Maggie was my trainer when I volunteered for a crisis hotline in 1977. Although she was 30 years older than I, we became close friends and colleagues. Maggie and her husband, Peter, came to my wedding. Whenever Maggie and I went out to lunch, I’d say hello to Peter. But I didn’t know him at all outside of these brief encounters and Maggie’s stories about their life together, first in war-torn England, then fleeing the Soviets in Prague, then in America.
When Maggie was stricken with Alzheimer’s, my interactions with Peter became a little like the change in shift between the live-in caretaker and the respite help. “How is she doing today? Will she be able to order off a menu? Does she still know who I am? Have there been any repeats of the time she tried to get out of a moving car? How are you doing?”
“Oh, fine, thanks,” Peter would reply, always the stoic and dignified immigrant. Occasionally I would hear frustration in Peter’s voice as he persuaded Maggie to put on her socks. Or maybe he just spoke louder because Maggie was losing her hearing as well as her mind.
Whenever I would return from my brief outings with Maggie, Peter would say, “She always seems in better spirits after she sees you. Thank you.”
Maggie died seven years ago today, but I have kept up my visits. Every few weeks, Peter welcomes me into the home he and Maggie shared. He is as heartbroken today as he was when she died.
“I’m ready to die, too,” my new 94-year-old friend tells me. “But Maggie wouldn’t want me to be the kind of person who stops getting dressed, stops washing, sits around doing nothing all day. So in the meantime, I’m keeping busy.”
And in the meantime, we talk—about his life in Prague as a multilingual intellectual and journalist before the Nazis came, about his service in the British Royal Air Force, where he met Maggie when stationed in her home town. We talk about Maggie, about politics, about his children and grandchildren, about my work and family.
What a priceless inheritance Maggie has left me.
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What unexpected treasures have you inherited?
Lovely story – thanks for sharing. It’s indeed an inheritance from your friend, but it sounds like a gift to him as well.
Yes, a two-way gift–that’s the best kind, isn’t it? Thanks for your kind comment.
This is a lovely story!
I think this story speaks volumes about you – your compassion, kindness, and caring.
Thanks–that’s awfully kind of you!
What a beautiful story! I miss my grandparents for this very reason – I loved hearing all their stories about the olden days and the incredible stuff they lived through.
Thanks so much, Heather–I’m glad you liked it, and could relate.
What an inspiring story. It is amazing the experiences our family and friends lived through. Thanks for sharing.
I’m glad you liked it–thanks for writing!
It is a wonderful inheritance. It sounds as if they never had children so it’s good that he has someone to pass his memories on to.
It is indeed–but they have three children and five grandchildren!