Testament to a Friendship
An incredibly beautiful written testament to a very special 90 year friendship recently resurfaced after almost 30 years of obscurity. The timing of its reappearance and subsequent re-reading represents nothing short of providence.
My mother, Bessie Stamos, passed away peacefully on December 30, 2022 after a lengthy battle with an aggressive form of cancer. With the assistance of a wonderful hospice organization, my sister (predominantly) and I cared for her at her own home until her death. As I wrote in the previous piece here on The Renaissance Garden Guy entitled “Thoughts of My Mom,” the experience of the three of us spending my mom’s last few weeks together surrounded by, and immersed in, the memories of our lives together was simultaneously bittersweet and entirely sublime.
On the morning of the day of her passing, I was sitting at my mom’s bedside when my sister presented me with a book she’d found camouflaged among a sizable number of others on the shelves of my mother’s bookcase.
“Look at this. Have you ever seen it before?”
In fact, I had. Nearly thirty years before.
The book in question was actually a small spiral volume entitled Friendship Speaks in Words Only the Heart Can Understand and published by Abbey Press as part of its “Write Your Own Book” series. When new, its lined pages were blank, inviting handwritten entries. Now, as it was when my mother first showed it to me in the very early autumn of 1994, it was filled with original poetry, essays, remembrances, anecdotes, and the most touching of dedications and inscriptions – all handwritten in the small, cursive script of my mother’s lifelong best friend, Margie Rossiter (née Capes). On the cover, in my mom’s own neat cursive script, was written “From my dear friend Margie.”
My sister had never seen it before. I explained to her how, on that long ago autumn day, my mother had first shown it to me. I’d stopped by for a visit that particular afternoon and my mom treated me to coffee and homemade bread. When the consumption was through and she knew she had my full attention, she showed me what she’d received in the mail the day before from Aunt Margie. With her eyes filling up, she told me that she’d read it from cover to cover the evening before.
I opened the little book that day and was astonished. I knew that if I wasn’t careful, my own damn eyes were going to be wet. Over the course of the spring and summer of 1994, my mom’s oldest and dearest friend had written her a book of poetry, essays, and remembrances. This was not mindless or repetitive scrawling. Each entry was unique and lovingly (and quite beautifully – in terms of both composition and script) written. I read through several of Aunt Margie’s entries that afternoon in 1994, and I drove home marveling at the thought of her composing these beautiful works for my mother. How profound their bond must’ve been.
The little book of handwritten poems and thoughts eventually made its way to one of my mom’s bookshelves, while its contents never left her heart. And the years went by.
In “Thoughts of My Mom,” I offered a bit of background on the friendship between my mom and Aunt Margie (not a blood relative). To paraphrase here, I’ll tell you that the two ladies were born in 1930 – Margaret Capes on September 4th, Bessie Panos on October 31st. They were fast friends by the time they were two. My mom was a first generation American of Greek descent. Greek was her first language. Margie, whose folks were born in the USA and who’s grandparents were from Hungary, taught my mother English. They grew up right next door to each other in Chicago’s South Chicago neighborhood on Colfax Avenue and 92nd Street. Their homes, which were actually solid, brick two-flats, were separated only by the width of the narrow gangway which ran lengthwise between them. The two little girls could – and often did – reach across this narrow span to exchange goodies, notes, and gifts through their respective open windows. They’d greet each other each morning and wish each other pleasant dreams every evening across the gangway; my mom through her bedroom window and Margie through the window in her parents’ dining room. And all their hours between sunrise and bedtime were spent together. Rocking on Margie’s porch swing, chewing licorice whips from the candy store, playing in their parents’ gardens, singing, running, climbing, reading, or just sitting and talking; the two little girls were inseparable. In summer, Margie was often sunburned. My mom wore a bow in her hair.
The two remained best friends throughout their lives. Margie Capes became Margie Rossiter and moved away from Colfax and 92nd. A few years later, my mom married my dad and became Bessie Stamos. She too moved from the cradle of Margie’s and her friendship. But the two grown ladies, and their respective families, remained as close as ever throughout their lives.
My Aunt Margie passed away in 2012, when she was 82. My mom outlived her by a little more than 10 years, and missed her every single day of every one of those years. I refer to the friendship between my mom and Aunt Margie as a 90 year friendship. The bond between the two best friends is permanent. My own knowledge of it, my immersion in it through years of conversation with my mom and by way of Margie Rossiter’s written testament convinces me of the indelibility of their friendship. It’s 90 years old. And counting. How could it not be?
