More Than Family (January 17, 2016)

You know those people who aren’t technically related to you but might as well be? I call those people “honorary family members.” Mary Koval was one of those people. To some people Mary Koval was the cookie lady. Or cake lady. Or even the lady that yelled at you in church because you were fooling around. But to me, she was so much more. She was my best friend, my favorite person, my Mary.

Mary was about my height with very short light red hair. She had dark blue eyes with wrinkles around them telling you how joyful her life was; she was constantly laughing. She was frail; when you hugged her you would be afraid that you would break her if you weren't careful. She had a low raspy voice that could put you to sleep in no time. She wasn’t perfect; she had a bad habit of smoking, she knew it would eventually kill her, but she didn’t care. She lived in a cute little house in West Brookfield with a clothesline stringing across her dirt driveway. There was a dirt road that led to a river where she would watch me fail at skipping rocks, but she never gave up on me. She would grab the flattest rock there was and explain exactly what to do. “Hold it like this and flick your wrist,” and it would skip 6 or 7 times to the other side. I would then grab a roundest, biggest rock and throw it as far as I could. I would look at her wondering why it didn’t skip. She would laugh at my hopelessness, but continue to show me until I got too tired. That wasn’t the only thing she taught me though. Mary taught me how to be my own person and how to never give up.

Mary taught me how to appreciate everything and never take anything for granted. Mary was very opinionated and always believed she was right. This caused a lot of turmoil in her life. She adopted a son and a daughter when she lived in Kansas. She would tell me how she and her daughter would constantly butt heads. There were like fire and ice, never agreeing, always fighting, and always miserable. When her daughter grew up, she left. Mary tried to reach out, tried to get her back, but she never did. Mary eventually came to peace with the fact that her daughter was no longer her daughter. Her son and her had a much better relationship – until 2000 when they got in a huge fight. That’s when I came along. When I asked about her son she would say, “He is all grown up now, he doesn’t need me anymore, he can take care of himself. See sometimes there will be people in your life that you learn from and they learn from you. After a while you will have no more to teach or learn, that’s when they will no longer be there. The most important lesson they teach you is how to let go and take care of yourself, that’s what he’s doing now. Plus now I have you to teach and learn from.” I would think about this and smile. Whenever my sister and I got into a fight she would laugh and give me the speech about how my sister will be there always so it's a waste of our energy to hate each other. Then she would smirk and tell me that I would go insane without her anyways. Every time Matti and I fight I picture her smirking and know she's right. She told me to never go to bed angry with my family.

Mary taught me how to care for others and always be there for people. Mary was the master at knowing when people were down and she knew just how to cheer them up. I would watch her greet people in church. Sometimes with a hug, sometimes a handshake, and sometimes just a glance across the room. She could always brighten someone’s day no matter how she greeted them. Mary would give up her right arm for people. If you needed a place to stay, she wouldn’t allow you to go anywhere else but her house, and of course you got a home cooked meal every night. If you were sick you could always count on a surprise visit from Mary with her famous chicken soup. Mary was an amazing cook and baker. There was nothing she couldn’t cook and nothing she made ever tasted bad. She had a recipe box that she would add to at least once a day. My favorite recipe in the box is her famous peanut butter cookies. They melt in your mouth and are so delicious it’s not even funny. Mary and I spent countless attempts trying to get those just right, and eventually we did. She wrote it on a recipe card while I was right there watching the pen unravel the mystery to the deliciousness. We were so excited to finally get it right. She taught me her secrets to cooking and told me that I need to eventually make meals for people in need. She would tell me to always look at someone’s eyes, because that is how you know whether they were really okay or not. She said that no matter what, if someone needs help it is our job to help them. People need help but not everyone is willing to admit that. She didn’t only help people though. She had a ton of stray cats that she would feed everyday. She never named them because they would come and go and she never wanted to get too attached. I knew the cats by their personalities. Each cat was frightened and shy when Mary first met them. Mary taught them to love and trust again. Mary never got attached and treated them all equally; until one day when we were sitting on her steps on the side of the house a new cat came along. She came right up to me and Mary and snuggled us, purring. That cat later became Basheeba, the only cat Mary ever let in her house. Basheeba had three litters while she was at Mary’s. I, of course, tried to steal a kitten from each one even though I knew how allergic my sister and mom were. Each litter, Mary saw to it that each kitten got a good home and checked in on them often. Basheeba became like a child to Mary. She would love, reprimand, and treat her like her own. It was fascinating the impact Mary could leave on anyone, or anything. No matter who or what needed her, she was there. I learned from her by watching her most the time because she was the perfect example.

Mary shaped me and guided me to be a better person and to be able to take care of myself. I would not be the person I am today if it weren’t for her. Whether by helping me understand why it is so important to appreciate things or by teaching me how to care for others, she always knew just the right way to do it. Mary had an aneurysm that ruptured in October 2016. She died in the hospital four days later. When I went to visit her in the hospital I told her she wasn't allowed to die because I couldn't imagine living without her. She looked me in the eye and said “Don't worry my sweet girl, you don't need me anymore. I hope I have taught you half the lessons you taught me. I will see you someday, but this is the part where you move on and let go, knowing that I will always love you.”