Megan Cope

by Anne Cope

On the second anniversary of her death…

    It was always love with Megan, unconditional love.

    There was no anger, no petty backbiting, no one-ups-manship, no selfish agenda. It was just love. And trust.

    She just knew someone would fill her tummy when she was hungry and someone did—for 10 years. She knew someone would give her a bath and wash her hair, dress her and put in a bow so she could pull it off, and someone did.

    She loved everyone. If you came into her territory and sat down, she would sit on your lap. If you wore glasses, they would be gone faster than a speeding bullet. If you wore a necklace, it would be broken. If you didn’t learn the first time, you surely learned the second time. Somehow this special gift to our family had the ability to make you feel like the most important person in her life. If you gave her some attention, she, in return, gave you all of hers.

    If it was your job to give her the eight or 10 medicines lined up several times a day, she would just take them, never crying, never objecting. But you also learned to hold on to the spoon and get it away fast.

    Sleep was not programmed into her computer and special precautions had to be taken to make sure the cheese wasn’t full of bite marks and the eggs were not broken during a midnight spin around the house.

    Early on, as she came to our house for a yearly visit of a week or so (One year it was 11 days and I had to tell the mom and dad that I had learned I was only a “one week grandma” and to plan their vacations accordingly.), she was a door-checker. She never, never, never gave up on the hope that someone, sometime would leave a door open. Papa put a stop to that with a quick installation of safety locks at the top of each door.

    One time when she came, I called a friend and promised her a hundred million dollars if she would stay with Meg the last day of the visit. Oh yeah, I think that bill is still outstanding.

    She loved to sing and wanted you to join in. Her favorites were “ABC,” “Jesus Loves Me,” “The B-I-B-L-E,” and her very favorite, “I May Never March in the Infantry.” When she was little, she would sing them with you— over and over and over. Later, when she could no longer remember the words, she would clue you in with “I May—” or “B-I-B—” That was your signal to start singing. She would still join in with a healthy “YES SIR!” at the appropriate moment.

    How did this cross-wired Everready battery manage to draw so many lives into hers? How did she make us yearn to return time after time for some hugs and kisses in her 20-hour days?

    Perhaps it was just because the love and trust which emanated from her fragile body was, indeed, unconditional. She taught us the simplicity and the constancy of such a love.

    And we are better for it.

    Some people called her “retarded.”

    We called her “perfect.”

HEARTLIGHT Magazine is a ministry of loving Christians and the Westover Hills church of Christ.
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Article copyright © 1996 Anne Cope. Used by permission.
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