WHEN I STOOD IN MARGIE'S PLACE
By Elizabeth Mulligan


One day during World War II, I held a letter from my father that said, "Mother is in the hospital awaiting surgery. She wishes that you could be with her."

But there I was, half a world away in a field hospital on the battlegrounds of France. General George Patton's tanks were pushing toward Metz. The casualties were heavy. A steady stream of ambulances linked the broken roads. Our tents overflowed with praying, cursing and deadly quiet men.

One of the mortally wounded men reached out to me. "Are you there, Margie? Hold my hand."

I was not Margie, but the failing vision and clouded mind of this soldier let him think I was. I do not know who "Margie" was---wife, sister, sweetheart---but she was obviously greatly loved and very important to him.

"Are you still there, Margie? Don't go away," pleaded the man. My hand tightened on his weakening grasp, and I whispered, "I will stay with you---always."

As I stood beside the drab-blanketed cot holding a stranger's hand whose life was ebbing, my thoughts spanned the ocean---to my mother in the hospital. And there came to me suddenly the overwhelming conviction that some stranger in that hospital was comforting her, too.

Some days later a letter came from my parents in which they spoke lovingly of a certain nurse who had "adopted" mother, a nurse who said, "I'll take care of things here. Tell your daughter to look after things over there."

It's beyond one's power to pay back in kind and to the same person each debt of love we owe. But we can pass on to others a service or a kindness wherever we see the need, and help make the world a little more gentle and warm.