I just love Ann-Margret – she is such a warm, sweet and classy woman.
Known for her fiery beauty and undeniable talent, she captured hearts on and off the screen, famously dating Elvis Presley and standing out as one of the few Hollywood stars who truly supported our Vietnam troops.
Yet, despite her iconic career and public admiration, she believes her greatest achievement lies elsewhere…
I just love Ann-Margret – she is such a warm, sweet and classy woman.
Known for her fiery beauty and undeniable talent, she captured hearts on and off the screen, famously dating Elvis Presley and standing out as one of the few Hollywood stars who truly supported our Vietnam troops.
Yet, despite her iconic career and public admiration, she believes her greatest achievement lies elsewhere…
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Perhaps it’s my deep connection to Sweden, but I must say Ann-Margret is a personal favorite. She’s simply incredible and all her work speaks for itself. With her delightful humor and genuine charm, she continues to captivate and inspire.
And her timeless beauty is natural and unpretentious, unlike so many in Hollywood.
As recently as last year, the Swedish-American actress and singer released her debut rock album, Born to Be Wild, as reported by The New York Times.
To say that Ann-Margret has experienced it all would be an understatement. The iconic, two-time Oscar nominee, born up north in Sweden, made her mark with memorable roles in the 1960s classics Bye Bye Birdie and Viva Las Vegas.
You can read about her electric romance with Elvis Presley here, but the truth is, he was never the man of her life.
Meeting Roger Smith
Even though she dated stars like Eddie Fisher and Elvis Presley, it was Roger Smith who ultimately won Ann-Margret’s heart.
The strikingly handsome, dark-haired actor had made a name for himself with standout roles in hits like 77 Sunset Strip and Mister Roberts. As a quintessential Hollywood heartthrob, he was used to effortlessly winning over women.
But Ann-Margret was not easily swayed.
“Every other woman I met was falling all over me,” he remembered. “But this innocent, fresh-faced beauty only spoke to me when I spoke to her and the rest of the time ignored me.”
The couple first crossed paths in the 1960s, naturally meeting through their Hollywood careers. However, it wasn’t until 1965 that they began dating seriously.
Some reports suggest that Roger initially invited the Swedish star to one of his performances at a San Francisco club. But he also had another trick up his sleeve.
He knew that Ann-Margret was a passionate motorcycle enthusiast. She loved riding and had several bikes at home, along with an entire wardrobe of motorcycle gear.
”When I first started going out with her, there were a lot of guys hanging around. But they didn’t ride motorcycles. So I figured if I had one, it would help. So I bought one and we went out ridning together. It helped,” he told NEA.
By their third date, Ann-Margret was certain that Roger Smith was the man she had always been searching for.
“I knew he would protect me. I knew that I could depend on him. I sensed it completely,” she told People in 2017.
Tears of sadness
The couple tied the knot in 1967 and their marriage was everything Ann-Margret could dream of. But few knows that their union got off to a bad start. During their wedding ceremony in Las Vegas, in a ”cigarette-smoke-filled room at the Riviera Hotel”, the Bye Bye Birdie star started to cry.
”This is not the way I envisioned my wedding,” Ann-Margret told People and added: ”I think everyone thought I was pregnant because I was crying though the whole thing. But we did it.”
Thankfully, the traumatic wedding experience didn’t matter in the end.
Soon, Roger Smith took on the role of his wife’s manager. He believed in her, admired her, and sacrificed his own acting career to support her. Roger felt that Ann-Margret had more “raw talent” than he did, and he wanted to be close to her.
“Now in Roger I’ve found all the men I need rolled into one — a father, a friend, a lover, a manager, a businessman,” the actress told Rex Reed in 1972.
“It’s perfect for me. I couldn’t exist without a strong man.”
Smith helped Ann-Margret redefine her career played a pivotal role in guiding her away from the ”sex kitten” persona, understanding that she needed to evolve beyond that to maintain a lasting presence in Hollywood. His strategic decisions allowed Ann-Margret to embrace more complex roles, which ultimately led to her breakout performance in Carnal Knowledge in 1971.
By supporting her in what she wanted, Roger Smith found he liked himself much better. Being with Ann-Margret mattered more to him than all his childhood dreams of becoming a famous actor.
”When I met Ann-Margret, I felt happy for the first time in my life,” Smith told New York. ”Once I found Ann-Margret, I couldn’t stand to be without her and, surprisingly, she couldn’t stand to be without me.”
Substance abuse & injury
Throughout their long marriage, Ann-Margret and Roger Smith were incredibly close, both personally and professionally. They experienced high peaks together but also faced significant challenges. For example, Ann-Margret grappled with substance abuse and a life-altering injury.
