Mary Barinoff Glencer

Born Mary Barinoff on September 28, 1951, in Detroit, Michigan, Mary moved to Ann Arbor to study History and Philosophy at the University of Michigan and never left. She spent fifteen years as a journalist and speechwriter for the Michigan Senate Democratic Office. Then, after years devoted to raising her two children, she returned to work for sixteen more years at a school for students with behavioral and emotional challenges.

Mary was light — warm, brilliant, multi-faceted, and unwavering, the kind of presence by which you navigated. She spent her children's whole lives pointing them toward what mattered: who to love, how to love them generously, and how to trust that generosity would come back around. She was the force that made the house in the country their forever home, where she spent countless hours watching fawns wander through the yard and tending to a household that never stayed the same size for long: two kids, six cats, hermit crabs, fish, and Shadow Rose, the dog she raised from a puppy and doted on with treats every day of her life. She was the center of gravity around which the whole family orbited.

Mary created the most beautiful childhood for her daughter and son. Her fierce devotion and deep love knew no bounds, and she forged the solid foundation on which they stood. In adulthood, she remained an anchor. No matter how upset or uncertain they felt, a conversation with Mary was enough to feel calmed and grounded again. Every holiday and birthday, Mary was the first to send a card, always with the same reassurance: she loved you "with all her heart," words that have since become a phrase her children use themselves with the people they love. This past Easter, Mary sent her first card to her grandson, Noah, reminding him that somebunny loved him with all her heart.

That devotion showed up in the details. She paid attention closely enough to know exactly what each of her children needed and made sure it was there, from petitioning Detroit Edison until high-voltage power lines running past her children's bedroom were moved off the property to always having the specific treats waiting that she'd noticed someone reach for the time before. She showed up everywhere, in every kind of weather, usually in her signature orange Patagonia jacket, finding her way to whatever mattered most to her children that day. Nothing brought her greater joy than watching them come out the other side happy, proud, and confident.

Mary was also a lifelong athlete with a restless, curious mind. She was a star high jumper in high school and an early adopter of the Fosbury Flop. Because she was among the first to use it, other coaches tried to get her winning jumps disqualified. She kept a box of trophies that told a different story. As an adult, her passion turned to skiing, where she carved down double-black-diamond runs out West, favoring the moguls, knees bouncing effortlessly, while her shoulders remained directed downhill, clear on where she was headed. She was a presence you noticed the moment she entered a room, and her fearless descents down those mountains held everyone in awe.

Her mind was just as restless. As a journalist, she could strike up a conversation with almost anyone, ask hard and direct questions, and still leave people feeling understood and appreciated, a gift that passed down into her daughter's own lifelong interest in sentence structure and grammar. Mary stayed up late more nights than her children can count, helping them draft and redraft school papers until every sentence held together, passing on her own gift for finding the person, and the story, at the center of things. At home, she built a world where her children's imaginations could range freely: trails through the backyard, routes charted across the swamp on fallen logs, snow-covered bushes to climb through in winter, always with hot chocolate waiting when they came back inside. And every day, without fail, there she was in her favorite spot on the blue couch, reading the Ann Arbor News and New York Times.

That same confident curiosity made her an even better mother. She knew how to find the root of a person, what they actually cared about, and she kept a mental filing cabinet of her children's friends, checking in on them years after her own children had lost touch. She had a rare gift for being critical without being judgmental. She had opinions about everyone and everything and wasn't shy about sharing them, but always from a place of generous love. She called her doctor "wack-a-doodle" when his advice struck her as overly complicated and then followed his instructions to the letter anyway, trusting his expertise regardless of her opinion of his bedside manner. She was reserved right up until she wasn't: watchful without hovering, endlessly private about her own life and endlessly curious about everyone else's, tender and blunt in the same sentence, mischievous with the people she trusted completely, and utterly herself in every version of it.

Her grandson, Noah, brought her tremendous joy in his first eight months, especially during the long stretches she spent in the hospital and in rehabilitation. The last time her family was together with her, they played her favorite song, "Proud Mary" by Tina Turner, and Noah danced with her in her hospital bed. Mary met the vasculitis that ravaged her body with the same resilience and resolve that defined her whole life, and she fought with her whole heart. What she leaves behind is what she always gave so generously in life: a family that knows exactly how to love each other, and a grandson who will grow up hearing, again and again, exactly who his grandmother was.

Mary is survived by her husband of 39 years, Gerald Glencer of Ann Arbor, Michigan; her son, Nathan Basil Glencer of Oakland, California; her daughter, Alexa Catherine Glencer; and her grandson, Noah Ansel DeHovitz of Palo Alto, California. She was preceded in death by her parents, Basil and Catherine Barinoff, and her sister, Irene Barinoff.

A funeral service will be held at 1:00pm on Saturday, August 15th at St. Nicholas Orthodox Church, 3109 Scio Church Rd, Ann Arbor, MI 48103, followed by burial at Forest Hill Cemetery, 415 Observatory St, Ann Arbor, MI 48104.