I just found out my sister-in-law of over 50 years passed away. She was friends first with my sister Bernice, as college classmates. They both got their teaching degrees at Eastern Montana College, now known as MSU Billings. Her nickname was Twiggy, after the model. Mary has been in my life from the time I was in middle school and high school. And now, like her three daughters, their spouses and partners, and the grand boys, I have to imagine a world without her.

I was there during the courtship between my oldest brother Tom and Mary. She came to visit us on the farm in Hardin as my sister’s friend, but it soon became clear that romance was in the air. They married around Christmas time at the Congregational church in Hardin. Mary was from Jordan, Montana, and her dad had been a Montana state legislator–so impressive to a youngster like myself. I don’t remember much about the wedding–I am sure I was there–but what I remember most was how hard it must have been for Mary–and Tom–early in their marriage.

My dad’s health was poor from the time I was in junior high. He probably had TIA’s but at the time we didn’t know what those were. This would have been in the late 1960s. Dad couldn’t drive much, so I was his chauffeur. Almost every morning after Tom and Mary were married, Daddy would get me out of bed, make me drive up to Tom and Mary’s home and we would have coffee at their kitchen table. Some morning we would get there before they had gotten out of bed! Mary never said anything to me, never complained, just made coffee. I am sure she was more than annoyed! I would have been, and I was annoyed being complicit as the driver!

I missed the birth of their first kid Karen. I may have been out of the country, I’m not sure. The next year Amy was born right around July 4th. I was working with Tommy that summer, putting up hay. Mary was very pregnant, and I was determined to be there when baby 2 was born. Tom and I were out in the field all day, and when we got in from the fields, Mary told us she was having contractions. I was so excited! But Mary took her sweet time, taking a bath, getting cleaned up… I thought the baby was going to drop to the ground then and there. I had no idea how stupid that though was at the time.

I went to the hospital with them (I don’t remember where Karen was–maybe with one of the grandmas?) and Mary let me go into the prep room with her. Back in those days the dads weren’t allowed into the rooms. My eyes were wide with wonder–Mary was lying on the bed, groaning in agony as each contractions came and went. I had never seen a human give birth. Tommy was out in the hallway.

Mary let me stay with her until she was moved to the delivery room. Tommy and I waited out in the hall until Amy was born, and Tommy was allowed in. Letting me stay was a generous act of sisterhood that I will never forget. Mary was an only child so maybe sharing this intimate moment was for her a gift, too.

Mary’s mom and dad sold the family farm in Jordan and bought a home in the mountains outside of Helena. (Charlie) Hirth, her dad, was elected to the Montana Constitutional Convention and Mr. and Mrs. Mahoney invited me to stay with them in Clancy to attend the convention. How lucky was I? To hang with the men and women who were framing the new Montana constitution. Rachell Mansfield sat next to Mr. Mahoney (Charlie), and I remember getting to know Torrey Johnson from Busby, MT. Little did I know who I was talking to and what a lot of the world they had seen nor how consequential their work was going to be.

The Mahoney’s had a modest home in the mountains south of Helena. The view out the front window was a mountain peak across the valley. I called in My Mountain. A book in their library was about the military-industrial complex. Mr. Mahoney’s favorite poem was “The Last Leaf” by Oliver Wendel Holmes. Mary’s parents were solid, kind, and so generous.

When I left to go to college, Mary sent me care packages with cookies and treats that I could share with my dorm-mates. She mailed me letters with a picture of my banana bike stored in the tall garage on their farm, and photos of my horses Junior and Dusty so I wouldn’t forget them. She was a prolific letter writer.

I never lived at home after college. I went on to a career in business, my first assignment was in Iowa. Mary, Tommy, their kids and mom came to visit me in Iowa to go to Farmfest. It poured rain while they were there, but resourceful as ever, they went to a hand carwash and sprayed the mud off each other.

Mary was fiercely independent with a can-do attitude. She remodeled her kitchen, laid the tile, tore walls bare to the lathe boards; I had never seen a woman do that kind of work before. It was inspiring to me, clearly giving me the signal that I could do non-traditional things, too.

She had a huge garden that she worked herself and later with her three daughters. My own mother never had a garden, so I didn’t grow up having to weed, fertilize, harvest, prep the ground. I never volunteered to help her, either…

My oldest brother, to whom she was married, was truly a big brother to me. Ten years separated us, and I looked up to him. He took me skiing several times, igniting my life long love of skiing. He taught me how to use a SLR camera so I could be the photographer for my trip to Japan with our parents in 1969. When he was killed in a farm equipment accident, it was a horrible shock to everyone. He was 46 years old. His oldest two girls were in college, the youngest a freshman or sophomore in high school.

I remember being at their home the days after Tom died, meeting with Reverent Tibbs, talking about Tom, reminiscing about who he was and what he meant to us all. Tom had always told me that I didn’t have to wear makeup, that I looked good with or without it. He had told his girls the same thing! I said to Mary, as I walked out their door that maybe she could write stories like Erma Bombeck, she was such a good writer, and had a sarcastic wit. I didn’t think that maybe looking forward at that precise moment probably wasn’t where her head was.

One of the biggest regrets of my life was not going back to her on the day of the funeral and helping her and the girls get ready. It had to be the worst day of their lives, and I wasn’t there for them. I am sorry for it, but I never told her or the girls.

Mary spent her life on the farm that she loved, tending to the sheep that she grew to love. The land always meant so much to her. She talked about the ranch outside of Jordan, Mt, and growing up far from neighbors. I admired her for her spunk and determination that she would keep the sheep operation going on the farm. I grew up with the sheep and all the work that came with it. She did it all herself with the help of her neighbor Don Lehman and her son-in-law Toney who helped her out with the shearing and heavy lifting. I am sure there were others.

I was asked a few years ago to write a piece about putting up hay on the farm for an anthology about haying. Tom and I had done most of the haying work one summer break during my college years. Part of the story was putting hay bales into the loft of the big barn that was on their property. I wanted to go through the barn again for the story, and Mary showed me around it. She had taken such good care of the 100+ year old barn, I am sure it would have fallen down if she hadn’t shored it up with cables and love. It was a classic Montana ranch barn, and I took pictures of the inside and out. The barn was taken out by a wind storm a few years ago. It must have broken her heart. Her sweat and care kept her farmstead looking showcase ready.

In these most recent years, Mary lost her eyesight. She had been such an avid reader and writer, it was a cruel joke on her. She came to my book launches, buying books that she could no longer read but love needs no sight. Love is just being there.

We all have our ups and downs, strengths and weaknesses, pros and cons. But in the scope of my life, I give thanks to a woman who was a sister, friend, guide, role-model. I never told her how important she was to me nor how lucky I was to have her in my life.

I’m saying it now.