When we purchased our home I already knew this was my husbands old pediatricians home, my husband grew up down the road from here, talk about going full circle. His pediatricians name was Margaret Reynolds and she had moved up here from New York City just like my husband and I did but she moved up here to retire. Since there wasn't a children's doctor around these parts some of the townsfolk got together and talked her into going back into practice. I know this story from some of the townspeople who knew her. Margaret lived in this great big old house alone for over forty years and after passing her ashes were buried in our backyard on our raised tier where she still resides.
Margaret loved this house from the stories people told me and never wanted to leave, probably why she wanted her ashes to rest here. One day about a year after mister man and I moved in we were in another town antiquing. We stopped at a small run down shop out of curiosity, the place was a mess with box after box of old papers and whatnot piled on top of each other with barely room to walk. Turns out this shop owner was the one who cleaned out Margaret's home after she passed and sold most everything and that's when mister man started hitting me in the arm. There, laying on top of a bunch of old papers in a box was of all things'. Margaret's Medical license issued in 1948. The gentleman, after hearing our story, was kind enough to just give us the license. We brought it home where it hangs in my husbands' office today.
Isn't it amazing that after being removed from our home and it was gone for over fifteen years, it's now back? And in the same room that was Margaret's office. And the one person who had a connection to Margaret is the one who found a piece of her life? I hope she somehow knows that her license made it home.