Remembrances of Margaret Clark Husman
 

 Remembrance 1 written by Carol Koh :

There are so many memories over time of my mother that it is hard to sort them all out. I usually group them in my mind time-wise and here are a few that stand out:
 At Piedmont Avenue in Baltimore, Maryland:
    We lived in a rowhouse in Baltimore, Maryland. My grandmother Clarkie lived with us and what I most remember about her is that she always had a bible in her hand. She was a very Christian lady in her thoughts and actions. My mother also was very religious and we attended a Baptist church every Sunday. I still remember being baptized.
  On Raleigh Road, Baltimore County, Maryland:
     I have a lot of memories but mainly I remember that my mother was very patient with me since I was a typical teenager and I must have given her some worry for which I am sorry. Lynn was born on Raleigh Road.
   Later years:
   My mother always was there to entertain and support my children Phil and Deb. When we went to a Christmas dance, she would take them to the Korean Social Club party for kids.  Phil and Deb also enjoyed many outings with her and she took them to church also.
  In Annapolis:
     I always enjoyed visiting Margaret and Burris and chatting with them. I especially liked eating out at Mikes Crab House with both of them and sometimes Clark and Pat and their children. Also Lynn would fly in and that was terrific when we all got together.
   Margaret and Burris were a great fixture at family gatherings and we all enjoyed their company.    -Carol Koh, her daughter

Remembrance 2 written by Phil Koh :

