Marion Sullivan knew how to make a person feel special.
I can’t tell you exactly what it was that she did. It could have been the way she grabbed my hand and wouldn’t let it go until she had pulled me in to give me a kiss. It could have been the delighted smile she gave when she greeted me. It could have been the welcoming warmth the she exuded.
Marion thought everyone was special, but not in the broad brush way of today’s self-esteem movement. You know, you’re unique — just like everybody else. No, she thought I was special. She looked me in the eye. She let me know in no uncertain terms that it was me she was greeting, hugging, holding onto in that moment of social awkwardness when I try to flee the church because I can’t do the small talk.
I think she did that with everyone. What a special gift.
Marion was also one of the youngest people I know. At 90, she wasn’t too old or mature to wear a birthday crown. Or bat the balloons tied to her pew. Or raise her hand with answers for the children’s message. Benjamin Button had nothing on Marion Sullivan.
My children delighted in seeing her.
69 1/2 years married to the same man. I love that they included that 1/2 year in the obituary. Like with babies when we measure their age in months or younger children who are always sure to include the half. Because the half is important.
Marion’s obituary may not list a bunch of accomplishments, educational degrees, and the like. But I daresay, she was a Mother Teresa, doing small things with great love. Greene was blessed to have her. I was blessed to know her.
I’m going to miss her.