For
seventeen years, she’s been a reliable part of my life. About three weeks ago, a group of us met for
dinner at the Olive Garden to catch up on each other’s news. That was when Marge let us know that she was
once again battling cancer.
I don’t know how many times this
lovely woman has fought that dread disease.
What has always amazed me was that she did it with humour, optimism and
complete bravery. The rest of us might
fret and worry—Marge just forged ahead with treatment and instead of us
encouraging her, she encouraged all of those around her.
I met Marge in 1995 when I became a
docent at the Calgary Zoo. She always
had time for newbies and was more than willing to share her wisdom along with a
smile and a joke. She always called the
Zoo her healing place, where she came to grieve for the son that she had
lost. I came to appreciate her
experience, when in 1996 my parents were killed in a car accident while on
vacation in B.C. Everyone in my zoo
family supported me through that ordeal, but Marge was exceptional. Many days she would take my arm and say,
“Let’s walk.” We would roam the zoo,
talking or not talking, as the day required.
Later she told me that I was a bit like the walking dead myself—and
those first few years after Mom and Dad’s deaths are a blur for me, with very
few memories attached. What would I have
done without the zoo, my friends there and without the knowledgeable support of
Marge?
That was one of the things that made
our trip to Kenya in 2000 so special. It
was a once-in-a-lifetime trip for Marge and we were able to enjoy the safari
together, admiring elephants or visiting with the people whom we
encountered. Marge was definitely a
people-person. As much as she loved
animals, especially gorillas, it was people that engaged her. She loved taking her new knowledge of Africa
to school classrooms here in Canada. And
who else could love doing overdue account collection for the zoo? Marge phoned people, asked them why they
hadn’t paid and received some remarkable answers. Some just had never been asked, some had life
troubles, and some were just seeing what they could get away with. She dealt with them as she did with all of
us—with understanding, compassion and a good prod when we needed it.
I think Marge knew virtually
everyone at the Zoo. Even if she didn’t
know them personally, they knew her. She
proudly accepted the title of Gorilla Grandma and was so pleased to be at the
birth of one of the gorilla youngsters. I
remember one public event where Marge was sharing her love of the troop, a
young black-back male gorilla, Untundu, behind her. Untundu did what he loved best—he drop-kicked
the glass separating him from his audience!
The glass shattered, but didn’t fall out, a small miracle. Marge later said she knew she said something
about gorillas being gentle beasts, that there was no need to be afraid and
ushering people quickly outside, before giving in to complete panic! She stayed professional until she had
fulfilled her duty!
I know there are those who have gone
on before who have met Marge on the other side:
her son Dwight, other relatives and friends were no doubt holding out
helping hands as she crossed over. But I’d
also like to believe that there were several dogs and Tabitha and Julia, among
other gorillas also waiting in the crowd. Safe travels, Marge, until we meet again.
