Remembering Marge

by | Jul 13, 2012 | friends, grieving

Monday evening I read a post on facebook from one of my friends saying that she was praying for the Holub and Schulte families. My stomach instantly felt uneasy. I went to my friend Marge’s page, and I read a post from a niece of hers, saying what a great aunt Marge was and that she will be very missed. I now had a lump in my throat. I texted Tina, asking her if she knew anything about it. She didn’t. But as the next hour went on, more and more posts came across facebook about Marge.

She was in a car accident Monday and died on the scene.

“What?! How can this be? Lord, I don’t understand.” I still don’t understand.

Memories with Marge raced through my mind. Marge was just two years older than me. We grew up together in high school, and we became good friends through sports…basketball, softball and track. We would hang out together after school and often walk through town together or go for a run on the gravel roads nearby. After she graduated from high school, we drifted apart. But she came to my mind often through the years. We reconnected through facebook within the last year. It was good to be in her life–at least through facebook–again.

Our family was in the middle of our vacation Monday. As I tried to fall asleep in our resort bedroom just a few hours after hearing the news, sleep wouldn’t come to me. I kept thinking of Marge and of life. I regret that we didn’t reconnect sooner and at least try to get our friendship back to the way it used to be. Why didn’t we ever get together for coffee, for lunch, for one of our walks? Why did I let life get so busy that I didn’t insist that we reconnect in person? How many more wake up calls do I need? Life shouldn’t be so busy. 


And then the picture from our local newspaper flashed in my mind that I knew I had at home. It was a picture of her and I in softball. I was a pitcher on the team, and Marge was catcher. She was the best catcher…she knew my pitches like she had a manual for them, and I knew her signals like the back of my hand. We were a great team. There was no better catcher. She was amazing.



I love this photo. (I’m not trying to infringe on any copyright material here. It just means more to me now than it ever has. It was taken by Jim Magdefrau from Star Press.) Noticing the date on the photo, I was a Freshman. Marge was a Junior. I remember this pow-wow on the pitcher’s mound. I was frustrated, pitching a terrible game. She was giving me a “you can do this” pep talk. I can’t remember exactly what she said, but I remember she made me feel better. (My stirrup had come out of my shoe also…I was putting it back in.) We ended up losing the game badly, if I remember correctly.


Then I remembered the game where Carrie hurled the ball from center field to Marge at home plate to get the runner coming from 3rd base tagged out. I was backing Marge up behind home plate. She lost the ball in the sun, and the ball hit her square in the nose. It was such an awful sight and sound. Marge went down. Tina’s mom took her to the E.R. from the game. She was out for weeks as she healed, and was dearly missed during that time. I will never forget that event.

I trust Marge is with the Lord tonight, living in eternal paradise with Him. She leaves behind a husband and four children under the age of 18. My heart hurts over losing her, and I can only imagine how her family is hurting and grieving. I will continue to pray for Marge’s family.

Marge was beautiful on the inside and out. I’m so thankful we walked on this journey together for a few years. She will be dearly missed, and I will never forget her nor her friendship. Marge was one of a kind. I look forward to the day we are reunited again.

Previous Post
Next Post

Related posts

Thanks for stopping by.

I’d love to hear from you!

0 Comments

Submit a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Just for you!

Real encouragement, updates, and free resources from me. 

You have Successfully Subscribed!

Pin It on Pinterest

Share This