The Viva Las Vegas star During parts of the 1970s, the Viva Las Vegas star struggled with an addiction to pills and alcohol, finding it difficult to separate fantasy from reality.
In 1972, she suffered a devastating fall from a 22-foot platform while performing in Lake Tahoe, Nevada, breaking nearly every bone in her face. Before a shocked audience at the Sahara Hotel, Ann-Margret fell into an orchestra pit, narrowly escaping death.
She underwent facial reconstructive surgery, requiring her mouth to be wired shut and a strict liquid diet to help her recover. But as if by a miracle, Ann-Margret made a remarkable recovery. But just 10 days and 59 stitches after the terrifying accident, she made a triumphant return to the stage, riding her gleaming Harley-Davidson motorcycle and roaring back to the spotlight with her signature flair.
Her husband, Roger Smith, also played a crucial role in her recovery. When the accident happened, he piloted a stolen plane from Burbank, California, and rushed her to surgeons at the UCLA Medical Center, ensuring she received immediate care.
Roger Smith illness
Ann-Margret’s marriage to Roger Smith took a dramatic turn in 1980 when he was diagnosed with myasthenia gravis, an incurable neuromuscular disease. The illness often left Smith unable to even get out of bed in the mornings. Traveling across the country was out of the question, and the disease affected the couple both personally and professionally. Smith, who was the mastermind behind managing Ann-Margret’s career, had to step back due to his health.
By 1985, Smith’s illness went into remission, allowing Ann-Margret to reignite her nightclub career. Smith supported her as she returned to the spotlight, helping her revive her popular Las Vegas shows. For a while, things looked brighter.
When Roger Smith’s symptoms eased, the couple made one final attempt to have children of their own. Before that, Ann-Margret had lovingly embraced her role as stepmother to his three children from a previous marriage.
Sadly, Ann-Margret’s biological clock was ticking faster, and despite consulting numerous fertility experts, they were unable to conceive. They did everything they could, but never had children together — a fact the actress has said is one of the greatest disappointments of her life.
Cause of death
Ann-Margret and Roger Smith remained together until his death in 2017.
The beloved actor and manager passed away at age 84 at Sherman Oaks Hospital in Sherman Oaks, Los Angeles, from complications related to myasthenia gravis.
Before his death, he had also struggled with Parkinson’s disease for many years.
His condition meant that Ann-Margret had to take a break from work to care for him. She showed total commitment to her partner during his lengthy illness.
”I kept saying no, no to everything because I was taking care of him. If you’re a spouse, if one of you has a broken wing, the other takes over,” she said.
Ann-Margret was, of course, heartbroken after her husband’s passing. Yet, she managed to find something positive and she managed to move on with her life.
”When I look back at my life, I am most proud of my marriage,” Ann-Margret told Closer Weekly. “We both wanted it to work. And it did work. We were together night and day. We loved each other and we were always in each other’s corner.”
That New York photo
To truly appreciate the love story of Ann-Margret and Roger Smith, just look at a photo taken on January 1, 1985, in New York.
It captured the Hollywood couple radiating elegance and charm at a high-profile event, showing them both at the height of their careers. But this image is more than just a glamorous snapshot. Roger’s steady gaze and Ann-Margret’s serene presence reflect their deep bond, both personally and professionally.
The rich green curtains in the background give the photo a royal feel, making it a true portrait of Hollywood royalty. What makes this picture even more powerful is that you can see the signs of Roger’s battle with illness. Though not yet fully overtaken by his condition, there’s a quiet awareness of what’s to come. Despite this, the image stands as a beautiful testament to their enduring love.
It’s more than just a memory—it’s a moment frozen in time that celebrates their strength, elegance, and the legacy they built together.
Share this story with someone who appreciates timeless love, and let’s remember how this remarkable couple faced life’s challenges with grace.
My Brother Forbade Me from Giving the Speech at Our Mom’s Funeral Because ‘No One Wants to Hear from the Adopted One’
Have you ever had someone try to erase you from your own story? To tell you that the love you lived wasn’t real enough? That’s what happened when my brother decided I wasn’t family enough to say goodbye to our mother.
The house feels so empty now. I walk through rooms that still smell like her lavender hand cream and expect to hear her voice calling from the kitchen. It’s been two weeks since we lost Mom to ovarian cancer, and the hollow feeling in my chest has only grown deeper with each passing day.
A bedroom | Source: Midjourney
“Emily, honey, are you eating?” My aunt Susan calls twice a day to check on me. “Your mother would want you to take care of yourself.”
I manage a weak “yes” even though the refrigerator is filled with untouched casseroles from well-meaning neighbors. Food tastes like nothing these days.
Mom was everything to me, and it’s not just because she chose me. Well, that part matters too.
I was five when she and Dad adopted me, a scared little girl with a too-big backpack and trust issues that ran bone-deep.
