The Martha Fix

The first time I met my future mother-in-law was an August afternoon more than thirty years ago, over a picnic table in her back yard. Her warm, unpretentious welcome quickly melted any jitters about meeting my boyfriend’s mother. Over the years, I learned I wasn’t alone in that reaction. Calm, peace, kindness, reassurance, wisdom, care, comfort: I don’t have words for the magic that drew friends and relations to her, especially in times of stress when they needed what some called “the Martha fix.”

My other first impression was that she was a woman of intellect and quiet curiosity. Music, birding, and history were just a few of her interests. We still treasure her carefully labeled rock collection. From fourth grade she wanted to be a geologist. Warned that superstitions about women underground might limit those opportunities, she taught chemistry and math until shortly before I met her. After retirement, she attended seminars, joined a book club, traveled widely, and watched academic lectures from The Great Courses.

After Alzheimer’s began to steal her words and conversation grew thin, I enjoyed courses with her on DVDs from her large and varied collection. Even near the end, curiosity took her to the memory care window to contemplate “critters” (blowing leaves) in the alley and the colors of passing cars. Other times, we’d join a wheelchair group to listen to a guitarist. One of the listeners started to cry. Martha reached over and took her hand. The Martha Fix was still there.

​Happy birthday, Martha. We miss you.