As I sat next to my mom’s bed on the morning of the day of her passing, I held Aunt Margie’s creation in one hand and my mom’s hand in the other. My mom had reached that stage in her disease familiar to anyone who’s remained by the side of a terminally ill loved one until the very end. She was conscious but uncommunicative. She could hear my sister and me but was not capable of vocal response. Her eyes were closed. But the little book I was holding in my hand, which made its way to my mom’s bedside after 30 years of waiting in her bookcase, and which was filled with the golden glories of the truest of friendships, was calling to the heart of the lady in the sickbed, and evidently to the hearts of those tending her. At this point, on the last day of my mom’s life, I decided to read my Aunt Margie’s book to her, from cover to cover.
Here, you can relax. I’m not going to reproduce all of the contents of this precious tome. For one thing, this was a deeply personal gift from one dear friend to another. I’m not sure I have the right to make all of these written treasures public. For another, time – both yours and mine – won’t permit it. The book, after all, contains ninety-two pages. In it, my Aunt Margie included 30 poems, 5 essays, 9 lovely anecdotes/remembrances, a beautiful dedication, and the most loving of concluding inscriptions. Over the course of a few hours, I did read each and every entry to my mom on that morning of the day of her death. What follows here are some excerpts and highlights from this remarkable work, plus a few photos of the book and its contents. Though I do hesitate to publish those contents in their entirety, I feel that my Aunt Margie’s beautiful thoughts and words, and the bond of friendship between my mother and her which served as their impetus, are important enough to at least partially disclose to you, my honorable and appreciative readers. I would consider this my own honor and privilege. All work between the front and back covers of this precious jewel is by Margaret Rossiter (née Capes), my Aunt Margie.
My Aunt Margie’s labor of love begins with a simple dedication:
” To my dearest friend –
So that you may know how often you are in my thoughts – and how many times I am reminded of all the rich memories we have created together!
Summer, 1994″
A photo of the page is below.
One of the 30 lovely, heartfelt poems Aunt Margie wrote in celebration of her friendship with my mom is “Invitation to My Friend.” A photo of the poem in Aunt Margie’s original script appears below. For your ease of reading, I’ve reproduced it here:
Invitation to My Friend
By Margaret Rossiter
Knock quietly for entrance to my heart,
The years have left a weather-beaten door;
The latch is a bit stubborn, the frame tight,
But I have kept the glass panes clear and bright.
And once inside, a fire is burning near
Two cozy chairs, a handy stool and books.
I’ll make some tea in Mama’s blue teacups,
With homemade bread and butter to serve up.
No need to storm or rush or make a show,
Knock quietly, my friend, my heart will know.
Below is an excerpt from another of Aunt Margie’s poems, “To an Old Friend,” written in honor of her friendship with my mother. Following my typed reproduction is a photo of the handwritten page. Below that photo is another showing the very last lines of the poem with the following annotation from Aunt Margie: “And she has a beautiful name – Bessie!”
To an Old Friend (Excerpt)
By Margaret Rossiter
When we have lived our little lives
And wandered all the byways through,
When we’ve seen all that we shall see
And finished all that we must do,
When we shall take one backwards look
Off yonder where our journey ends,
I pray that you shall be as glad
As I shall be that we were friends.
One of the essays Aunt Margie wrote for my mom was entitled “Remember When.” The two little girls grew up in a time before television. Radio was king, and these best friends, as adults, would each extoll the magical power of that medium to develop the imaginations of its listeners. This particular essay recounts the joy the girls derived from listening to some their old favorites together. The photo below captures this work as it appears in the book. I particularly love the author’s musing at the end of the piece: “It was a quieter, gentler time and I think we were lucky to grow up in it!”
Aunt Margie includes a particular remembrance in her book pertaining to her childhood bout with scarlet fever. She recounts her heartbreak at the necessary burning of her possessions (in order to prevent the spread of the fearsome illness). Among the items destroyed was a book of poetry by Robert Louis Stevenson (you’ll see the final lines of a poem from this book – one of Margie’s favorites – at the top of the left hand page in the photo below). In spite of the profound sense of loss Aunt Margie experienced while suffering through her summer of scarlet fever, her heart remained glad. She delighted in the daily, continual arrival of one small visitor. My mom, her best friend, came to Margie’s french doors every single day to visit her while she recovered from her illness. They saw and spoke to each other through the glass. No physical contact was permitted due to the contagious nature of the disease. This demonstration of loyalty on the part of my mother was an early testament to a hallmark of her incredible character. And Margie’s recognition and appreciation of this trait is a testament to her own character. These are two remarkable women. They have been so since the time they were small. This particular written remembrance underscores this fact. I tremble when I read it. The last two pages appear in the photo below.
