Archive for September, 2011

My Personal Version Of “The Help”

September 19, 2011

I just saw a fabulous movie, The Help and was moved to write and dedicate today’s blog to my own experience and to the woman who helped raise me, like the main character in the movie. Her name was Margaret, Margy to me, and in so many ways, I owe my life and the woman I’ve become to her.

Margy was our family’s housekeeper. She was also one of the most amazing women I’ve ever had the honour of knowing. My grandparents hired her back when my mom and her brother were little. I owe my life to the fact that they did. She was employed to clean our house, usually once or twice a week and I’m sure when she started the job, she never would have dreamed what an integral part she would play in an as yet unborn little girl’s life… me.

Margy made sure I came into this world safe and sound and if that wasn’t enough, she then loved and looked after me like I was her own. I remember playing cards together, being rocked when I was crying and my favourite activity – playing “Margy swing me”, the game where poor Margy who was attempting to clean the kitchen floor, had to stop to swing me in circles. I erupted in giggles and she never minded. My grandma was always admonishing me not to “get under foot” when Margy was busy tidying the house… and I perfected getting under foot to an art form! How I loved those times with my Margy.

I recall coming home from school one day, where having been teased and prevented from going inside to use the washroom, I had an unfortunate “accident”. I was mortified to go home with soiled underwear and afraid that I’d somehow be in trouble. Margy changed and cleaned me up, (after finding my not-so-well hidden underwear hiding in the hamper under other clothes) then did some laundry so that no one else would know. I don’t think I ever loved her more than at that moment.

Then there was the time I put my foot into a pail of soapy water in a desperate attempt to avoid going to the doctor, a place I loathed. There was Margy to sooth and cajole me into going upstairs, where my mother was waiting, telling me all would be okay.

Margy was also fond of the expression, “time will tell”. When I was older, time told that Margy couldn’t have children of her own, as a result of being pushed down the stairs by her abusive husband. This news greatly angered and saddened me, as the wonderful woman I knew deserved only the best, not a louse of a husband. I know I was the daughter she never had and it was my great good fortune to be so.

My Margy is still with me, but now from The Spirit Side. Sending her gentle, loving energy and the feel of her work-roughened hands in mine, as she twirls me in a game of “Margy swing me”.

Small Medium Over And Out.

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