Two Margarets

There are lives that impact us greatly, however long—or briefly—they are with us. 

Today’s is my Grandma’s birthday. She would have been 101 years old. She was born to Hungarian immigrants and named Margaret. The only child of her parents surviving past infancy, she lived to the age of 94.

We knew her as Grandma Labish and Sister Rachel. Her very full life consisted of raising eight children, then joining a monastery after being widowed in her early 60s. She lived two vocations in her long lifetime.

Grandma Labish is one of the most influential people in my life. She loved her family dearly. We saw her once a year growing up, and we all have stories about her happy-go-lucky yet feisty nature. In between visits we wrote many letters and caught up through phone calls. When I became an adult and lived in a religious-based community, Grandma and I shared our struggles and joys. We uniquely understood each other. 

Grandma loved hearing me play the violin and encouraged my gift. She was a woman of great faith whose heart was full of love for her children, grandchildren, community, and all whom she encountered. Her last years were spent in assisted living where she continued to give of herself as a faithful friend to her fellow residents. 

Grandma’s faith, love, and joyful spirit live on in my memory, and I look forward to being united with her again in eternity.

Last December, Mike and I found out we were pregnant. This new little life we had conceived filled us with immense joy. 

Ten days after the positive pregnancy test, on Christmas Eve, I began bleeding and miscarried. 

If we truly believe that life begins at conception, we know that we have a child for all eternity. She was with us for a very short time, but she fulfilled her purpose of bringing her parents immense joy.

I wanted to talk to Mike about naming our little one, but I didn’t have to. We had easily landed on a girl name soon after we knew we were pregnant. A boy name was going to require some more discussion. 

One day after the miscarriage, Mike used the name—Margaret Joy—to refer to our little baby. It was perfect. Though it had been too early to know the gender, we trust in God’s inspirations. Neither of us had any doubt that this was her name. 

Our child would have been born this month—right around Grandma’s birthday. 

Whether a life lasts nine decades, like Margaret Mary, or a few short weeks in the womb, like Margaret Joy, it has a purpose. It has a soul. And that soul will live for all eternity. 

I imagine my two Margarets together in heaven. We look forward to the day that we are with them, reunited in the presence of the Creator of all life.

"We shall find our little ones again up above" –St. Zelie Martin
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