Remembering Mary

Mary M. Merritt, the mother of my lifelong and much beloved friend Jennifer Meier left us on August 11. While her passing was not completely unexpected it nevertheless leaves those of us who knew her with one less rock to cling to in turbulent times.

When Jennifer asked if I'd be willing to speak at Mary's memorial service and I agreed, she told me her mother had little patience for wailing and whining and wouldn't want us telling any stories that would make people cry. With thirty years of memories and roughly five minutes to say my piece, I left 'em laughing even as my heart grieved the passing of a remarkable mother and businesswoman.

In loving remembrance of Mary I offer up to you, dear 'blog readers, my remarks delivered at her service on Aug. 16. I hope that by reading them you, too, will catch a glimpse of a person the world can ill afford to be without.

My name is Marjorie Westmoreland and Mary’s daughter Jennifer and I have been best friends for 30 years. I love Mary and consider it a privilege to speak about her today.

I first met Mary a couple of weeks after Jennifer and I became friends in the sixth grade. I’d been invited to come over to their house after school and Jennifer and I were sitting in her room talking and listening to music when Mary came in from her job as a realtor. She stuck her head in the door and Jennifer introduced me.

“Mmm,” she said, nodding in my direction unsmilingly, “Nice to meet you. Don’t forget the kitchen needs cleaning.”

And with that she turned on her heel and walked away.

Was she talking to me? I wondered. I stayed to help wash dishes that night just in case.

Something told me I didn’t want to get crossways with Mary -- not if I knew what was good for me.

One of Jennifer’s old boyfriends found this out the hard way. Neither Jennifer nor I can recall exactly what he did wrong but Mary got so mad at him she chased him out of her house waving a pistol. We don’t know whether the gun was loaded but knowing Mary, it probably was.

Then there was the time when we were in high school and Mary overheard us talking about the possibility of Jennifer getting a tattoo. Mary waited until I left to tell Jennifer that if she ever came home actually wearing a tattoo she could expect to have it scrubbed off with a wire brush dipped in a bucket of salt.

Mary wasn’t intimidated by official credentials, either. I was in the hospital room the morning that Jennifer’s son Jacob was born. The head nurse hardly had a chance to clean him up and wrap him in a blanket before Mary stepped forward, held out her arms and said firmly, “Give him to me.” The nurse obeyed and quickly. I also witnessed Mary talking her way out of a speeding ticket on at least two occasions. Unruffled, she simply told the officer she didn’t think she was going too fast and both times, much to my amazement, they let her go with nothing more than a warning.

Over the years, Mary got to where she treated me like family – giving me chores when I came to the house and telling me what to say and do. She even took me out to West Texas to visit the relatives a couple of times where I survived a tornado and all sorts of other dangerous fun. My mother said she never worried when Mary was in charge because she knew I’d be kept safe.

I guess it’s a good thing my mom never saw Mary getting ready for work back when she owned the real estate office. She’d be standing in the bathroom fixing her hair with a lit cigarette in one hand and a can of aerosol hairspray in the other. It’s a wonder she didn’t blow the roof off the house.

Like any good mother, Mary never failed to feed me (her slow-cooked beans were some of the best) and she never failed to acknowledge all the milestones in my life -- graduations, marriage, and the births of each of my four children. As if her own children and grandchildren weren’t enough to keep up with! She was from the generation that didn’t just send a card or an email to congratulate you on a new baby. She came to visit, bringing a gift and staying a respectable two hours give or take. She loved babies and it was the birth of my son last year that brought her out to our home in Cypress. That was the last time I saw her.

Mary’s tire store was just around the corner from my parents’ house and my dad always bought his tires there. He liked visiting with Mary because they were culturally and politically on the same page. My dad never failed to comment on what a smart lady that Mary Merritt was.

Every once in awhile I’d be listening to one of the local AM radio talk shows when I’d hear a familiar voice coming through the speaker. Mary had strong opinions about things and she wasn’t afraid to call in and share them with the fourth largest city in America.

I always admired Mary because she was plain-spoken – you knew where you stood with her at all times. She referred to silly, stupid or irrational people as “fools” and she used that word a lot. She didn’t mince words, put on airs, or try to keep up with the Joneses. Widowed at a young age with three children to raise, she was too busy to worry about what other people thought. She was a self-made woman long before feminism became fashionable and the fact that her daughters grew up to be remarkable wives and mothers themselves is perhaps Mary’s greatest legacy. She lived boldly and honestly and in doing so set the example for all of us.

Debbie, Susan, and my most beloved friend Jennifer, your mother was one in a million and I am so grateful to have known her all these years. I pray that God will pour out His peace and blessing upon your hearts and in your lives.

Otherwise, He, too, will have to answer to your mom and we all know who’ll win that argument!