My sister-in-law, Mary Pozdro, would have been 100 years old on May 4th. At the luncheon following her memorial in 2017, I told this story, and thought it’d be nice to share again on her centennial:
The first time my folks heard of Mary Kosec was very early one morning, when my brother Herb came home from a date with Mary, woke them up, and announced he was engaged.
Mom said he was excited and happy. He was going to be married. Mom and Pop went into shock.
I was nine years old when I met Mary. She had blonde, shoulder-length hair, and bright red lipstick and matching nails. She was very pretty. I thought she could have been a movie star.
Herb and Mary were married in 1940 and settled in a 4-room apartment at 1703 Vine Street, just two blocks from where my family lived. Herb worked for the Tribune, and Mary was a keypunch operator at Montgomery Ward. In July of 1942 Herb, Jr was born.
In 1943, during World War II, Herb enlisted in the Navy. After basic training he was stationed in the South Pacific until the end of the war. Mary continued to live on Vine Street with Herbie. They joined us for dinner every day. We were happy to have them. We all needed each other.
In August of 1944 I became very ill, and required round-the-clock care. Mom couldn’t leave the house, and my dad was working a 12-hour shift at a defense plant. We desperately needed someone to run errands, shop for groceries and prescriptions, and sometimes stand in long lines waiting to buy scarce items. Mary willingly took over for us.
For eight months she carried our ration books, made the purchases, and lugged home tons of groceries, and whatever else we needed. While Mary ran the errands, Herb Jr stayed with us. He brought his toys and puzzles onto my bed, and sometimes napped beside me. He was a distraction we all needed.
Now, fast-forward to the Saturday before Mary died. Herb and I visited her that day. She was seated with a group of women, and when she saw us she smiled. I said, "Mary, it’s Bernice." She said, "I know," as if I’d been there just a few minutes before.
Herb and I looked at each other and noted she was having a better day than usual. She was connecting. She was "with us."
This was the perfect time to remind her of 1944— tell her how important she was in our lives. She heard this from me before, but it was most important for her to hear it again, that day, that moment.
I wanted Mary to know that we appreciated her shopping and managing the ration books, buying everything we needed, and lugging it home in all kinds of weather. This was the opportune time for her to hear how grateful we were to have her in our lives, and that we loved her.
When I got to the end of my story, I asked Mary, "Do you know what I called you then?" No, she said. I called you our "Go-fer angel." "Mary, would you Go-fer groceries tomorrow? Mary, would you Go-fer this; Go-fer that; whatever?" Mary Go-ferred for many months, until things got better, and Mom could leave the house.
Before Herb and I left that day, I kissed Mary and said, "I love you." She answered me the same as always, "Me, too."
Mary died four days later.
I wonder. When Saint Peter opened the gates for Mary, did he say "Welcome, Mary Pozdro. Please sign the register."
Or, then again, he may have said, "Welcome, Go-fer Angel. We heard about you in 1944."
"We always have room for another angel here."
I love and miss you, Mary!