At 80, my friend Margaret confessed, “I just don’t know what I want to be when I grow up.” That quickly became my mantra and, unknowingly, she became my role model.
We eagerly worked to build race relations locally, swapped books and thoughts at our neighborhood club, prayed together, and discussed the big questions of life. She and my mom grew close when they discovered they shared an Iowa connection and neighboring birth years.
Through unexpected tears and the recognition that she had been a dear and wise spiritual mentor, I said goodbye to Margaret today.
I was fairly established in the neighborhood when Margaret and Bob moved into East Milford from Terrace Park. They were retired with grown children and grandchildren on the way. I met Margaret through a neighbor with a knack for connecting people who formed friendships.
When I held an informal conversation about race after the 2001 police shooting of Timothy Thomas that sparked tensions, Margaret and Bob showed up. Bob, Frank—another of life’s teachers—and I guided the group until I ducked out to raise kids and pursue spiritual training. Margaret (and Bob) stuck with it. Incredibly, the group still meets.
When I planned a Quaker worship for forgiveness that was sparsely attended, Margaret was beside me...as I realized I needed to forgive myself. I attended my first protest march against the war in Iraq with Margaret and my new Quaker Friends. Margaret periodically attended Quaker worship and we often chatted about the silence and prayer. I treasure the copy of Quaker Hannah Whitehall Smith's book The Christian’s Secret of a Happy Life which Margaret gave me. When I’d had a trying day with young children, I’d walk to Margaret’s door, always open. and encounter a listening ear. My favorite book club pick was hers, The Underneath, about abused and abandoned animals who band together in the safety under the porch.
Margaret’s memorial was intimate. Her children, each in their own way, spoke such loving truth about their mother. They captured her and stirred my heart to remember my friend, my mentor, my spiritual companion. Margaret had more than her share of heartache, beginning as a child, yet she always chose to love. Her son spoke of the looming, loving presence in the room as Margaret passed. A friend told me a red hawk landed outside Margaret’s window during a visit a few weeks before she slipped into Spirit’s embrace. Margaret wondered if she’d loved enough. She had.
Margaret moved away from the neighborhood, then back under the care of her daughter while I was tending my own aging parents, and then Covid hit. In dealing with my own parental grief and navigating a new world, I had all but forgotten Margaret.
Today I remembered, deeply, and said goodbye.
