Mary and Max

When I first met Mary in 2001, she was 90 years old and had just recently lost the right to climb up her ladder to clean out the gutters. Mary was gifted with the ability to tell amazing, unparallel stories. She would tell stories of listening to James Whitcomb Riley recite poems, her favorite, Little Orphan Annie (she is the little girl sitting on the grass looking away from Mr. Riley) She once told me that during the time that this picture was taken, that she thought a monkey was going to pop out of a box that was being cranked, her father told her that it was a movie/picture camera. Mary would also tell stories of how she learned to drive in Crown Hill Cemetery and later stories about her beloveded Bill; how they met for lunch at Hook's drug store and shared sanwiches and milk. Mary's memory held onto the most exquisite details and her stories seemed as if you were living in it right then.

During warm months, when I returned home from school Mary and I would sit outside, me with a can of Sprite, and she with a bottle of water. Max, my dog would oftentimes join us and lay out in the sun. Max was the only dog that Mary was never afraid of in all her years, perhaps because of her fear of dogs from when Lockerbie, Mr. Riley's dog snapped at her all that time ago. Mary and I would talk about the weather, how school was going, what my plans were, but mostly we talked history and the things she did when she was my age.

About this time five years ago, around 5:30 am Mary was on her way out of her garage to put mail in the mailbox. Somehow she fell while making her way out of the garage. It wouldn't be for another 3hrs. until she was found.

That day I had decided to skip my early morning class and go to school late. I let Max outside one last time before leaving for the day. When I called for him to come inside he would not come. Instead he focused intently on Mary's garage door. I went outside and looked over and noticed that her garage door was half way open and there was a heap of something lying next to the car. I went on over and found Mary lying on the concrete in sub zero temperatures with nothing but a coat and canvas shoes that had come off. Working quickly I found a blanket/covering and covered her while calling for an ambulance. Having recently had knee surgery I wasn't confident I could pick her up and didn't want to cause her more pain. The ambulance arrived and the firefighters took her to the hospital and I followed behind. Mary had suffered a broken hip, hypothermia, and mild frostbite on her toes. The ER doctor said it was good that she had been found, 30 minutes more and she would not have survived.

Every year afterwards Mary sent Max and I an anniversary card. Oftentimes the card would have a picture on it that looked like Max. Inside, she would always write the same message:
"Dearest Meghan and Max,
I hope that you are enjoying our anniversary. I know that I am.
Love, Mary"

For three years Max and I received a card from Mary. In 2006 Mary returned home to her beloved Bill. Every so often I find myself missing our conservations, or buying Trader's Joes Lemon Curd, Mary's favorite. Even more often, I look at Max with amazement and wonder, "How did you know?"