Eulogy for my Aunt Marge
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MY AUNT MARGE 1930-2009
My earliest memory of Aunt Marge is from the kitchen of my grandmother's house on Carlisle Street in Philadelphia. The kitchen was the gathering place in that house, and there was always plenty of activity, debate, and discussion about the news of the day, which was blaring from the radio next to the kitchen table.
Marge was always right in the middle of whatever discussion was going on, her voice clear as a bell and always loud. You always knew exactly what Marge felt -- and because her voice was so strong, I think the neighbors on either side of my grandmother's row house knew it too.
It wasn't all just arguing, though. You couldn't be around Marge McDonnell without hearing her laugh. She was just as quick to laugh as she was to shout, and she would laugh till her face got red and she had tears running down her cheeks. In the kitchen she would tell stories of funny things that had happened to her at work or on one of her trips, and she would act out little scenes, doing voices and making faces to embellish the story, till she was laughing so hard she had to stop and catch her breath. I don't think I've ever met someone who laughed as hard as Aunt Marge.
Marge was a wonderful aunt. She was almost like a big sister in some ways, because she was a younger generation than my father. She took my brother Jim and I to the Thanksgiving Day parade, the Mummers, Radio City Music Hall, the Ice Capades, the Phillies, the movies (especially Saturday afternoon matinees) and lots of other shows and sporting events. When John F. Kennedy was running for president, she took us downtown to see him at a campaign appearance, and it was exciting because he was going to land in a helicopter. There was a large crowd of people, but Marge wasn't going to let that stop her -- she squeezed Jim and I to the front of the crowd so we could see the dashing young candidate close up. It's still one of my most vivid memories, because he walked close enough to us that we could almost touch him.
It was typical of Marge that she cried for days when Kennedy was assassinated, almost as if her own brother had been killed. She felt everything deeply, and she didn't hold anything back. I was so glad that she lived to see the Phillies win the World Series last October, because she was a passionate Phillies fan for more than 50 years, adopting them as her team when just about everybody in Philadelphia thought of them as the poor stepbrother of the other team in town, the Athletics. When it came to football, well, the only team that mattered was Notre Dame. You couldn't be around Marge long without hearing about all her trips to South Bend to cheer on the Irish.
Marge had a lot of problems in the last ten years, and some of the joy drained out of her life. The sense of humor wasn't gone, though. When I visited her at Briar Leaf, she always said something that made me laugh. When I asked if she'd had dinner, she would roll her eyes and say, "We had meat loaf. That's what they called it, anyway." The nurses told me she would yell at them sometimes, yes, but she would also surprise them with a compliment or a thank you out of the blue. "She was a joy," one of them told me the day after she died.
I'm glad I knew her. Marge taught me that you have to live large, to not settle for less, and to put your whole being into your life. Life has tears, but it also has plenty of laughter, and you have to experience both.
If Marge is in Heaven now, I know that she's probably already voiced a few complaints to the man in charge. She's probably had some laughs, too, though, and I'm sure the place has perked up noticeably. I hope if I get there someday that I'll hear her laughter ringing out, because then I'll know it's a place I want to be.
John McDonnell
