remembering mary
by Elizabeth de Barros
If she were still alive, these Orwellian days would be no match for my grandmother. She could defy an entire institution with a single phrase. The day she gave birth to a baby girl with Down syndrome, she did.
In 1949, that baby girl — my paternal aunt — came into the world bearing red hair, two club feet and Down syndrome. In those days, the term “Mongoloid” was synonymous with Down. My grandmother found the label offensive, as was the doctor’s monstrous advice to institutionalize her after they discovered she happened to have an extra chromosome.
To that suggestion, my grandmother tightened her lip. “Over my dead body,” is all she said.
Diamond clarity, like brutality, is read in many ways.
“Mary,” 1959
Mary may have been “different,” but her ability to bring delight to any situation is what truly set her apart. She shocked a line of somber relatives when she uttered, “Pop’s pale,” after viewing the casket where her father lay. Just about tore the place up. Timing was on her side.
Mary Ann was her given name, but she answered equally to Mary, Mag, Maggie, and Aunt Mary. She preferred none — she knew who she was. My earliest memory was her world of work, which consisted of daily repetitive writing, filling countless spiral notebooks with letters and numbers written in magic marker of every color imaginable. She had a penchant for collecting pens, pencils, and markers of every size and color. She used all of them.
She also amassed what seemed like every vinyl record 45 that had ever been cut. Had oodles of them. Neatly stacked, the black towers leaned like Pisa — protecting and tending to her private collection when she wasn’t climbing up the steps of the bus that took her to daytime workshop.
Another side to Mary was how she kept things hopping. At any given moment she could be heard singing very loudly and off-key to Bobby Darin’s Mack the Knife or one of David Cassidy’s hits. Other times, she shut everyone and everything out, absorbed in rooting for the home team, tracking innings and keeping score while guzzling Coke from a 10 ounce green glass bottle. Mary was ever resourceful, deliberate, and genuine.
Brilliant.
Admittedly, at about six or seven, I was secretly afraid of Mary. Not only was she 14 years my senior, she was thrice my size and only all too eager to take on my two older brothers in wrestling — at the same time. They loved the challenge. I distracted myself by playing with her Etch-A-Sketch and searching for a marker that still had ink.
A few years later, I discovered teen idol Bobby Sherman by reading her pile of Tiger Beat magazines. Mary was alright. I realized this about the same time I began noticing my grandmother’s doting ways, and how she laughed at all Mary’s jokes. I was vaguely aware of the strain she carried from her daughter’s numerous corrective surgeries and often serious health complications. As I got a little older, my grandmother ‘s fears about who would take care of her daughter after she was gone were well within earshot. Her questions somehow became a part of me, if only in a silent way.
Life has a way of answering. By the time I was 21, Mary had outlived her parents, and for a brief period her care fell to me. A short season, but long on providence. First on my list of things to do was to take her shopping for some new clothes. Next, we hit the movies. In 1983, four bucks got us in to see Star Wars: Episode VI: Return of the Jedi. To this day, I don’t know which was more exciting, soldiers on speeder bikes flying through the forest moon of Endor or her belly laugh reaction to Ewoks. Nothing was ever wasted on Mary. When time came to help wash her hair, those fragrant suds made for us extra-long white beards and a sense of connection. I learned a few things about my aunt that summer: how capable she was, the number of diabetic sores on her scalp, and what love looks like. She may have been twice my size, but everything else about her was like fine china, to be handled with care.
Over the ensuing 15 years, Mary went on to live with her eldest brother and sister-in-law, treated like a doll in a dollhouse. She had lost weight, her hair was curled, and carried herself like a lady. But when acute dementia set in, her overwhelming needs forced the decision to place her in an assisted-care facility. The beginning of the end, or so it seemed. She still managed to outlive every member of her immediate family, except for one brother whose honor it was to give her a proper burial in 2005. She was 56.
Sad ending, but not tragic. The institution didn’t suit her anyway — my grandmother’s worries were laid to rest.
To have known Mary was to never forget her. Her fluency in the language of love enabled her to teach it to everyone she met.
What a fine tribute to Mary! How fortunate was the life her family gave her.
Beautiful Slice of Life to be cherished.
Thank you for sharing your memories! A very vivid and touching recount! Made me want to read more! The picture, too, is very expressive.
Thank you Carol, Annie and Petra for your generous comments after reading what’s been stored up in my heart for so long. Sometimes these things just tend to spill out when the cup overflows.
-E
Wow, you relating your experience of watching me and Johnny wrestling with Aunt Mary brings back my own memories of feelings of childlhood when visiting Mary…apprehension at first, but when I finally got bigger than her, joy! I knew I could finally “take her”, but in deference to who she was, my sweet Aunt Mary, I never did! This was a beautiful story. Thanks so much!
“She preferred none – she knew who she was…” …my tears spilled over as I read these words … so true, so right. Her very “knowing” was the Love Light in the Clarke family. The expression of unconditional love in the midst. Her life was the family’s gift direct from heaven. Precious Contents. Fragile. Special Delivery.
It just occurred to me…that Grandma simply took the time to love.
-E
Beautiful!
Elizabeth, I so enjoyed this tribute to your dear aunt Mary! I was born in 1951 so I understand the stigma she and your grandmother faced. My brother-in-law born in 1946 was born blind with cerebral palsy – many challenges faced my aging in-laws and the siblings, but none too big for our great God to accommodate. What a blessed heritage you have!
Thank you for stopping by the “Tea Party” and introducing yourself and your blog. Mission accomplished here! This is a wonderful blog and you are a FANTASTIC writer!
God’s blessings be upon you!
Elizabeth,
Wow! All that you write simply echoes of God’s grace and His amazing love. I’m in awe every time I read one of your posts…and yes, to God be the glory for that. Thank you for sharing these beautiful memories of Mary. I remember, when the “numbers” for one of my pregnancies indicated down’s syndrome, the woman who told me couldn’t believe I wasn’t devastated. She was truly waiting for me to fall apart. I know life for your Grandma must have been full of challenges. Praise God for how she loved her sweet Mary.
Hi Trisha,
Thank you so much for reading and your kind comment. I’m so grateful how Tim Challies gave this post quite the plug on his blog! I like to think it was yet another way for God to gain a greater glory through the life of my dear Aunt Mary.
-E
What a wonderful, poignant memoir: I am left with a strong sense of having met Mary. Thank you for sharing her with us; the legacy of a life well-loved and lived unapologetically is an enduring one.
Wow Elizabeth! Speechless…
Hi Lisa,
Thanks so much for reading and your comment. You would’ve loved Mary, too, I just know it 🙂
-E
A wonderful portrayal of an amazing woman. I can just picture her smiling at me and wanting to give me a hug. Thank you for that beautiful piece.
Elizabeth I stumbled across this today and it’s such a blessing getting to know Mary. I had a cousin growing up, Buster was his name and he was what we called back then mentally retarded. I don’t know the details but he was a lot like Mary in so many ways. Like you I was scared of him as a little girl, but I grew to love and admire him. Like Mary, he was his own person and he lived his life to the fullest. He loved playing pool, and Elvis Presley. It was the 1980’s and as much as I loved Buster, I despised Elvis and I always teased him and tried to get him to listen to my “cool” music. He could have cared less. I loved him very much, and he was such a blessing to our family. A lot like Mary. Thank you so much for sharing her story.
Much love to you my friend.