Maybe it was by design or maybe not, but Mary left treasures behind that were discovered long after she left. Now, close to two years after she departed us, I still find precious things she left behind. Mary was meticulous in recording events day by day, going many years back. In the process of doing some cleaning in our home, I came across some of these records. The writings tell much about Mary. They shed light upon her wonderful soul and help reveal what was important to her. Things like summer camp at age 12 with her sister Anne. Things like the enjoyment of seeing the film “Easy Rider” with her brother, John. Little things, that were obviously important to her. Her pet peeves came out too, much to my delight (people who give unsolicited advice..etc..). What also stands out is her love of poetry. I never realized she dabbled in creating short poems. I went through many, but this one got to me. I think I know what it is about. The date is 1994.

Four Lives, One Love

Two lives, one love,

Lives, now whole for both,

Add one, changes all,

Three lives for love to share,

One more, now it’s four,

Love’s abound,

And, happiness is all around

Four lives, one love

Mary I. Mullin

The three of us miss you, Mary. God bless you.

On one of my first dates with Mary, I had the pleasure of visiting her at her home in Westwood, NJ  and being introduced to her family’s basement, otherwise known as the home of one of the family’s pastimes: Ping-Pong.

After arriving at the Mullins’ home, Mary and I saw a film at the Pascack Theater, and returned. The night was still young, so I asked Mary, “What should we do now?” “How about Ping-Pong?” she replied.

Mary led me down the steps to the basement. There in the middle of the basement was the “Arena” ; the Ping-Pong table. Being from Perth Amboy (The den of iniquity), I could not help but immediately suggest a wager on the outcome of the  game. I had sized up the playing field, and although I was not very experienced at the game, I was a pool player and figured that this was just an “angles”game. No problem. Ten dollars? Mary smiled. “Sure.”

I was wrong. Mary turned out to be a “blur.” Her serve was untouchable; It consistently skipped off the outer tip of the table. Her backhand was devastating. The area around the table was surrounded by shelves and other “barricades.” The terrain was second-nature to Mary. To me it was a mine field. I crashed into…well, I don’t want remember how many things. It was a definite deflation of male ego.

I handed Mary two five dollar bills and she chuckled, “Don, you don’t have to give me this.”   

We headed up to the living room where Mr. and Mrs. Mullin were relaxing. “Well, how was the game?” Mrs. Mullin asked. “Great. I beat Don and won $10!” Mary exclaimed. Mrs. Mullin was mortified. “No, Mary. It should be a game for fun. Jim?” Mr. Mullin folded back the New York Times he was reading, looked up and said, “Oh, did you win honey? That’s great.”

Mary and I had many other adventures in the “Arena” with me trying to win back my pride. No dice. She ruled in Ping-Pong. She ruled in a lot of things, come to think of it. As a wife, as a mother and as a person. Our life turned out to be like a Ping-Pong game. A “give and take experience.” Like a Ping-Pong game, much of it was unsettled. We eventually found our common ground. I wouldn’t have had it any other way

I never thought of Mary as a “talker” unless she was updating you about our sons, asking questions about how you were doing, events in your life and things you were planning to do. I think she felt uncomfortable talking about herself. Early in our relationship, I thought that I was somehow doing something wrong because our trips out to dinner were often short of conversations, unless I was prompting her to engage in discussion. After seeing a film or a play, Mary would tell me whether she liked or disliked whatever we had seen, but getting into a deep discussion could be tough. Looking back, I think that maybe words could be superfluous to Mary. It was feelings that mattered, and maybe she believed some feelings should be kept private. On one occasion, Mary and I double dated with another couple (My college mentor and his fiancé). We saw a film and then went out to dinner. The next day, I asked my mentor what he thought of Mary. He replied that she was “sweet” but very quiet. He asked if she had a good time. I assured him that she did, and told him that being quiet was just her “way.”

I found that Mary had a number of phrases and terms that she would rely on to express herself. Often, when I would make a humorous comment (or something I thought was humorous) she would chuckle and say, “Don, you’re too much.” If I had said something totally outlandish, she would reply with that favored northern Jersey exclamation of a combination of several words into one, "Getouttahere" (A term I was not used to, but, nonetheless, added to my vocabulary). When she would observe or hear something that surprised or astounded her, she would usually simply say “Unbelievable.” The emphasis and intonation of that word would change depending on whatever the conditions were that led to her stating the word. I never knew anyone with such a mastery of exploring the nuances of the word “Unbelievable!”  But when Mary said the word, you knew precisely what she meant (If she was upset or disapproving of something, she might say this word while shaking her head.) She was an artist at saying a great deal by saying very little. I often think about that when attending academic conferences and listening to academicians (like me) say very little by talking a lot.

It wasn’t until Mary was in her last years of life that I saw a different side of Mary. It was when Mary was required to use steroid medication, that I saw a change. For Mary, the medication produced several negative side effects, but also led to  bursts of energy and a yearning to converse on just about anything. Mary and I spent wonderful hours discussing many subjects, things she had never talked about before. To my delight, some turned into lively and thought-provoking debates! I consulted with one of Mary’s medical specialists about this and was told that use of the medication could result in the letting down of certain inhibitions. Perhaps, this was the “real Mary.” How ironic these conversations would come at this late time, under these dire circumstances.

I remember one sad day, Mary had a brain seizure at home. I was told this could happen but was not prepared for the effect. She became totally silent. I could see in her eyes that she was confused. She tried to speak. Her lips would move, but no sound could be heard. I sat her in a chair and asked her if she could speak. She only said one word – “Unbelievable.” It was the only word she could say. While shaking her head, she repeated the word several times, with the emphasis changing each time, as if trying to communicate the stream of emotions she was experiencing. Each time she said the word, I felt I understood exactly what she was trying to communicate. Mary was able to walk but could not speak except for that one word. I rushed her to the hospital emergency room. Amidst a flurry of activity around her (physicians, nurses rushing back and forth), Mary sat silently in a wheelchair as we waited for the next steps to be taken by the medical care attendants. I sat in front of her staring at her, with what must have been quite a forlorn expression, thinking that I would never be able to verbally connect with Mary again. At the moment that I felt the lowest, Mary’s eyes focused on mine and she announced in a very clear voice, “Don, don’t worry about me. Everything is going to be alright. It will be alright.” After she said that, she immediately reverted back to a state of being unable to speak.

Within a few hours at the hospital she came around and seemed to be back to normal. Mary was released a day later and her medication was adjusted to help fight off any future seizures. Mary did have a few additional seizures, after that, but I was better prepared to handle them and respond appropriately. But what I remember most about that first experience was about how, in her condition, Mary was able to zone in on my visible despair, and “will” herself to console me, before slumping back into a state of silence. It was only a short statement (just a few words), but it meant the world to me. And it reminded me what Mary was. Mary was “Unbelievable.”