the course of her life she had a job or two.
She volunteered.
She enjoyed friends and family.
She liked food, and loved to have take away, or eat out at a restaurant.
She liked to be tucked in at night. We exchanged hugs and kisses, and "I love you"s.

Regrets? Yes, I think she had a few, but small ones given all else she had to cope with.
She wanted to marry and have children of her own, but that was not to be.
She wanted to go on a cruise, but I hadn't got all the logistics worked out in time.
She wanted to spend more time with her sister's babies, but they lived on the other side of the continent, so we did the best we could when we had the opportunity.

I tried to help her make her life as full and happy as possible. And I think I succeeded. Mostly. Because when all was said and done, she was an adult, and felt the things she did because she was herself, and responsible to herself. *Did that make any sense? I hope so.*

For my own self, I can say "Regrets, I have a few, but they're small." The big things, like knowing she knew she was loved, and knowing she knew she could depend on me to help the best I could, those are covered. I did my best. I only hope it was good enough.


My Way
And now, the end is near;
And so I face the final curtain.
My friend, Ill say it clear,
Ill state my case, of which Im certain.

Ive lived a life thats full.
Ive traveled each and evry highway;
And more, much more than this,
I did it my way.

Regrets, Ive had a few;
But then again, too few to mention.
I did what I had to do
And saw it through without exemption.

I planned each charted course;
Each careful step along the byway,
But more, much more than this,
I did it my way.

Yes, there were times, Im sure you knew
When I bit off more than I could chew.
But through it all, when there was doubt,
I ate it up and spit it out.
I faced it all and I stood tall;
And did it my way.

Ive loved, Ive laughed and cried.
Ive had my fill; my share of losing.
And now, as tears subside,
I find it all so amusing.

To think I did all that;
And may I say - not in a shy way,
No, oh no not me,
I did it my way.

For what is a man, what has he got?
If not himself, then he has naught.
To say the things he truly feels;
And not the words of one who kneels.
The record shows I took the blows -
And did it my way!

(my thanks to Lyricsfreak dot com for these lyrics)

Fixing smiles

Today was a very weepy day.

Here's why: Several things came in the mail addressed to Margret, some advertisements, some asking for donations. I got them (and the ones from the last several weeks, too) all together and called to request each organization take her name off their mailing list.

Happier thoughts:

Margret loved to get stuff in the mail with her name on it, even advertisements. (Car insurance anyone?) She had a little money she could spend any way she wanted. Over and above the little goodies she wanted for herself, she wanted to make a difference in the life of someone else, so she made small donations to charity. She had me write checks for her donations to the Cystic Fibrosis foundation, and more recently she donated to Smile Train.

Margret was born with a cleft palate, but it wasn't a complete cleft, only in the roof of her mouth; a 'submucosal cleft' meaning the place where the hard parts of the roof of her mouth didn't quite meet was covered over by the lining of her mouth. The submucosal cleft made it more difficult for her to eat well at first, but she managed. When we took her to the local cleft palate clinic, the surgeon in charge said she was doing well. She didn't need surgery, he said, because in her case, the scarring from an operation might give her more problems than she had. So Margret knew about cleft lips and cleft palates, and knew the severe ones definitely needed to be fixed.

Here's why Smile Train: Smile Train provides free surgeries to babies and children of less developed countries to repair cleft lips and cleft palates. Even better, the Smile Train surgeons teach local doctors how to do the repairs themselves. Smile Train has a small staff, and makes very efficient use of their donations.

Want to see how efficient for yourself?

Go to the Smile Train website: http://www.smiletrain.org/
and click on financials.

Bitter Sweet Celebration

We chose to call it a Celebration of Life instead of a Funeral.

Her sisters went shopping to buy her last party dress. They succeeded, although mid July is not the best time to be hunting a prom gown. The dress they found was hot pink, floor length, with spaghetti straps, and decorated with swirls of beads and sequins. Had this been chosen for a normal event, the dress would need to be shortened by more than a foot, for Margret was only four feet eight inches tall. In this instance, in the creative hands of our funeral director, the excess length became long sleeves, and the beaded portion filled in between the top of the dress and the sleeves.

We planned bright colored flowers and had balloons in pink, orange and yellow that echoed the flower colors. For background music I made a cd including her favorite artists, Hanna Montana, Billy Ray Cyrus, Ricky Martin, Maná. Her youngest sister requested tracks by the Marshall Family; Dad asked for Livin' La Vida Loca, because it every time he heard it, it reminded him of her and how she was so willing to dance. I picked Eres Mi Religión by Maná, and Ángel by Cristian Castro, among others, because she so enjoyed listening when I played music of that sort on the Latin Beat. Sisters B and C each picked a song that brought her to their minds.

As part of the service, attendees were encouraged to come forward and share their unique memories of Margret with the rest of us. Seventeen people overcame their reluctance to speak off the cuff, and shared. An astounding number!

C lent her video camera to Margret's oldest niece, so there would be a record of the celebration to share with family members who could not join us. She did a fine job.

Although C arranged for me to watch the tape, I could not bring myself to do so for weeks. I watched the video, finally, a couple nights ago. I experienced relief, and a deep appreciation for everyone who braved the discomfort of speaking in front of a group. I transcribed one of the memories that moved me most to share with you, only leaving out some 'and's, and a bit that I could not hear well.

F speaks on Margret

My last memory of Margret was at B's Octoberfest. She gave me a hard time because she thought I was flirting with C. She in no uncertain terms told that that was HER sister and I was not allowed to have her. I think she was teasing me. She also ribbed my brother about it and he was very confused. She had a funny sense of humor that way.

I've known C since I was 5 . . .

I've known the M family, all encompassing, as it has changed throughout the years, and I always remember Margret,

and if the M family is like a light house showing love, no matter what situation happened there was always love, Margret was the beacon, at the top.

She was the bright light that you always gravitated to; you always felt good around her.

I can think back to even when I was a child, hanging with C (when she wasn't being bad),
she was there, and she was smiling, and she was laughing, and always joking around, wanting to do something and be involved.

I think we should take from that as a lesson on how to live - a lot of times we let the stressors of our life take us over,

I think sometimes we should stop and think about Margret and how she enjoyed every moment , no matter what it was, . . . she made something positive out of it, and it made everyone
around them feel that much better, and so LOVE's the word.
it will carry on through each and every person who she has touched because you can't have a memory of her and not think happiness and not think love.

So, in the words of Jonathan Larsen, "Live like there is no day but today."