Eulogy for Margaret Cooney

August 2nd 1925 – February 2nd 2018

--Kathleen Cooney Clarke

My mother, Margaret Mary Rita McGuirk Cooney, had many chapters in her life. She was Marge, Margie, Mom, MaMere, Aunt Marge, Babe.

Marge was the youngest of six children and lost her mother when she was twelve years old. She formed indelible bonds with her family, especially with her father and sister Alice, who embodied tenderness, a quality she embraced and burnished.

Marge was also loyal, gracious, resilient, feminine, fun loving, game, beautiful.

She adored my father Jack and was truly a great mate. He adored her. They were a team and built a family and a life together for 43 years. Marge was the consummate hostess: Sailing on the Marjack; parties at 10 New York Blvd with relatives, friends and neighbors; tail gating at the Giants Games. Marge made lunch on the back porch special; she gave up her parking spot in the garage so that all of our friends could park their surfboards there – and she kept a watchful eye on the loft.  

“Just try,” was an often used Margism. And no one tried like her – she was game for surfing in Hawaii – then donned a grass skirt to learn their indigenous storytelling dance; she was game for deep sea fishing and reeled in a dolphin on her first outing;  Simone goes into labor at 2am and has two babies at home – Marge heads up the parkway; Explore the Alligator farm in the Everglades with her daughter-in-law Anne and grandchildren? – Marge is all in; and in her final days at age 92 and &frac;12; - when asked to join the basketball bucket throw at Brandywine Assisted Living, Marge, the elegant tennis player and persistent golfer rose to the occasion and sunk the shots – 3 in row.     

A few years ago, we were all congregating at 7 New York Blvd in Sea Girt – the house Marge and Jack built when Dad retired – it sits right across the street from #10 where we spent every summer starting in 1960…picture cars unloading with weekend gear, hugs and greetings, some children and adults were already heading off to the beach or coming back for lunch – and a young woman walked up our driveway. She was a student selling magazines. Midway through her pitch, she stopped and asked “do you all live here?”  And I had to laugh – because nothing would have made Marge Cooney happier than to have all of her children and grandchildren, and yes – even great grandchildren -- live with her. 

When friends heard Marge and Jack were building a new Sea Girt house, everyone assumed it would be a small, cozy retirement setting for two. Marge had something different in mind. She was building a house for the future. She wanted a place where all of her children and potential offspring could gather under her wings. And what wings – Marge nurtured, protected, fortified, cheered you on. She created warmth and order. You knew instinctively that, no matter what, you were loved. And she flew. She had to. She had five children and gave each one of us only-child treatment.

Every night, Marge made dinner and sat with us, but she waited to eat with Jack when he got home from work. She made sure we were settled at the table, and then said, “OK, no teasing, I’ll be back.” She would reappear with lipstick on, a little perfume, and a fresh outfit for Jack’s arrival and greeting, “Hi Babe.”   

When Jack and Marge gave themselves a party to celebrate their 40th wedding anniversary, Jack rose to make an opening toast. He said how grateful he was for the wonderful life he had, with good friends, successful work that he enjoyed, children he was proud of. And then he turned to my mother and said “Marge, it is all because of you.”

Three years later, Jack became ill and died suddenly. Marge lost the love of her life.  But she did not become lost. She stepped forward, and solo, led our family for the next 27 years. She has never let us down.     

Addendum

…at Marge’s services a long-time friend of Marge and Jack said to me “Jack’s been up there pacing, waiting for Marge for a very long time, now they are together again.” And the next day another family friend posted on Facebook “The Marjack sails again!” – which brought this poem to mind:

A Map of the World

One of the ancient maps of the world

Is heart shaped, carefully drawn

and once washed with bright colors,

though the colors have faded

as you might expect feelings to fade

from a fragile old heart, the brown map

of life. But feeling is indelible,

and longing infinite, a starburst compass

pointing in all the directions

two lovers might go, a fresh breeze

swelling their sails, the future uncharted,

still far from the edge

where the sea pours into the stars.

- Ted Kooser