We shared the same birthday--June 14--and a penchant for Barbie dolls.
And today, cancer robbed our family of my sister-in-law Mary.
Accomplishing more during her 68 years in this world than most people do in a lifetime, Mary was clearly and unmistakably a "doer", devoting decades of her life to being the most caring, attentive daughter, sister, mother and wife anyone could want.
She and her husband Roger made their home just a few doors down from Mary's parents. She was always there for them, proving the old adage that "a son is a son until he takes a wife; a daughter is a daughter for all of her life."
She met Roger when they both worked at Hiram Walker; after the birth of their daughter, Mary left Hiram Walker to become a full time mom. Twin daughters arrived a few years later, followed by a son.
Children were the light of her life. There was nothing she wouldn't do for her own four; but the many other children in Mary's life--my stepchildren, niece and grandchildren, to name a few--all benefitted from her kindness and generosity. My stepdaughter was the flower girl at Mary's wedding, and it was tradition for them to treat her to a full-fledged shopping spree every September for her birthday. She'd come home with an entire new school wardrobe and stories about what stores they went to, where they went for lunch and how much fun she had with her aunt and uncle.
Mary made every Christmas magical for all the children in her life too. Even though she never even met my niece--who lives hundreds of miles away--there was always a beautifully wrapped present under the tree for her, chosen especially by Mary. Always age-appropriate and always cool. When the kids got older, there were always crisp bills nestled inside their cards--and lots of them.
We lived in Toronto for many years, but Mary kept in touch with me through delightful handwritten letters, chockful of news about what my nieces and nephew were up to, their growth and development milestones, and details about her latest projects. Mary always had so much going on.
As our parents aged, Mary took charge like only she could. Doing our mother-in-law's laundry faithfully each week after she entered a long-term care home, making sure her children visited regularly, and ensuring she didn't want for a thing. When our mother-in-law passed away, it was Mary who singlehandedly tackled the lengthy and laborious task of clearing out her tired and obsolete house and overseeing its complete renovation. With her excellent taste in décor and her insistence on "the best" of everything--flooring, fixtures, appliances--Mary transformed it into a cozy, comfortable, modern, inviting home. She also meticulously managed our mother-in-law's estate, which was no small or easy feat.
Her talent for organization was superior. Each time one of her adult children moved or relocated to another city, Mary was there with boxes, bedsheets and her inimitable expertise and attention to detail.
She was a dedicated and delightful homemaker, a fabulous cook and made sure everyone she loved was as happy and comfortable as they could possibly be.
When she became a grandmother, Mary was also always there. Not for the occasional visit at her convenience; she shaped her life around caring for her little ones so their young moms and dads could leave for work every day with the peace of mind that comes from knowing their kids were with the next best person to themselves.
Mary put everyone in her family first, but she took good care of herself so she could always be ready for whatever they needed, whenever they needed it. She kept her youthful figure, her hair was always perfectly styled and she was always beautifully dressed.
She loved to laugh and was always able to see the humour in life.
Although it sure won't seem much like Christmas this year, when I unwrap the Barbie and Ken Bridal Christmas ornament that Mary gave me years ago, I will hang it in a prominent place on my tree, and say a prayer of gratitude for her.
"..a broom is drearily sweeping up the broken pieces of yesterday's life; somewhere her children are weeping; somewhere her husband has no wife; and the wind cries Mary...."
Like the wind, Mary was a force to reckoned with. Mere words cannot describe how much she will be missed.
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