Another word for special: Marion - Marion Poos

Vibrant Life, Jan-Feb, 1990 by Rebecca Buchanan

Another Word for Special Marion

Marion Poos was born with a rebellious body. Only five months after her birth, she had her first cancer surgery. The cancer has recurred five times. She has also been afflicted with lupus for the past five years and a seizure disorder for the past four years, and in 1987 she experienced a terrible car accident that broke most of the bones of the right side of her body.

In addition, she endures the side effects of a long and complicated list of medications. These side effects include kidney and liver malfunction, hair loss, nausea, dizziness, and almost constant pain. Because of her body's inability to manufacture white blood cells to ward off infections, the healing process becomes a continuous battle of long sieges interspersed with brief retreats. During the latest "campaign," she has had four amputations performed on her right leg, all within six months.

At first glimpse a delicate wisp of a girl, Marion on days of good weather is confined to a motorized wheelchair, or to crutches, or a walker at other times. Upon closer inspection, you can almost feel the reverberations of her volcanic spirit. With her chin set in determination, she maneuvers around town in her wheelchair, which is adorned with signs that read "My Mercedes Is in the Shop Today," or "Careful Driver on Board." As she makes her best attempt to near the speed limit, you'll wonder if confined is an appropriate word to describe her condition.

To those who know Marion, she elicits not sympathy but love and appreciation. In spite of countless limitations and detours along her life's path, Marion remains a gifted and giving human being. She never lets a cloud of disappointment spoil her day. She may shake her fist at it in defiance, shout angrily in frustration, or even cry for a time, but should rain fall, Marion just lifts her face to catch with full force every drop. She experiences the fullness of her pain much the same way she embraces the joy of her life.

I asked Marion if she felt people who are very sick or endure a great deal of pain cna still live vibrant lives. She answered, "Of course. Pain and suffering are two different things. I always hurt, but I don't always suffer. Suffering includes pain, but adds the questioning of the value of life and/or one's present experience. I rarely doubt that I am exactly where I should be in my life. I am not always happy, but I always know joy."

Marion goes on to say, "Vibrant also means sonorous or resounding. Thus, a vibrant life must be one that is shared with others, that sings of victory and hope. I can't imagine not hoping. There's always something gorgeous in a day, but I have to be receptive to that beauty. I live a vibrant life regardless of pain."

As Tim Hansel writes in his book Choosing Joy, "pain seems to be the common denominator of human existence. It's part of the life experience. To avoid it is to detour the essence of life itself." Marion feels her pain is just more obvious and visual perhaps than that of a lot of people. She says, "I donht feel as if I could endure many things other people go through, such as being on call in a trauma unit, enduring the upheaval of a divorce, or losing a child. The list is endless. The point is that I'm not in a minority when it comes to suffering. I can make a joyful noise wherever I am. Sometimes it's pretty funny, in fact, to surprise people by expressing grace in a miserable situation. Life is always vibrant. The moment is ceases to resound, it ceases to exist with meaning. And without meaning, I can't imagine what would even make my heart continue to beat. Life is pretty funny, really, whether you look at it through psychedelic glasses or clear ones."

Marion, who still manages to live on her own, reaches beyond the pain and disappointments to discover as much of life's treasures as she can. Those who know her have been uplifted at one time or another by some of her shared treasure. Many times I have arrived at my office to find a chocolate kiss at the door, or an uplifting note in my mail. Sometimes it will be Marion's own verse or illustration. Whatever the form, these remembrances always seem to arrive at just the right time--little rays of sunshine to brighten my day.

One of Marion's closest friends, and one who perhaps knows her best, Kathy Janzen, aptly describes her this way: "Marion is so tiny that when you first meet her all that you notice is how petite she is, but when you talk with her you find she has a heart as big as a watermelon."

Because Marion's life is so immersed in pain, many times she has had to search hungrily, as through a microscope, for any molecule of a rainbow, however fleeting. She grasps each moment like a vise and squeezes the color from it, savoring each bit. She reminds us to eagerly search out the rainbows in our own lives, however, hidden in the clouds they may sometimes seem. The key Marion gives us to finding those rainbows is to be grateful for individual moments and, perhaps more important, to be grateful with zest. Grasp "the sacredness of each unrepeatable moment."