Marjorie Ray
Marjorie Ray never wanted an obituary, so this isn’t one. There will be no solemn listing of birth and death, no summation of a life neatly wrapped up in a few lines of text. She would have hated that. Instead, this is a love letter, a mosaic of moments, a patchwork of memories stitched together by those of us lucky enough to have been loved by her.
Marj—Mom—Gammie—was a force. Brilliant, hilarious, unique, wildly creative and imaginative, and impossibly kind. She had a green thumb, could harmonize to any song, crack anybody up, and create art through drawing, painting, and writing. She deserved more than what the world often gave her. But she was a survivor, and she found ways to carve out joy, both for herself and for the people she loved most—her daughters: Julie, Beckie, Jennie, and Victoria, and the grandchildren and great-grandchildren she adored: Joshie, Trevor, Melissa, Tyler, Alex, Taylor, Natalie, Nicole, Willow, Lily, and Soren.
To be loved by Marj was to be cared for in the most thoughtful ways. When we were growing up, if you were sick, she’d go to the store and let you choose whatever soda you wanted—Welch’s Grape or Swiss Creme, if you were smart. She’d throw in a little surprise, maybe paper dolls or a magic slate, because love, to her, was in the details.
Summers growing up were filled with trips to the library, her reading to us at night, a few chapters at a time, turning novels into shared adventures. Her love of reading and watching musicals on TV was infectious. She made Saturday nights special by letting us stay up late with ice cream to watch Mary Tyler Moore and Carol Burnett. And on the last day of school, she’d line us up on the picnic table for pixie haircuts, scattering the clippings in the yard so the birds could weave them into their nests.
Her kindness extended beyond her family too. She was everyone’s favorite Sunday school teacher (she always brought treats). Once, in the middle of the night, she brought a coworker home who was escaping an abusive spouse, and we were told she’d be staying with us. No hesitation, just safety, given freely, because Marj believed in helping people, in meeting them where they were.
She loved the breeze coming through the window, impressionist art, learning about Greek history, anything sparkly, and wearing pretty jewelry. She made great potato salad, Spanish hamburgers, meatballs, and lasagna.
She didn’t want a funeral. She didn’t want an obituary. Because she hated attention, dismissed compliments, and rejected any notion that she was extraordinary. But she was. She was so much more than she ever gave herself credit for. She said she wanted to be remembered for, “My deep and everlasting love for my precious family—my greatest blessings from God.”
She never wanted flowers because she said they just died, so in her honor, we ask you to do something kind. Call a friend you haven’t spoken to in a while. Help someone in need. Donate to a cause that protects animals, children, or the environment. Love without expectation. Make the world lighter, gentler, better—just as she did.
This is not an obituary. This is a life, remembered with love.