The Queen Wave

Memories are wily creatures. They sneak up on us when we least expect it, tugging on invisible threads woven from the senses—a smell, a sound, the scrape of wood beneath the hand, the shimmer of heat on water.

On a recent August afternoon, when the air felt like soup and the sun seemed bent on scorching, I ducked off the lakefront into the shaded streets of a beach community in northwest Indiana. Drawn toward the inland pond known as Lake Kai, I dropped onto a splintery bench beside a picnic table and let myself drift. The scene before me unraveled the present and carried me back to another blistering day—one punctuated by my youngest daughters’ laughter, a sandcastle that reached for the impossible, and news so startling it seemed to halt the world for a moment.

One of my older daughters came storming up, sand spraying all about us.
“Lady Diana is dead, Mom!”

The shock of that announcement etched itself so deeply into me that even now, when I think of Lake Kai, I can hear her urgent voice. And just like that, my mind made another leap—because that’s how memory works, one thread tugging the next. From the sudden loss of a princess, I was carried back to another moment when royalty and queen waves of a different sort was on my mind.

“On March 17, 1975, my parents, Jenny, and I attended Mass at Old St. Patrick’s Cathedral with Chicago’s Irish dignitaries, Mayor Richard J. Daley, the St. Patrick’s Day Parade queen, and the rest of the queen’s court and their families. It was a chilly spring day and not one cloud dared mar the morning skies. After Mass, my parents, Jenny, and I gathered on the steps of Old St. Pat’s for a slew of pictures. Dad’s rosy cheeks, dimples, and clear blue eyes mirrored the Irish-looking faces in the crowd. Mom teared up when she and my sister left me with the Parade Committee, who assigned me to a convertible for the parade.

Jenny hugged me. “Have fun today!”

“I will. I’ve got my queen wave down. See?” We both giggled.

Again, if there was any lingering jealousy on my twin’s part, I did not sense it in her smile or her goodbye hug. I’d entered the contest only because she’d wanted a co-conspirator. We both realized that my success had nothing to do with who was prettier or more engaging, it had hinged on conquering nerves.

With one of the biggest grins I’ve ever worn, I climbed into a convertible with the other girls, making certain my green silk blouse poked through the collar of my warm coat. The car snaked down the infamous St. Patty’s Day Parade route, across the green-dyed Chicago River, and along the length of State Street. The crowd on both sides of the cordoned-off route was thick and deep. The mood was electric.

The moment was so exhilarating that I never once thought about whether my genetics meant that I deserved to be there. That concern was for another day. As I waved to the crowds, my heart was full. I had everything that a young girl of sixteen could hope for: a family who was proud and supportive, a sister who was thrilled that I got to live out the plan we had set in motion, and an honor that connected me to Chicago’s Irish culture, the city where Jenny and I had been born.”

( Excerpt from Twice the Family, A Memoir of Love, Loss, and Sisterhood by Julie Ryan McGue. This material is protected by copyright.)

And that’s the sly trick of memory—it rarely arrives when summoned but instead comes rushing in on the back of a scent, a sound, a shaft of light on water. A splintery bench can carry me from Lake Kai to State Street, from a child’s sandy giggle to a sister’s proud wave. What binds these moments together is not just time and place, but the sensory threads that stitch them into something lasting. In the end, it is the texture of memory itself—the smell of summer air, the press of a coat collar, the murmur of a crowd—that lets me hold all the versions of myself at once: daughter, sister, mother, and woman still listening for echoes.

Follow Me Here

Aug. 24-28: Julie is attending the Her Spirit Women’s Writing Retreat at the Chaminade Resort & Spa in Santa Cruz, CA organized by Story Summit.

Sept. 7: Julie will showcase her books at Printer’s Row LitFest on south Dearborn in downtown Chicago from 10-2 PM. Look for Julie in the Chicago Writer’s Association booth.

Sept. 8: Julie will speak virtually to Sheri Quinn’s Book Club about her new release, Twice the Family. 

Sept. 10: Julie will be presenting the online webinar, “Memoir Magic: Mining Journals to Craft Compelling Memoir” for the Author Learning Center at 1:30 ET. Go here to register. 

Sept. 16: Julie’s new book, Lulu and Jack Go to The Tree Farm, a children’s book based on Julie’s award-winning essay in The Beacher Weekly Newspaper, “When a Tree Grows,” launches and will be available wherever books are sold. On launch day, September 16, all four of Julie’s titles will be featured on the Nasdaq billboard at Times Square.

Nov. 15: Julie will present a workshop at the Michigan City Library on “How to Write Memoir That Reads Like Fiction” from 1-3 PM. Sign up through the  Library website. 

Follow Julie by visiting her website, subscribe to her bimonthly newsletters, and listen to previous podcast recordings where she discusses topics like adoption, identity, family relationships, sisterhood and belonging.

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