Today, The Sun begins a story unusual in content and in form. In 16 concise chapters, "God's Other Plan" will relate the events of Marci Crosby's life much as they unfolded for her. It is a story of love, loss and the bonds of family .
July 1995
Dear Jessica,
"My whole life I wanted to be a mommy to a precious little girl and have a great husband. Boy, did I hit the lotto ..."
From the bed in the guest room of her parents' house, Marci Crosby watched her daughter push a toy shopping cart down the hallway. Jessica was 18 months old. It would be years before she could read her mother's letter, much less understand it.
"Daddy and I agree that you were the single greatest accomplishment in our life. ... I knew you'd be OK with him, but the pain of not being able to be there for you as your mother for your first day at school, first boyfriend, graduation, your first broken heart, your first broken bone, meeting and developing your best friends, shopping together for clothes, shoes, furniture, wedding items. ...
At 32, Marci could no longer hold Jessi or even let her play beside her on the bed. The slightest movement racked Marci with pain. For months, she had postponed writing to Jessi, believing it would mean she was giving up. Now she couldn't afford to put the pen down.
Could she make herself known to a child who would grow up without her? Could she ensure her dreams for her family in a future in which she would be only a memory?
Writing to Jessi was just one part of Marci's vision. Relentlessly, methodically, she had done everything possible to secure her family's love and survival. This letter to Jessi was the last step.
"I desperately wanted to share our lives together, but God had another plan."
March 22, 1992
On the bride's side of the aisle, the women wore diamonds and emeralds. On the groom's side, mailmen and teachers chanted like sports fans: "Bob-bee, Bob-bee."
It was an unlikely match. Marci Glazer, a 28-year-old lawyer from Pikesville, daughter of a wealthy and respected developer, was marrying Bob Crosby, her father's personal trainer.
If friends were skeptical, who could blame them? Marci had smarts and money, but never a lot of boyfriends. Her choice surprised everyone.
In the beginning, Marci never thought of Bob as a guy she would even date, much less marry. He was simply her workout coach - Mr. Happy-Go-Lucky, a 32-year-old "Parrothead" who worshiped the laid-back philosophy of a pop singer. At the only Jimmy Buffett concert Marci ever attended, she walked out after four songs.
Bob wasn't exactly impressed with Marci, either. Spoiled little rich girl. Living off Daddy's money. Her abrupt manner struck him as cold, geared for efficiency, not friendship. After their first encounter, he left her downtown condo on South Charles Street thinking he couldn't work with her again. But he returned; after all, her father was one of his best clients.
In time, these first impressions would be discarded. But Bob and Marci's differences would never change.
She was Jewish. Her law degree from the University of Maryland complemented a business degree from Tulane. Her idea of fun was to beat her mother at stock trades. And a challenge? A challenge to Marci was renting out all the offices in a pair of buildings her father bought in a fire sale because the previous owners couldn't fill them.
She had a closet full of stylish clothes, some from a shop on the Champs Elysees. Ears, teeth, nose - all were made over to perk up her image. At night after work, she returned home to a telephone answering machine overflowing with messages from friends and clients. She had a quick mind, a quick wit and the vital signs to match: Bob noted her rapid heartbeat - 110 beats a minute, at rest - and thought it told the story.
He did not know the whole story, though. Marci's father had treated her to her workouts, but otherwise she paid her own bills. Her determination and methodical approach to life had made her a winner - of friends, contests, tennis matches, business deals. She was always looking ahead, sizing up opportunities and plunging forward. If she met an obstacle, she found a way around it or turned the potential failure into a "mechaye," a blessing.
"I had to become a really big person," she would say, "because growing up I was nothing to look at."
These traits had helped her survive two cancers: Hodgkin's disease at age 17 and a rare tissue cancer in her neck at 23. But she had come to assume the worst. She pictured herself as living under a gray cloud.
