Mary L. Koral

6/4/1943 – 10/8/2017

Ann Arbor

You are beloved. That’s what Henri Nouwen wrote to a friend years back. He meant that we are chosen. We are not random pieces of matter. I choose to believe he is right and that my death will be good, that I can, in some manner, help others to believe that they are beloved. I choose to believe that even when I am unsure, when it seems much easier to not believe. Belief is no easy task. Loving is no easy task. I have been able to love: My husband, Ken. My children: Son and his first daughter Maekong. Jin, Son’s wife, and the children they made, Alexander, Andrew and Isabella. Sukan and Neil and their children, Dante and Meagan. Jung (Jay) and Meghan and their children, Sean and Cecilia. That is a huge amount of love! It came from all around the world and made a circle of connectedness that is a living miracle. The children and their children always gave far more than they received, no matter how challenging life was sometimes. There is my family in a rural town in northwest PA, St. Marys. My brothers and sisters and their children, my nieces and nephews. Beloved. There is Ken’s family in Cleveland that became my Cleveland family, not in-laws, but family. They have stood with me in my life and sustained me. Again, a huge of amount of love. My friends in writing and teaching and yoga and the cancer support group. Familiar faces in stores in town, the Fourth Avenue Coop, Kerrytown; neighbors on Broadway, the book group at St. Mary Student Parish…people surround us. But, we are not always ready to stop and see what is right there, all that caring and love if we only pay attention. If we are still and listen, we can even hear it. My students at Eastern over the years taught me much more than I could ever teach them. I learned to think about what matters in literature, what matters in writing, and what matters the most: the person in the classroom. The person is always most important. The moment we live right now is the most important. But we usually can’t sustain that level of awareness. I came to Ann Arbor reluctantly, homesick for the hills of northwest PA, a rural girl who grieved for a life I couldn’t quite describe: a life that included clotheslines and stability. People rarely left my hometown back then. I wanted to go home! Over time, I learned that while Ann Arbor is often dizzyingly changeable, what is stable in this place that I came to love, is a passion for life itself, for causes. My God the causes we can argue for! The sense of possibility! That, I came to see, is the best part of Ann Arbor and I hope that continues. Will I miss this? I think as I write this that I will. But, then again, I don’t know. Maybe I will be part of it in ways I do not yet know. I do know that I have had love in abundance. That sometimes I valued that love almost enough. Other times, I was careless about telling people how much they matter, returning phone calls, getting that letter or email out. What I did matters far less than how I did it. The writing, the teaching, a book…. Did I give my best effort? Sometimes, I did. Sometimes, not so much. You are beloved. Whether or not you believe in a higher power, another life, whatever you believe, this truth remains. You are beloved. Thank you for what you have given to me, an opportunity to love. You are invited to a funeral Mass at 10am Friday, which is October 13, at St. Mary's Student Parish. 331 Thomson St. Ann Arbor, MI 48104. Reception will follow in the parish hall. Parking available next door in the city garage. Payment required. Memorial gifts can be made to the Cancer Support Community. 2010 Hogback Road, Suite 3. Ann Arbor, MI 48105