Recently, Margaret Mary Currie, my mother in law, passed away. I’d known Margaret for more than 20 years – since Liz and I first got together at university, and, much like her husband, David, Margaret was a constant in Liz and I’s ever-changing life: living overseas, returning home, buying a house, getting a dog, having children, in roughly that order. Margaret and David were always there – and their house, first in Glenmore Park and then in Kingswood, became a home base of sorts, to which we could always return. It seemed like Margaret would always be there. And now she’s not.
I always think mothers in law get a bad rap: they’re forever presented as dragons, to be avoided at all costs, tormenting the men in their lives. Margaret wasn’t like that – at least, not in any way I saw. There were stories that perhaps hinted at a more volatile past – more than once she cut the cord to the TV to encourage the Currie children to do their homework – but I never saw any hint of that kind of thing. What I did see, though, was determination – something that’s reflected in her daughter.
Determination sometimes gets a bad rap – especially if you’re a woman. It’s sometimes confused with stubbornness, or obstinacy, or even stupidity. You’d be braver than me if you advanced that line of thought with Margaret. I think a better interpretation – certainly a more generous one – is that determination is often a byproduct of faith. It takes courage to determine a course of action – but more courage to hold to that, especially when others try to dissuade you from it. And that courage, or determination, or faith was central to Margaret’s life.
Another way determination gets a bad rap is when it’s used to suggest an ignorance of feeling – especially the feelings of others. And sure, I guess that, in some cases, that might be true. But I wouldn’t say that about Margaret. Rather, Margaret just knew better. Her moral compass never seemed to waver – or at least, that was the woman that she projected to the world. But it was a moral compass guided by an unstated, often undiscussed love. When David had his accident, plenty of people encouraged Margaret to cancel the wedding – after all, you can’t marry someone in a wheelchair. But Margaret refused, and went ahead and married David, and proved everyone wrong.
More simply, Margaret never hesitated to organise – like an army general – her teams of scripture teachers. I’m skeptical about the value of scripture or any religious instruction in public schools (or other schools, to be honest), and I’d suggested as much to Margaret: and was promptly ignored. Not in a rude way, but Margaret had made up her mind that scripture was valuable and important, and nothing was going to change her mind on that – not after 40 years of work. It was enough for her to know that she was helping children realise they were loved by God. Fair enough.
So what is this combination of determination, faith and love called? Elizabeth summed it up perfectly: fierceness. Not the kid of fierceness that is all performance and screams. No, the kind of quiet fierceness that is characterised by flowers clinging to cliffsides. A determination to make the world better, and not take no for an answer.
Vale.