Marjorie May Davis Reed

Death is a magnifying glass. A sharp, crisp lens on the influence and impact one human has on another. Breaking open the skin of ourselves, allowing us to weigh that which is ours and that which is theirs.

Gramarge’s death was singular in my understanding of my grandmother and her family. Investigating her life and understanding better where she came from (she never much liked to talk about herself), I can place myself in the spectrum of her light, following the hues back through my father, to her, her parents and even back through her father’s family.

That family, while relations are in some places strained, is strong and cohesive – – stubbornly so. It is a testament to the matriarch, that she raised such self-minded and equally devoted children.

The contradictions in every one of us are sometimes misunderstood as weakness, but the most glorious part of my grandmother was how she embodied each self fully and with passion. She was glamorous and fine, but saw beauty in more than the the superficial. She marvelled at the natural world and it’s explorations and was comfortable in it. She pursued self-education, discourse and argument with equal intellegence. She suffered loss with grace and an even more determined will for independance.

My sadness is rimmed with joy – that she left this world with as clear as sense of direction as she lived.  Grief is liminal. I will reoriented in newly ordered space, marking this specific moment, a point where history begins again and the future lays out ahead of me.



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