In case you’re wondering, here’s what it’s like to be Margaret’s grandchild: 
  Grandma was an incredibly, incredibly great person. 
   I want to say that.  At her passing away, I feel many emotions, but particularly, such an urge to try to adequately convey that, to explain that, to everyone.  In her last weeks, I tried to come up with a way to tell her this, but I was never really able.  I couldn’t get it to feel natural, like it would be so jarring to say:
  “Well, grandma, you’re dying, so I’m going to take the established flow and direction of our interaction for the last 37 years and reverse it and sit you down and talk about how great you are for a change.” 
  I couldn’t do it, and I don’t even know how she would have taken it.  I don’t know if she, with her so humble view of herself, would understand what I was talking about.  I told her I loved her, and that seemed to be enough.  But now, having failed to tell her what I really wanted to say, I have such an urge to tell everyone else, and hope that in the place where she is now, she’ll get the message. 
  The thing that worries me is that I won’t adequately get it across.  There are several problems.  The obvious one is that everyone expects remembrances to be filled with hyperbole.  Everyone thinks that you’re caught up in the emotion and are exaggerating the good parts and doing a spin job on the bad parts, and so they take what you say about the person with a grain of salt, thinking, “that’s a sweet sentiment, but most likely not the literal truth”.  I think the origin of the term “eulogy” means to say something good.  Which is kind of funny, it’s like you’re saying:    
  “Well, they’re gone now, let’s try and find something good to say about them.”
  Please grant me the benefit of the doubt that that is not the case here; I’m here to try to tell the exact, unexaggerated truth about my grandmother.
  The bigger problem is that it’s very hard to capture what’s amazing about grandma from her resume.  Many of the facts and figures of her life seemed very common or unexceptional, and indeed I think appeared that way to her.  She told me a few weeks ago that in looking back over her life, wondering what she did accomplish, she said, “not much, but I did raise some great kids”.  So typical of her.  In a way, that humility is a piece (a small piece) of the larger picture of what I’m trying to convey, which is how remarkably exceptional she was.  When Julie and I named our daughter Sophia Margaret Koh, it was not just out of affection but also because of how great a person we knew her great-grandma was.  Grandma was pleased, but underneath it, I thought I sensed, a little curious, like, “why name the girl after just little old me?”
  So, with enough preamble, I’ll explain what a one-in-a-million person she was, and what it was like to be fortunate enough to be her grandson.  If you’ll forgive me, it may sound immodest at first - like I’m talking about me (which I promise is the last thing I want to do at this moment), but after giving it some thought, I believe this is the most direct way to explain her.
   Grandma thought I was smart. 
   She didn’t exactly keep it a secret that she thought this.  The fact that she thought this is well known, I believe, to many people.  She said it a lot. 
   When I was a child, she said it all the time to me.  We lived very close to her and granddad, and from ages five to fifteen, I typically saw them one or two days every week.  And this is what I heard, those ten years:
     “you’re so smart.”
      “you’re a remarkable boy.”
      “your grandfather and I have studied the I.Q. system, do you know what that is? Of course you do.  and we think you’re a genius.”… 
   But it wasn’t just the smarts thing she went on about.  Also:
     “you’re so handsome” 
     “what a handsome boy” 
     “I’d call you beautiful, but you might not like that.”
   She’d get very creative with complicated reasoning and trains of logic:
   “it’s a fact that part-Asians and -Caucasians are the most beautiful people in the world.  And smartest.  It’s the mixing of the racial traits that does it.” 
  “You get your straight black hair from your father (who is a great man, by the way), and Koreans are very smart people.  They have shorter legs than Americans.  But you don’t.  Your legs are just right.  You get your legs from your American side; they’re like Clark’s.  Clark is a great man.  So smart.  Great legs.  You’re like him.”
    “Short? You’re not short.  The shortest in your class?  Okay, well maybe slightly on the smallish side.  But that doesn’t mean anything.  Do you know how many great people were small?”
    And sometimes it’d get almost nonsensical:
   “you’re left-handed.  That’s great.  All the great geniuses were left-handed.  It’s true.  Don’t think it’s bad that you’re left-handed, ‘cause it’s not.  It’s great.”
   “Albert Einstein was left-handed.  At least I think he was.  You remind me of him.” 
   “Richard Nixon is right-handed.  You’re nothing like him.  I always knew he was a crook.”
   So this was the constant love and praise and support that was grandma in my childhood.  When you’re four or five, your universe is very small.  It pretty much consists of your parents and siblings and grandparents.  So at that time, grandma was one-fifth of my whole world, and her main role was the welcoming committee:  “Welcome, welcome to the world.  You’re new here and so very, very welcome, we couldn’t possibly be happier to have you here.  You’ll do great here, just great.”  
  This constant love and praise and support continued as I got older.  I got used to it.  It was the background music playing on continuous loop as I grew up, and while you may get used to it and not pay it as much attention after a while, nevertheless, I think, it affects you, shapes you: to have an angel like that hovering over you as you grow. 
   That’s why I was so fortunate to be her grandson.
   As I grew into my early teens, I came to see that these words that she said told me even more about grandma herself than they did about me.  Anyone who was close to her knows what I know now - that this was just her being quintessentially her.
    “Clark is a wonderful father.  He’s so great with those boys.”
    “Debbie is so pretty.  And smart.  She was the top of her class.  And so talented.”
    “Lynn has such a good job.  She’s so smart, and her husband is a wonderful man, just right for her.
    “Your father is a wonderful person, just wonderful.  So is your mother.  You’re a very lucky boy, you have the best parents.  And they’re lucky to have you.
     “Julie is so pretty.  And what a wonderful mother.  And she has such a darling figure.”
   How much love did she give away like this, so freely, so fluently over 86 years I wonder?  How much it all must have added up to!
    Gathered together like this, it may sound wordy, but the fact is, she didn’t even have to say anything.  She would just look at you with that proud smile, and you could tell she was thinking it.  You could feel the joy and pride and love.  I know that Clark and Lynn and my mom and Burris know what I’m talking about. 
     I know that Deb, Julie and Bernie; Steven, Jonathon and David; Sarah and Jessie know exactly that look of pride she gave that I’m talking about, since I’ve seen her do it; seen her let it shine on them.
    It radiated. 
   She’d let that look shine on you and it was like being near a big campfire.  You could close your eyes and feel the warmth on the parts of your skin which were facing towards her.
   This is the part of her that was so uncommon, so exceptional.  As a sixteen year old, I’d tell my friends how great she was, but it lost something in the telling; as I said, it’s hard to capture when describing her.  (Plus the fact that describing your grandmother does not naturally grab the attention of another sixteen-year-old friend).  But, I’d say, let’s go over and have dinner at her house and I’d bring my friends there.  And, within fifteen minutes, you could tell they’d feel it.  Maybe it was just because they were associated with you, but grandma would always think your friends were the greatest thing since sliced bread.  She’d tell us all how great we were, and she’d give us all that admiring look and you could tell how delighted she was to have these wonderful boys in her house.  And they’d feel the same thing I did.  And they’d all walk away from her house saying, “Wow.  You’re grandmother’s great.” 
    And I’d say, “I told you so.”
    Later, Julie said the first time she met grandma it was exactly the same way.  I don’t know if grandma sensed that we would eventually marry, but she met Julie with a look that said, “Ahhh.  There you are.  Look at you.  You’re perfect.  Where have you been all my grandson’s life?”
   This is what’s so exceptional about my grandmother.  The love that radiated from her, anyone could detect and immediately sense as being so uncommonly pure, without ripples or complications, without conditions.  I’ve never met anyone else like that, or near to that.    
   How great it was to grow up with that.  I’m sure many people have someone in their life who gives them that to some degree - their own personal grandma Margaret.  But I’m particularly grateful that my personal grandma Margaret was the grandma Margaret.  When I was five, I’d look up at her and that look would radiate down on me, letting me know how welcome I was in the world.  When I was fourteen and could look her in the eye, it radiated out to me just as strong.
   After her diagnosis, when she was naturally melancholy and talking to me about her worries and her medicines and the other sad details of sickness which force themselves upon you at a time like that, she stopped and asked how I was doing.  I said the kids were great, business was going well.  And there it was: her beaming look, turned on like a switch. 
    “Oh, Philip, that’s wonderful.  You’re such a great father.  And so smart.  Your grandfather would have loved to see what you’re doing.   I think he would have done something like that if he had the opportunities…”   And just like that, as she went on, I could feel it again.  Now she was letting it shine on me upwards, from her bed where she was laying dying, and it felt just as warm.
     I honestly still feel it right now, while talking about her like this, and it warms me now.  But now, of course, it’s like it was at the start: shining on me downward once again.
   So that’s what I wanted to say.  I hope I captured some bit of how wonderful it felt to be her grandchild.  I’m sure all seven of us grandchildren felt the same way.  We were very, very lucky.  I, in particular, as the oldest of our generation, felt the most fortunate that I got to spend 37 years as her grandson.
   Thank you, grandma.  We’ll never, never forget you.   - Dr. Philip Koh, her grandson

