I was all set to write a post about entails as my new character in my latest release, An Unwitting Compromise, marries Elizabeth Bennet knowing she is pregnant and assures her that his property and assets will go to her son because his estate is held in fee simple. That was a delightful rabbit hole to fall into and shall have to wait until maybe next month. So, the reason I pushed that topic to the side was that when I saw the date for my turn to share, I was delighted to find it lands on my mother’s birthday.
Marjorie May McFadyen was born May 19, 1917, the final year of The Great War in a small prairie town, Parkbeg, Saskatchewan. She was three when the roaring twenties started and at the tender age of thirteen, the dirty thirties began. I can guarantee you that she knew exactly what it was like to grow up on the prairies during the 1930s when the drought came and dust storms were a common occurrence. I only lived through one when I lived in Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan for a short time, but she was quick to call and ask me what I thought.
1938 saw my mother graduate nursing school, alongside her very best friend, Mae Hunter. Mom, Mae, and two other classmates remained friends for the entirety of their lives, Mom outliving all of them. They met every year until around 1995 when Mae passed away and the health of the others precluded them from traveling. Mom stayed in her career until she retired at the age of sixty-five. Not willingly, mind you. She would have worked longer but at that time there was mandatory retirement age and she had no choice.
In 1943, her friend Mae met and married a soldier, Mac Hunter. Mom was her maid of honor and a handsome young sergeant, Erhard Danielson, Mac’s best friend, was the groomsmen. Obviously, sparks flew between them. As we all know, there was a war going on and so after the wedding, the only way they could stay in touch was through letters – and they did. Very Austenesque, do you not think? My father proposed through a letter and my mother accepted through a letter. They married on May 12, 1945.
I have always loved the way my parents met and courted and, although it is a sad subject, even the way they left this mortal coil has a thread of continuity running through it. Let me lay the groundwork. My father passed in 1980. My parents had been married for thirty-five years at this time. Mom never remarried and she passed away in April of 2015, thirty-five years after Dad. To honor our parent’s love and devotion, we chose to inter our mom with dad on May 12, 2015. And so, on what would have been their seventieth wedding anniversary, my parents were reunited. Their souls had soared together when mom passed, this just completed their reunion in the physical realm.
My mom – and my dad – set up their children to succeed in their relationships. My brother, Jerry is celebrating fifty-one years of marriage this year and my husband and I will celebrate thirty-eight years. When you have a solid foundation, the house you build will stand the test of time.
The picture I share of my mother was taken on her 97th birthday, and it is a photo of pure, unadulterated joy. I absolutely love it.
And so, I end with this. Happy Birthday, Marjorie May Mcfadyen-Danielson. I love you. I miss you. I will see you one day at the great banqueting table near one of those many mansions we were promised.