I lost a friend last week. She was one of those once-a-month friends, but I had known her for almost ten years, so that’s a lot of once-a-months.
Marge Rehbock and her daughter Sue have been permanent fixtures in our little lung transplant support group. I guess I assumed that Marge would live forever. For some of us, this is a little reminder that life is not a forever thing – life is precious and we need to enjoy it while we have it. We need to take advantage of all it has to offer. Marge was 78 and she had received a lung transplant thirteen years ago.
Laura and I and my family began attending the lung transplant support group at Loyola almost ten years ago – Marge and Sue were there. Part of the purpose of our support group is to show what success is all about – to show people waiting and struggling that this whole transplant thing really works. And, to help them understand that the people among them have been where they are and survived… even thrived.
Marge taught us a lot about life and about dealing with transplant – not all good because she sometimes seemed to veer from doing what we’re all told – yet she was a survivor and her spunk and attitude was something to be admired. (And she never veered on the important things…) Sue would describe in detail some of the problems her Mom dealt with on her road to transplant and Marge would roll her eyes, wave a hand dismissively, and claim it wasn’t that bad… But sometimes, I think some of our struggles are more difficult for the ones who love us.
I’m pretty vocal in our group. Marge always seemed to know I love the sound of my own voice! But we both enjoyed sharing our experiences and helping others. And we both enjoyed taking jabs at one another. I occasionally accused her of dating Moses. When someone said something that opened the door for a wise-a** comment, there was a look I got pretty regularly from Marge – it was a head-down, kinda looking-over-the-tops of-her-glasses-if-she’d-worn-glasses look, and it meant, “I KNOW you have something to say – you ALWAYS have something to say…” I’ll miss that look.
I know her daughter, Sue, and I love Sue too. Sue is emotional and cries at the drop of a hat – at painful as well as joyful stories. Marge would roll her eyes when Sue started welling up while she told some story, or listened to someone’s story. I’ll have to admit; I always kinda like making Sue cry.
Sue teaches at a Catholic school. When I was transplanted, I received pages of notes and drawings wishing me well and telling me they had all been praying for me for months from so many of her students! Apparently, Sue had been telling them all about me and so many folks waiting, and having them pray for us. I sat at home crying while I read their notes. I guess that was her way of getting even with me.
I didn’t know the rest of Marge’s family – but I saw so many pictures at her wake. There was a lot of smiling going on in that family. It’s always been obvious to me that she comes from good people.
The top of Marge’s little remembrance card read, “Life is not measured by the number of breaths you take, but by the moments that take your breath away.” The first time I read that little quotation was on an email from the beautiful lady who has my donor, Kari’s heart.
Marge didn’t have a long enough time on this planet. Who ever does? But, I think she had a nice time. I think she had moments that took her breath away.
There will always be a little place in my heart for you, Marge – and for your daughter Sue too.
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