I insisted on speaking on behalf of my sister Mary Jane because I am the only one in the room who was there at the beginning. For me, her life began a
t the votive candle counter in a Roman Catholic Church. I’m 5 years old and the lights sparkle as mother supports me to stand closer to the railing so I can light a candle for my new baby sister who is not expected to live. I understand that this action is a prayer for her healing and there would be many more night visits to those votive candles with our nurse mother, and many, many more prayers.
I’m not sure when I learned the nature of her malady–the fact that she couldn’t process nourishment. No matter what formula was given to her, and I remember Dad’s trips to various pharmacies to secure different types, she would projectile vomit it across the room. Since the doctors did not know what was causing the problem, they suggested exploratory surgery in the hope that they would find something to fix. Our parents agreed reluctantly to the surgery, but the doctors did not find anything to fix. “If she makes it to a year, she’ll make it,” they said.
That first year was an in and out of the hospital year for Mary Jane. Our parents had explained to me about sacrificing–that due to the copays for Mary Jane’s surgery, and the fact that in those days, parents had to pay for their children to attend kindergarten, I would have to forgo the first semester. Unfortunately for Mary Jane, I did attend the spring semester and in those days before vaccinations, I brought home to my 3 siblings, measles, mumps, and chicken pox.
Since this coming Saturday would have been her 79th birthday, through this and many other assaults on her health, we know she did make it. Though it has not been an easy illness free life. If she has a body part that has not had a surgery or a medical treatment, I could not name it.
Perhaps these struggles to stay alive in her early years are part of what became her ability to confront extraordinary challenges throughout her life–the fierce love she demonstrated raising her daughter as a single mom, the betrayals she weathered, the selfless care she provided to our Aunt Dote for seven years.
But I want to focus now on her unique gift. Just today, in a conversation with one of her friends, we decided that Mary Jane was part Imogene Coco, and part Phyllis Diller with a dash of Joan Rivers. That she was at heart a true comedian. The Irish have a name for this gift. When I was in Brazil a few years ago, I met two women from Ireland who told me about their mother. “She gets invited to lots of funerals because she has the gift of the “crack.” Puzzled I said, Crack as in crack cocaine?”
“No. The Crack. The Wisecrack.”
To make fun of, to bring challenges down to their proper size, to ridicule, especially oneself–this was Mary Jane. She applied her unique sense of humor to her own challenges and to ours. Her skill, which we will miss especially at family gatherings is to tell the story, again and again and again. To keep telling those moments of embarrassment, and fear, and sorrow, until what seemed a tragedy at the time becomes funny, hilarious even– evidence of the triumph of what we have survived. She reminds us that the joker, the clown, the jester were the only ones who could tell the truth to the king. As her recovering too serious sister, I can say she continually inspired me to stop giving energy to the things that don’t matter.
So, what is the wisdom in the wise crack? First off, it’s the truth that everything has cracks– it’s part of the design. The truth, despite what we want to show the world–is that we have cracks, it’s part of our design. And, as in the Leonard Cohen song, Anthem,
Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in
And I will add, as Mary Jane showed us again and again, it’s how the light shines out too.
