There’s Something About Marys

I’ve had two “Marys” in my life. Both aunts by marriage, both gregarious, outgoing, caring and considerate. Straight-shooters short on bullshit and long on listening. They could be lighthearted or they could be lightning, but they were always family first, family always.

I lost one Mary years ago. I lost the other this week. Both losses were too soon, both hurt and hit hard. But this more recent Mary, this Missouri Mary, this Mary who I saw infrequently and knew less about than I should have after 32 years – this Mary’s loss also made me smile.

Let me explain. You know that person at family gatherings who others tend to gravitate toward? The one you seek out as a safe harbor of sanity in a storm of nattering nonsense?

That was Mary for me. She was the one relative I most wanted to see every Christmas, the one who wore calm like a warm winter coat. Just being in her presence was enough to make you forget whatever was bothering you, because chances were whatever was bothering you wasn’t important.

So yes, I think about Mary and I smile. That’s what she would do, what she did do all those years with all that cancer. She went to St. Louis Cardinals games, she traveled the world, she went to concerts and participated in community events.

She lived, despite all protestations to the contrary.

Even in the end you couldn’t really see the sickness. That smile and those big, deep, piercing eyes with their “I’m gonna go ahead and keep on living for a while longer if that’s cool” attitude blinded us all.

The cancer took over but it didn’t win. Mary was above the disease, beyond it. That’s how you beat cancer – by continuing to live with gratitude and grace.

The holidays won’t be the same this year. They won’t ever be the same. And that’s okay, too. The rest of us, the ones left to mourn, also need to live with gratitude and grace.

My Marys would want nothing less.