Remembrance 3 written by Dr. Burris Husman:

   Margaret would like to call me the “best son-in-law” in the world and sometimes she seemed sincere about it. The feeling toward each other was mutual.
   She was a great mother-in-law. I have known her for almost forty years.
   I still thank her and her late husband,  Chuck, for giving away their first daughter to me. I  was a total stranger to them. I could barely communicate with them in English. They must have seen something in me. The marriage turned out to be a wonderful thing. We have enjoyed a great life together.
    Margaret loved our two kids so much. She was so proud to take them around, and to show off how smart they were. She was a good, caring, mother to my wife Carol.
    As we grow older, she and Carol became good friends. She would give her valuable advice and support; yet, she was never over-bearing.
    She was a wonderful mother-in-law.
     We will miss her.
              -Dr. Karl Koh, Best son-in-law

Remembrance 6 by Deborah Tylor:

  My Grandma was the best grandma.  All grandmas should come from her mold.  She always thought of others before herself, making sure you were well fed, entertained, happy.  Grandma was a truly Christian spirit; she radiated and emulated the loving nature that I learned to equate with being a good Christian.  Growing up, I felt like God WAS working through her, to spread kindness and warmth to her family and the world.  She was good, to the core.
  When Granddad died, I couldn’t stand to see her suffer because the pain and resulting, understandable depression simply didn’t fit with how Grandma, the Grandma I had known my whole life, should be and feel - happy, busy, caring for others … Grandma sometimes would get sad and consumed with worry about being lonely, like after Granddad died, but her love for others and joy in caring always snapped her out of it and buoyed her like a beacon of light.  After Granddad’s death, the birth of Jonathon and her love for him helped to heal Grandma, because the simple act of loving and giving returned her to her natural state.   I worried about her being lonely until she met Burris, and then I knew that she’d be okay.  Grandma could take on pretty much anything, but not loneliness.  Being alone, being focused on herself, was the opposite of who she was.  She was a giver, and if she couldn’t give, she suffered and withered.
  Growing up, I always wanted my friends to meet my grandparents, to show them off.  They were so fun to be with. 
Some fun memories… (a lot of them are related to food.  Hopefully this says more about Grandma than me! J) 
Holiday dinners were always the best. She stuck to the basics and did a great job, year after year. She made the best sugar cookies.  I loved to make them with her.  She was so patient in teaching me, letting me dress them up with sprinkles, walnuts, raisins and little chocolate kisses. They were the same, every year, and I wouldn’t have changed a thing about them.  She always loved to make cakes, half chocolate, half caramel.  I think she liked the caramel, but wanted to make sure the chocolate lovers were happy.
  Grandma loved family gatherings, the jokes, the laughter.  It was such a tragedy when she started to lose her hearing because it was hard for her to hear conversations in larger groups.  I know she missed that simple pleasure of good conversation and sharing in fun, punchy banter.   
  Grandma and Granddad would come with us to Ocean City, and I loved having them there.  They were so mellow and fun and made the trip seem really special.  Granddad would float over what seemed to be huge waves, and you could always see his head, his toes and his big belly safely buoyed over breaking waves.  Grandma would wear this blue bathing suit with I think white polka dots and a little skirt every year.  When she’d swim, she wasn’t very vigorous and her movement would actually push her backwards.  She always had a visor on and she’d never let the top of her hair get wet, wore a bathing cap.  The things you notice when you’re a kid… really not that enlightening, but she was such a huge part of my world and every detail about her made me feel safe and made the world seem like a simple, happy place.
  When Christmas came, she’d pull out the JC Penney catalogue and say, circle the toys you want.  Of course I circled pretty much everything, but the exercise of marking up a catalogue, that my opinion mattered, was the best gift of all.  She made things fun, always listened, never condescended or judged.
  Grandma always went to all of my piano recitals which frankly were so boring I’m amazed that I showed up to them.  She always reminded me that Granddad had said that I didn’t just play piano, that I was a pianist.  She also told me often that my dad was the best son in law and that Chuck said Dad was his best friend, said with an emphasis that this was really the best compliment she could give. Grandma always liked to quote Granddad; they always had that special spark and love between them and seemed like a model of what true life-lasting love should be.
  Grandma always reminded me that she prayed for me, that I would be happy.  Whenever I was going through something rough, she’d always give me a call, even if just to say she was thinking about me and praying for me. Her prayers came true when I met Bernie and since, the birth of Baby K.  She always told me, you have a great, great husband!” (he is great!).    Bernie from the start said, Grandma Margaret is my favorite!   Even though she only knew Katherine for less than a year, it was enough for her to proclaim, “Another genius!”.  She had so much pride in her children, grand-children and great grandchildren, and always shared with a few words, summing up in a golden nugget, what made every one of them special.  Every child, loved completely. 
  As kids, Grandma took me and Phil to Church every Sunday, and then rewarded us with McDonalds and yummy sundaes.  She was a fish filet fan her whole life.  I don’t think she ever got a burger. And she loved their god awful coffee, black.  Why change a good thing seemed to be her philosophy.  Church was such an important part of her life, the community, the faith.  For a long time, I didn’t know if I had faith, but I sure had faith that Grandma had faith, unwavering faith.  In the last couple years I’ve finally come to understand, in my own way, a little of the glowing inner light that faith gave her.  I prayed for her that in her dying hours that she know what a beautiful person she was, that she was a gift from God to us and that she was a good Christian, just by being herself.
   We love you grandma, with all of our hearts.

