Mara's Memorial Celebration

November 18, 2007
Washington, DC
By Olivia

I don’t know how many hundreds of people came to the service today. As the guests greeted each other, the most frequently asked question was: “How do you know Mara?” There were family relations, distant and near; schoolmates from kindergarten through SAIS; colleagues – Peace Corps, Mercy Corps, and USAID; fellow travelers to troubled corners of the world; friends from the breast cancer support group… All these people, reserved this moment of this day, to honor and celebrate Mara’s life.

One by one, Mara’s closest family and friends talked about the Mara they knew best; recounted tender moments and funny anecdotes; smiled bravely through tears... All of us, smiled bravely through tears. Oh, Mara, what a life you have lived! We each held only a small piece of your memory and thought that we were rich as kings. Here we were, small piece by small piece, our treasured memories laid down next to each other, for all to admire. We just started to comprehend truly the depth and dimensions of your gift as we finally felt acutely the depth and dimensions of our loss.

Long after the formal part of the service was concluded, the reception line to meet the bereaved family was still extending around the room and down the stairs… Teary-eyed and weary I wandered about with other teary-eyed and weary guests. How little time we have had with Mara!

In the 17 years I have known Mara, I spent more time being in her room then actually being with her. At 19 I moved from my family’s Soviet-style apartment in Beijing straight into Mara’s room at her father’s Green Bay house. (Mara’s father engineered my narrow escape from the government’s brainwashing en mass, post 1989 Tiananmen Square Student Democracy Movement.) Mara was away in college and offered her room to me. I did not meet Mara until months later, when the plum tree outside of her window burst into glorious blooms. I once spent a Spring Break in Mara’s UW-Madison apartment when she was away in Mexico rebuilding houses after Hurricane Hugo. I stayed in Mara’s childhood room in Potomac (the one with a large fabric unicorn above her bed and her old Raggedy Anne on the pillow), when Mara joined the first group of Peace Corps volunteers in Bulgaria. When I followed Mara’s footsteps into a Foreign Service school in Washington, I spent many happy hours at 1910 S Street. Mara went away to serve at the Aspen Institute then, so busy that the only time I had with her was helping her pack. How little time I have had with Mara! But always, Mara was generous in sharing her space and herself, and her presence was felt even in her absence.

Today, in this cavernous and modern one-third of a hotel ballroom and upstairs reception area, any lesser personality would have been drowned in its anonymity. Not Mara. Her colorful scarves moved gently in the breeze over the railings; her collection of masks glowed in the gentle light; pictures of her laughing with friends crowded the bulletin boards; beautiful gifts from her well-wishers around the world spilled out onto long display tables. Mara’s presence transformed this cold place into her own comfortable and welcoming room. Guided by her unique sense of beauty; enveloped by the warm and artful mess that seemed to always trail behind her, Mara continued to transform the space she occupied, whether it held 5 or 500.

Warmed by each other and coffee, our stomachs prevented from growling by fruit and coffee cake, we talked, hugged, cried and laughed. Everything glowed with Mara’s touch and with the love her family and friends devoted to her. Teary-eyed and wary, we found comfort in that glow, even now, in Mara’s absence.