I always envied her hair in high school. She had long, straight, flowing dark brown hair. She had the perfect hair for the times. It was beautiful!! Yet because we were highschoolers, she was teased for her hair. Certain individuals, my football captain brother included, thought it "funny" to call her Pocahontas. Yet, Marianne took it in stride. In fact, she actually told me at one of the reunions I attended with my brother as my guest, that all was good between them. She smiled and said all was forgotten and forgiven, and my brother wasn't a bad guy after all. And then she laughed.
If you knew Marianne, you knew her laugh. She laughed, as trump would say, "bigly." Her laughter filled her body. Her laughter lit up her face. Her laughter was contagious, exuberant, and genuine. I am so happy that I was able to laugh with her many, many times.
As happens with high school friends, we went our separate ways and only saw each other at reunions. I am a lucky person to be a member of the Class of 1971, Upper Merion High School. We have a committee that regularly throws a reunion every five years. I always felt a bit anxious as I sent in my check. Who would I know? Will we have anything to talk about? Will Marianne be there? Because, I always sat with Marianne. I enjoyed talking to her and catching up on local stories (aka:gossip) because she had stayed local and knew it all. She greeted me like the long-lost friend I was, and we had such a good time!! Marianne loved to dance, and rarely let any of us at the table remain seated. And when she danced, her long hair flowed, her smile glowed, and her joy showed.
Our last reunion was in October. Marianne wasn't the same gregarious person she'd always been. She was shaken by my brother's death from pancreatic cancer. As we talked, the big laughs weren't happening. We both had tears in our eyes. Then she told me how sick she had been recently. I could see the toll of her illness, her hair had turned grey, her skin was pale, her eyes weren't smiling. She told me that she'd been sick enough to be scared. And she still was. But, as the crowd grew and as friends joyfully greeted her, she radiated joy and laughed grandly. She outlasted me. When I left, she was laughing and dancing. "See you in five years," I said.
Godspeed Marianne. I know how much you've missed your mother. Hopefully, the two of you are laughing and dancing in this next phase of life. I will miss you.
