Marge

Grandma, Granny, Meme, Grammie, Nanny – these are all names used to call our older female relatives. My whole life, people have thought I was crazy because I call my grandmother "Marge". Her name is Margaret and now my children call her "Grannie Marge" – but to me and my 2 sisters … it's Marge. Saying that name in your head may bring a picture of some burly female truck driver. Or to some, it is a waitress in some diner with a hair net on and a cigarette hanging out of her mouth pouring coffee with a nametag sporting a simple identity -------"Marge".

Marge to me brings another flood of emotions and memories. Marge means a voice like Lucille Ball and the laugh to go with it. It means kisses on both of my cheeks and the feel of peach fuzz on her upper lip that tickles me when she does it. It means a Birthday card that has been hand chosen for me – so much so that all that is needed at the end of the pre-printed card is "Love, Marge". It means a phone call on my birthday usually right after my parents call me first thing in the morning. It means raised eye brows and intense glares as I am telling her stories of my life because she is an intent and purposeful listener. It means seeing sign language since I was a baby – and it reminds me that she taught me to do my ABCs in sign language, on both hands, in less than 10 seconds. The name reminds me of hard work clipping coupons and saving her money so that one day she could go on a cruise with all the money she saved … determination. It means the smell of squash casserole on Thanksgiving and Christmas – and the wonderful recipe that I have now to make for my own family. It means being there for every major event in my life no matter how hard it was to get there with bad knees and injured lungs. It means still knowing the names of all my friends and boyfriends from high school and college – and asking me how they are doing by name. It means taking an interest in my children's lives just as intense as her interest in mine.

Marge is a simple name and probably not one that you would hear for a grandmother – and I think that's probably why I love it so much. If you know me, you know exactly who I'm talking about when I say "Marge". You know it's my dad's mom – and chances are, you've met her. She's not the typical 'go to grandmother's house on Sunday afternoon' type of grandmother b/c we usually were all at my parent's house when we were together … but she was there. She wasn't absent.

 

My Marge has stage IV lung cancer these days and I know that her time on this earth is shorter than I would like. I don't see her as much as I should. I don't see her as much as I want to see her. Life is happening all around me and somehow – days turn into weeks and I regret that I haven't been to see her and haven't called her just to check and see if it's a good day or a bad day. She is on pain medicine now to try and handle the pain that is associated with this nasty disease. She's ready to go. She knows Jesus. She would love nothing more than to be reunited with her husband who died before my Senior graduation from high school. (His name was "Gump" – that's another story) She's ready for a new body – new knees, new lungs, a diabetic free life where she can enjoy the food she loves and not always be worried about her sugar.

 

I had the opportunity to spend time with Marge (and her sister "Aunt Jo") on Friday as my sister and I went out there to bring them a week worth of meals. Both of these strong women are in their late 80's and they live in a house that Marge has owned since way before I was born. As I sat in the familiar den of her house on the floor in front of the chair that has not been recovered since I started going over there 34 years ago...and looked around at the furniture, smelled the smell of that house, surveyed the walls that are still that dark panel wood – I was overcome with joy that I had this moment with her. She shared with me stories of her past that she has never told me. With things that I am going thru in my life right now – she made me feel more 'normal'. She could empathize with my stress and she gave me encouragement and wisdom that only an 85 year old veteran could give. All these years of her being my grandmother – the grandmother I see the most (my other grandmother lived in Florida my entire life) – I never felt closer to her than I did at that moment. I know that the Lord gave us that moment to keep in my memory forever.

 

Here is a woman. Here is a legacy. Here is someone who loves her only child, my dad, more than her own life. Here is a woman who worked hard her whole life to make money and to feel worthy. And now here is a woman who fights hard to breathe each breath. Here is my grandmother who I lovingly refer to as "Marge" – this is a woman who I love and respect. This is a woman who has been a ray of sunshine to me in the midst of some clouds. This is a woman who loves me unabashedly and fully and wholly. I wish you all could know my Marge.