Genevieve Ann Quackenbush

St. Peter’s explosive team was on high alert the morning of January 8th as a firecracker had arrived on the front steps of the Pearly Gates.Of course, they’d seen all manner of deliveries, but this one burned particularly bright, and these days you can never be too careful. But then a voice suddenly rang out amongst the growing throng of onlookers: “She here?!” It was Jerry, and he was weaving his way through the crowd like a running back on game day — finally reaching this little object of fascination with a knowing grin. “What took you so long!?”, he exclaimed before embracing the woman he knew as his wife of over six decades. Only then did Micky peel the headphones away from her ears, Herb Alpert blasting through the tinny speakers, and ask: “did the party start?”

On paper, the life and times of Genevieve “Micky” Quackenbush were not always a party. She sacrificed a childhood to raise six younger siblings, battled multiple bouts of cancer, buried a son, and spent her latter days fending off the persistent advance of dementia. But even as she gulped her last earthly breaths, she couldn’t shake that fire — that spark that signaled a life of extraordinary zeal. She was a trailblazer, a caretaker, a force of nature.

Indeed, her “box score” was formidable: “Businesswoman of the Year”, the Michigan Democratic Party’s “Eager Beaver” award, and a feature in the Ann Arbor News profiling a prodigious culinary skill. Truth is, you didn’t really want to mess with Micky, as evidenced by the following exchange with my brother some years ago:

“Nana, wanna have a drinking contest?” Holds out a full glass of wine.

“No, I don’t do that Matt.” Pregnant pause before swiping the glass and inhaling the wine.

Sets down the empty glass and wipes her lips: “what contest”? (she was 80).

Sure, she’d torch you with a blistering wit, but then she’d chase it with a wry smile and a warm hug — her capacity for affection seemingly endless. My Nana was a badass. And the family she leaves behind... her children: Jill, Andy, and Kate, her adopted kids: Dennis and Dawn, her four grand kids: Andrew, Matt, Joe, and Sarah, her great grandkids: Foster, Peyton, Bryn, and Charlie, and her two surviving siblings: Bob and Sal… they’re only starting to appreciate the massive crater she leaves from her impact.

And as for the folks upstairs, please let that fire sparkle to eternity. The electricians will love it.

Internment will take place at the family’s convenience, and Mickey’s ashes will be spread when the weather warms — somewhere between first thaw and blueberry picking season. Those who remember her are asked to celebrate her life with a strong manhattan and some homemade pie. Instead of sending flowers, Micky would ask that you get involved in your community, learn salsa, hug a stranger, tell a dirty joke… do anything and everything that exposes you to the incredible joy this life has to offer. After all… love goes where it’s sent, even if it’s up a horses arse.