ODE TO MARY ANN

MARCH 24TH, 1998:

When looking at my list for Home Delivered Meals today, I saw that Mary Ann W. was still off the list.  I asked if anyone knew how she was doing.  Denise said she'd passed away last weekend.  It shook me up.  I don't know if that's why I felt so distracted today ...Forgot to mark meals delivered in the book after my route.  Maybe it was just hunger, as I'd run late and hadn't any lunch yet, but I've been as late and as hungry before.

Mary Ann was more than just a customer.  She was dealt a bum hand of cards, and was playing them as well as possible.  When I first had her on the route, I couldn't help being aware of her health problems.  From first meeting her, I saw she had a tracheotomy.  That was years before, and I'd thought she died back then because she suddenly stopped receiving meals.  When I inquired at the Center then, they'd said she was going to make her own meals.  I was not only relieved that she hadn't died, but respected her independence in doing for herself.

Eventually Mary Ann was back on delivery.  I think she had diabetes.  She was an enormous woman with beautiful short wavy hair that always looked neat.  But her swollen legs looked un-walkable.  I assumed that since she had also lost some toes, that she was unable to get about, and that she could only sit by her window and watch a swatch of the world go by on the street below.  But, once while passing her place, I saw her sitting on a chair outside on the sidewalk.  Next time delivering meals, I asked her about that, and she said that she tried to get out for awhile every good day.  I hadn't realized she could get down the stairs, let alone get back up to her second floor apartment.

She did latchet hook while she sat in her chair.  Her old low cost apartment wasn't neat, and sometimes smelled like the kitty litter needed freshening, as she had a cat called Midnight, with the most beautiful eyes - If jewels, they could be sold at Tiffany's.  But whether she or the friends she had that helped her, eventually her apartment would get attention.

I'd try to always remember the cat and its preference to Tartar Control Pounce Treats... which I'd have them on hand, as my cat also liked them. After awhile, Midnight knew my days for delivering meals and would come meowing out to greet me whether hungry or not.

Mary Ann's seat next to the window was perfect.  The window was low enough so she didn't have to strain to look out.  In front of her was a chair where I'd place her meal. At other times she's use it for her yarn when latchet hooking lovely rugs.  The window was at the exact angle to receive the most light in the winter, and the least direct sunlight in the summer.

When she wasn't gazing at the world going by, she'd be watching TV--The Price Is Right was usually on when I came by.

We didn't talk much, so I never really knew much about her life, just what she meant to me.  She was the picture of bravery and appreciation of what life she had, and never complained.  She did worry about her tracheotomy, and the Dr.'s office visits, and I could tell she was afraid to die.  I think she was close to God, just afraid of the unknown; afraid of her health getting worse and becoming even more dependent on others.  I think as limited as it was, that Mary Ann loved life.  She, like myself, could see the world in a grain of sand.  She could also overlook the bad in life and not let it block out the good.

Maybe she's better off now.  Maybe she's as thin as a willow reed, and as light as the breeze and can dance and run like she never could in life.  But if she thought her life on this plane was in vain, it was not.  Her domain was much smaller than most people's, but within her life she taught by example how to be noble about illness, and chronic health problems.

Now, I could be wrong.  Maybe I'm the only person who saw Mary Ann in that way, but that is who she was to me.  And I don't want her death to go as unnoticed to others as her life may have been.