The poetry that my Aunt Margie wrote in homage to the friendship she shared with my mother is remarkable. These works obviously provide a great deal of insight into the character and nature of both the poet, and the dear friend who served as her inspiration. The poems also reflect the beauty of the times in which this friendship first formed and flourished. “We Played Together” conveys beautifully the innocence of two little girls enjoying the bounty of treasures discovered in their own backyards, and in each other’s dreams. “When Life Was Simple” is at once a gentle lament for a time when “a nickel bought a lot of things…” and a paean celebrating the love of family and, of course, a dear friend. “Old Things Are More Beautiful” rejoices in the power of certain prized heirlooms – including souvenirs of Margie and my mom’s friendship – to inspire and resonate with those to whom they belong. “The Singing Katydids,” “Home,” “A Friend’s Visit,” “The Strength of a Friend,” and “It’s ‘Carnival Day'” are just a few more titles.
As with her lovely poetry, the essays, anecdotes, remembrances, and inscriptions Margie dedicates to my mother exist not only as a testament to an extraordinary friendship, but as a plaintive embrace of the time and place of their shared childhoods. In one particular annotation, Margie writes “…More than a half-century – and not one harsh word between us! That’s a record, chum!” (Chum… just now, I personally can’t think of a word that’s more lovely.) Margie recounts these memories as if the events which inspired them unfolded only yesterday. Her written record of these happenings – and of the friendship which served as their centerpiece – is transporting. 1930s South Chicago, and two little girls who were best friends there, are here. And they are very real.
My Aunt Margie concludes the book with the following inscription:
“I Love You
Your friend always,
Margie
{ Even our names rhymed – ‘Bessie and Margie’ What a great pair!}”
The photo of the actual inscription in the book is below.
Thirty poems, five essays, and nine remembrances and anecdotes are nestled between Margie’s dedication of this little book to her friend, and her fond conclusion. Across these pages is written a testament to a friendship for the ages. The words, the sentiment, and the bond; innocence, sincerity, love, unparalleled devotion, and a never-to-be-duplicated place and time served as their tender crucible. This is the Greatest Generation at its absolute finest and most genuine; the contents of this volume prove this in undeniable fashion. And so does the character of both the author and her muse – not only as little girls, but as the woman that each would grow to be.
So I read my Aunt Margie’s book, from cover to cover, to my mother on the morning of the day of her death. I was glad that it had found its way from relative obscurity in my mom’s crowded bookcase to her bedside on this day. I took my mom’s hand in both of mine when I finished reading. Her eyes were still closed, but I was sure that she heard me. I told her that when she saw Aunt Margie again, her oldest and dearest chum would recite every single word of this book to her from memory. And I knew in my own heart, that when that time came, Margie wouldn’t need to recite anything at all. My mom would know all the words by heart, too.
John G. Stamos, January, 2023
As always dear readers and subscribers, I thank you for your interest and your readership. And though I’m certain that you don’t need me to remind you, I’ll say it anyway…
Hold your loved ones close, keep safe, and stay happy.
Cheers, and Happy Gardening!
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I sit here on January 3, 2024 – re-reading this beautiful article and of course I am blubbering again.
Blessings to you John,
A
Thank you for re-reading it, Annie. I felt that this was a good time to re-visit these pieces. I really think it’s important to keep the memories alive. Thank you for your lovely thoughts, Annie. I really appreciate them.
What a beautiful way to celebrate the last day of your mom. My eyes are filled with tears. I sit here with tear filled eyes. Your testament to your dear Mom is so wonderful.
{{{{{{{{{{{{hugs}}}}}}}}}}}}
Blessings to you and your sister.
Thank you so much for reading this piece, and for your incredibly lovely and kind words, Annie. I truly appreciate it. I’m glad you enjoyed reading about this beautiful little book, and these two extraordinary ladies and their remarkable lifelong friendship. Thank you once again, Annie.
When I lived in Japan I had two wonderful friends. After we came back – in 1963 – of course I had lost touch with both of them. One day I googled my one friend but didn’t come up with anything. So I googled one of her brothers – and bingo – I found him. I wrote – and about a month later I got a wonderful letter from her. We ended up corresponding for a number of years and then she stopped writing after she moved to Florida. I belong to a group from my High School in Japan and found my second friend. She was on Facebook – so about 2 years ago we started writing to each other – catching up on what we had been doing over the years. I hadn’t heard from her in awhile so I went to her Facebook page a week ago to find that she died. I am still grief stricken. She was such an amazing person. I was able to contact her siste and we spent time reminiscing about my spectacular friend.
