I could talk to Margaret about anything. As I spoke, she always looked me straight in the eye. There was no judgment; no sense of 'hurry-up.' Margaret nodded, gave her familiar "yes," as only she could say it. And her empathy, "I know…" At the post office, the pharmacy, the grocery store, in her home while the budgie flew - it did not matter where - Margaret listened. As her mobility decreased, she fully appreciated, and marvelled at the use of e-mail that her family initiated.
Working at The Review (1983-1989), I came to know Margaret through the Red Cross and the Horticultural Society. Emergency planning was the big ticket item for the Red Cross, and the grand visit by Elwy Yost was the zenith of the annual Flower Show!
Although that original emergency plan was long gone by the time of the 1998 Ice Storm, it had laid the seed for community compassion. From the Emergency Centre, I drove to Margaret and Willie's home to bring water. Margaret laughed. She had relocated the two of them to the ground floor, and they were comfortably camping inside the house.
Margaret's personal story of WWII is so very powerful. And by publishing it, she generously gave her lessons learned to all of us. Margaret's walk home was a walk through history. She knew the sharp edge of the sword.
I think it was a walk that once undertaken, she continued throughout her life. Life did not pass her by, nor did she turn away from it. Margaret walked into life. She knew the sorrows firsthand; yet, she did not dwell there. Instead, she thoughtfully welcomed family, culture, community and the constant rhythm of change that life brings.
Though Margaret and Willie are now gone, the Linden trees they helped to plant remain with us. Fittingly, purveyors of community and friendship.
Michelle Landriault
Vankleek Hill
