Marv

Marv was born into extreme poverty in southern Missouri in the early 30s. He, his parents, and his four siblings lived in a one-room shack for most of his childhood. He started working as a dishwasher when he was nine years old to help support his family, and by the time he graduated high school, he was practically running the whole diner. He received a full academic scholarship to college, but that was put on pause when he was drafted and sent to Korea. 

Marv came back a different man. He witnessed things that gave him nightmares for decades, and he became staunchly anti-draft and anti-war, particularly during the Vietnam years. He spoke to me a little about his experiences in Korea, but he remained vague and distant for the most part. War had radicalized him, and he was a huge civil rights activist in the sixties and his career veered into civil rights law. 

When he returned, Marv was able to accept his original scholarship and attended university and soon after, law school, also on a full ride. He always said that leaving his family behind, yet again, was the hardest decision he ever had to make, but he knew becoming a lawyer would give them security in the long run. He still worked while in college and sent every penny back home to his parents. He graduated with honors and was quickly offered a job in Kansas City. Marv was able to buy a house and moved his parents and younger siblings up to the city, where his dad found more opportunities for better-paying jobs, and they eventually clawed their way out of poverty and were comfortable for the rest of their lives, all thanks to Marv’s dedication and love. He never allowed them to pay him back for the house and he soon bought a house of his own to move into with his new wife, Sarah. 

Marv and Sarah met at a dinner party hosted by Marv’s boss and hit it off quickly; they married within a year of meeting each other. Marv always maintained that he had few regrets, but one of them was that he worked far too much and didn’t put the right amount of effort into his marriage to Sarah. They had a son soon after they were married, Henry. Despite being well-respected and an incredibly successful lawyer, Marv lived in constant fear of losing everything and being thrown back into poverty. He was so afraid of going backwards that he didn’t live in the present as much as he felt he should have. He loved his wife and child, but he focused only on being their provider, and the war had made him wary of forming intense attachments to anyone. When Henry was 13 years old, he fell ill very suddenly and was dead within hours from a severe case of bacterial meningitis. Already on its last leg, his marriage fell apart shortly thereafter. He and Sarah didn’t speak for nearly a decade, but they eventually got back in touch and met up once a year to reminisce about Henry until she passed away several years ago. 

Marv took the first vacation of his life when he was 50 years old. He drove across the country to California to see the ocean for the first time, and he wept. He hadn’t cried when Henry died, or when Sarah left him, or when his parents had died a couple years prior. He cried in his sleep, but he had never allowed himself to cry when he was awake until he saw the Pacific reaching outwards to infinity, two thousand miles from home. He walked straight into the ocean, fully clothed, and let his tears flow freely. He said he has never felt more connected to the entire world than in that moment–he felt as though the sea was nothing but a collection of every person’s sadness as it gently rocked him back and forth. He assured me he did not mean this in a depressing way, only that it was nice to think of everyone’s sadness having a place to go and be collected, no longer alone. When he got back to his hotel room, he called his office and told them he was taking a leave. He stayed at the beach for a month and re-evaluated what he was working for and towards. 

Marv’s career remained in law, but he slowed down after he got back to Kansas City. He took less work home with him, only took on a reasonable amount of cases, and he found hobbies, read books, went on long, ambling walks. He allowed himself to let his guard down, he became softer and gentler. He remained a passionate and fiery lawyer until he retired, but he let himself have a life, too. He forgave himself for his shortcomings.

After he retired, Marv still worked occasionally, but on a volunteer basis. He offered free legal advice to those who needed it the most and continued to be a champion of civil rights, even though the official movement that had originally given him his spark had long since ended–worked remained to be done, and remains still. He stayed active and kept up friendships with his former coworkers. As the years wore on, Marv began having difficulties living by himself, so he moved into a senior community.

Marv always proudly announced to anyone who listened that he is part of the original gang of friends I made when I started spending time in the community several years ago. He asked me to teach him more about computers and the internet, so I showed him everything I could. He became fascinated by social media, and he loved seeing my facebook and instagram pages whenever I posted something new. He told me that I had a future in cat photography and stand-up comedy, even if I cursed a little too much. We regularly looked up his old war buddies, or friends from his earlier life. I showed him how to print pictures, and he lined the walls of his apartment with photos of all the people he had ever loved in his life. He also printed off every obituary he could find and read them with a focus, dedication, and respect I can only hope gets paid to my future obituary. 

Marv was severely funny. He frequently helped Larry, the resident practical jokester, set up all sorts of pranks, and he always had a joke waiting for me whenever I showed up. He had a sweet tooth, and he was glad it didn’t go away when he got fake teeth. He specifically asked his dentist to make sure at least one of his dentures was sweet, too. Not one visit went by in which Marv did not hand me a Reese’s from the pocket of his cardigan. He frequently ate cookies and baked goods that an unknown resident left out all the time, and each time, he would exclaim that he was eating the best cookie of his life. He eventually found out the identity of the mystery baker: Gram. 

It took those two goofballs over a year to admit they had feelings for each other, but as soon as they did, they were married within months in a beautiful wedding they graciously asked me to be a part of. Gram was a civil rights activist in the 60s, and they determined that there were a number of times that they were in the same place at the same time, protesting the same thing, but they don’t recall ever meeting each other. I once asked them how they thought their lives would be different if they had met back then, and Gram said she didn’t know if she would have been brave enough to let herself be in a relationship with a white man when she was younger. Marv took her hand and said he would have fought the devil himself if he tried to keep them apart. 

They were married for a year and a half, and in their wedding vows they admitted that the forever they planned on being together for would be shorter than the average couple’s, but they both came alive during their time together. Marv became more mobile, Gram became more outgoing. Other residents always knew when they were coming because they could hear their laughter echoing through the halls of the community. They made each other happier than either could recall ever being. 

Yesterday, Gram called to tell me that Marv had had a heart attack and was in critical condition. Restrictions at the hospital had been lifted slightly to allow for one visitor, so she was able to be with him the entire time. Marv did not make it through the night, but Gram was there holding his hand the entire time.

Due to the pandemic, I have not seen any of my elderly friends in person in over a year, and we have been relying on phone calls and video chat to stay in touch. I am halfway vaccinated, and they have all received their full vaccinations. We were planning on a masked get-together in the garden in May once my vaccine had fully taken hold, but Gram called me this morning and said she didn’t care about the risk, that she needed to see me in person. I put on three masks and rubbed hand sanitizer all over, and went to give Gram a long-anticipated, much-needed hug. We both cried, then sat in the garden and reminisced about Marv. 

Gram told me what alarmed her the most is how she went over eight decades without knowing Marv was even on the planet, but now she can’t remember how to exist without him. They had talked about death, because neither of them were naive enough to think they had all that much time left in this version of life–I have talked about death with every resident I have met in the community, as death is not the taboo topic it is outside of those walls. It is simply the next step. Armed with statistics and the fact that he was a few years older than her, Gram knew it would likely be Marv who went first. They spoke of his final wishes for himself and for her. His main wish had been fulfilled–that Gram be by his side at the very end. Everything else is just details. 

Gram is one of the most beloved residents in the community, so she has an army of support, as well as the love of many of my friends who hear about her all the time. I gave her a hug good-bye, and she slipped me a Reese’s from Marv’s cardigan, which she was wearing, and promised she would call if she needed anything at all. Marv will be desperately missed by everyone who has ever encountered him, but his memory will be a blessing to us all.