Thank you for sharing this here, Annie. I’m so very sorry to hear about the loss of your dear friend. But I’m very happy knowing that you were able to reconnect with these dear friends after so many years. I believe with all of my heart that your dear, recently departed friend knows exactly how much you loved her. I believe this, truly. Thank you once again for sharing this, Annie. And again, I offer my sincerest condolences.
Dear John,
Your Testament to a Friendship is beautifully written, and a heartwarming tribute to a very special, devoted friendship between two very special ladies…from youth to Eternity. I have a couple of stories to share with you too, another time. Your tribute brought memories to mind, as my first six years, we lived in that 2 flat, so I can picture many of those scenes from the past. Your Mom was always family to all of us. I hold many cherished memories of her in my heart. I can also give testimony to this golden friendship because I was blessed to have them both in our lives! Thank you for so eloquently and devotedly expressing your thoughts and feelings as you witnessed their strong bonds of love and friendship. Our hearts go out to you for the loss of your Mom, my dear Aunt Bessie…we know that as God brought these two special little ladies together long ago, He has now called your Mom Home where we also know she and Auntie Margie are having a grand old time reminiscing together once again, in Heaven!
You are in our thoughts, hearts, prayers
My gosh, Cherie, your thoughts and words are so beautiful and so incredibly kind. As you also witnessed so much of this extraordinary friendship firsthand, your comments here are particularly touching to me, and relevant. Thank you so much for reading the piece, and for these lovely words. I thank you from the bottom of my heart, Cherie, and I’m certain that the two ladies in question do, as well.
Thank you for sharing this story! What a sweet friendship, and what lovely women they were—strong, generous, loyal, creative. It warmed my heart to read this post; many thanks.
Thank you so very much, Mary. I’m very glad you enjoyed reading this one. I appreciate your kind words for my mom and my Aunt Margie, and I thank you for recognizing their wonderful qualities. I’m truly grateful.
John, thank you for sharing your mother’s and Aunt Margie’s story with us. Their story is a testament to the enduring strength of friendship. They were blessed to have each other in their lives. Your aunt’s poetry and writings remind us that real friendship lasts forever.
Thank you so much, Kevin. I’m so glad that you enjoyed reading this piece, and that you recognized and appreciated the bond of unparalleled friendship between these two remarkable ladies. Thank you once again.
This whole story looks like out from a novel or a film, starting with the find of a gorgeous book or poems (and other writings) and continuing with the story of a forever and extraordinary friendship, from the difficult thirties onward, between two wonderful and good-hearted women: the author of the book and the mother of the narrator. The poems of your aunt you shared are so beautifull… The romanticism of the background times, the harmony of this friendship, the sensitivity you bathe with everything around your lovely family and your memories… Well I love to read you, but very specially this kind of writings (about your beautiful mother). Thank you for this present, John.
Oh my, Maria – I am deeply touched by your incredible kindness and the beauty of your thoughts and words. You do my mother, her best fried, their extraordinary friendship, and me the very highest of honors. I thank you from the very bottom of my heart – I am truly forever grateful, Maria.
So few people will ever experience a friendship like Margie and Bessie shared. Thank you for sharing this beautiful testament of friendship.
Thank you so much for reading this one, Carla. And thank yor for your incredibly kind words, and for your appreciation of these two remarkable ladies and their amazing friendship. I truly appreciate it. Thank you so very, very much.
After a few tears reading and rereading this amazing Gem of 90 years of friendship and love … I am speechless of the beauty of it… Genuine friends can be hard to come by, but they are so important.
When you are blessed with such friendship and love it is important to let them know just how much they mean to you…… “Priceless” 🙏❤️🌹🕊️🤍
“Of all possessions a friend is the most precious” —HERODOTUS
How incredibly lovely and kind of you, Roxxy. Thank you so very, very much. I’m so glad you’ve enjoyed this one, and that you appreciate the extraordinary friendship these remarkable ladies shared. You are absolutely right about the importance of friendship. Your words, and those of Herodotus, are perfectly accurate and entirely appropriate. Once again, Roxxy, I thank you so very kindly.
Moved beyond words. That Margie’s book found it’s way through you and your sister to Bessie. My internship was with Hospice, your mum heard every word. Reminds me of a book I read long ago entitled Final Gifts. Thank you John for sharing. 🙏
I’m deeply touched by your incredible kindness and your lovely thoughts, Jill. Your thoughts and words here mean the world to me. Thank you so very, very much. I am truly grateful. Bless your kind heart, Jill, and thank you once again.
Completely amazing.
Thank you so much, Rick. I’m glad you enjoyed reading it.