Remembrance 7 by Dorian Borsella:

I first met Margaret as a 14-year-old friend of her daughter, Carol.  Even at that young age, I could judge that she was a loving and devoted parent to her children. Carol remains one of my best friends, more years later than I care to mention. I remember turning on CNN one, day perhaps 15 years ago, at 7 a.m. There, on the screen, was Margaret swinging a golf club. The show had as its features healthy and happy seniors, enjoying life. I truly believe that Margaret thoroughly enjoyed her life! She was blessed with 3 quality children, grandchildren, and even some "great-grands." Now, God has received Margaret, His dutiful daughter.
                                            -Dorian Borsella

Remembrance 8 by Jane Granitzki:

Remembrance 9 by Lynn Kilroy:

  How can I possibly hope to describe Mom...a woman with unending patience, limitless love and strong devotion both to her family and her religion?  I will start with my own experiences with her during my teenage years. To understate the situation, I was not an easy teenager -- always angry (specifically with her), always fighting (specifically with her) and never expressing my love to her.  Although she would lose her patience with me once in a blue moon, she always quickly apologized even though in retrospect, she never needed to.  If someone else were to point out how difficult I was, she would strongly defend me, getting angry with whoever was speaking against me, and tell them just how wonderful I was  -- even if I had just finished (or was still in the process of) being a pain to her. 
  Fortunately, I grew up and started to see what everyone else had always seen -- that she was the most wonderful, caring, giving woman and that I was lucky to have her in my life and always on my side -- no matter what.  I had recently called her (just before we found out about her cancer) asking her for her help with something -- her response as always was she would do absolutely anything for me -- she actually said "Honey, I would cut off my own head if I thought it would help you".  Sounds weird to anyone who doesn't know Mom but for anyone who did, you know, like I did that she meant it with all of her heart.  Now that I have teenagers of my own I understand her deep devotion to her children and know that I possess her same sense of devotion to them.  I thank her for that gift.
  My deepest sense of loss is the selfish sense of "no one will ever love me that much again".  The truth is that once someone is in the process of leaving or is recently gone, you realize just how much you truly loved them.
  My last few weeks with my Mom were different than in the past -- now I was the caregiver, I was the one feeding her, giving her ice and kissing her face and telling her that everything would be ok, just be calm and relax -- I am here with you now and your God and loved ones are waiting for you.  I shared with her my wonderful experience when my Dad died back in 1991 -- I truly believe that he came to me and said goodbye -- it was warm and happy and gave me such a sense of calm -- this story impacted her deeply and provided her with much comfort.
  On my flight back home last night, we were significantly delayed due to bad weather.  Once in flight, we had a spectacular lighting show almost the entire way home.  I feel that Dad and Mom were showing me that they are happy and together and that everything is just fine.
  I love them both so dearly, miss them incredibly but also have a sense of peace in my own heart, and one of coming home for them.
                                             -Lynn Kilroy, her daughter

Remembrance 10 by Clara Hall