A little girl standing outside a house | Source: Midjourney
They already had Mark, their biological son, who was eight and blessed with Mom’s dimples and Dad’s confident smile.
“This is your sister,” Mom had told him, her hand warm on my shoulder.
“And this is your forever home,” she’d whispered to me later that night when I couldn’t sleep.
Those weren’t just words. She lived them. Every single day.
Dad was wonderful too. He was patient and kind and taught me to ride a bike.
A man helping his daughter ride a bike | Source: Pexels
But when he passed away from a heart attack eight years after I came home, it was Mom who became my entire world. She showed up to every dance recital with flowers, stayed up late helping with science projects, and held me through my first heartbreak at 16.
“Blood doesn’t make a family,” she would say whenever anyone made thoughtless comments about adoption. “Love does.”
A woman holding her mother’s hands | Source: Pexels
We were inseparable, especially after I graduated college.
I took a job at a design firm just 20 minutes from her house because I couldn’t imagine being far away. Weekend brunches, impromptu movie nights, holiday traditions… we did it all together.
Then the diagnosis came. Ovarian cancer, stage three.
“We’ll fight this,” I promised her in the sterile hospital room where the doctor had delivered the news, his eyes already carrying a resignation that terrified me.
A doctor | Source: Pexels
For two years, that’s exactly what we did.
Two years of chemo, of doctors who never made eye contact, of late-night ER visits and pain that stole her voice, piece by piece.
And through all of that? I was there. Every. Single. Day.
I moved into her house. Cooked every bland meal that wouldn’t make her sick. Helped her bathe when her body failed her. Sat beside her in the hospice while her hands trembled in mine.
A woman holding her mother’s hand | Source: Pexels
And Mark? He only visited twice.
Once for her birthday, bringing an expensive bouquet that made Mom smile despite the pain medication making her drowsy.
Once for five minutes after she was moved to the hospice. Just long enough to say, “I can’t handle seeing her like this” and leave.
He lived three hours away in Chicago. Had a successful career in finance. A beautiful wife. Two kids Mom barely knew.
But that’s not why he didn’t show up. It’s because he didn’t want to.
A close-up shot of a man’s face | Source: Midjourney
And still, I never held that against him. Mom didn’t either.
“Everyone grieves differently,” she would say on nights when disappointment made her eyes shine with unshed tears after he canceled yet another visit. “Mark just needs time.”
But time was the one thing she didn’t have.
The morning of the funeral dawned cold and clear. It was the kind of beautiful autumn day Mom would have loved.
A coffin | Source: Pexels
I stood in front of the mirror in her bathroom, smoothing down the navy blue dress she’d helped me pick out months before.
“This one,” she’d said. “You look so beautiful in this one, honey.”
The memory made my throat tighten. I tucked the folded pages of my speech into my purse, the paper worn soft from how many times I’d revised it.
It wasn’t just a eulogy. It was a goodbye. A thank-you. A love letter to the woman who chose me, who taught me what family really means.
A handwritten note | Source: Midjourney
“Emily? The cars are here.” My aunt Susan knocked gently on the bedroom door. “Are you ready, sweetheart?”
No. I would never be ready. But I nodded anyway.
The church was already filling when we arrived. Mom had been loved by so many people, including her book club friends, neighbors, former colleagues from the elementary school where she’d taught second grade for 30 years.
I greeted them in a fog, accepting hugs and condolences that blurred together.
I spotted Mark near the front, standing with his wife Jennifer and their children.
A man standing in a church | Source: Midjourney
He looked like he’d aged years in the weeks since Mom died. We hadn’t spoken much during the arrangements. He’d delegated most decisions to me with brief, perfunctory texts.
“Emily.” He nodded when I approached. “The, uh, the flowers look nice.”
“Mom loved lilies,” I said softly. “Remember how she always planted them along the front walk?”
White lilies in a garden | Source: Pexels
He looked away, uncomfortable with the shared memory. “Yeah.”
Pastor Wilson was preparing to begin the service when Mark suddenly pulled me aside near the church steps, away from the gathering mourners.
“Hey,” he said, voice tight, “You should sit this one out.”
I blinked, not understanding what he meant. “What?”
He glanced around like he didn’t want anyone to hear, and then said the words I wasn’t ready for.
“No one wants to hear from the adopted one. The speech should come from real family.”
A man looking at his sister | Source: Midjourney
Adopted.
I felt the blood drain from my face. The church, the people, everything around me seemed to fade away as his words echoed in my head.
He’d never said that word before. Not even when we were kids fighting over toys or the front seat of the car. Mom and Dad had never allowed any distinction between us.
We were both their children. Period.
I opened my mouth to respond, to remind him of all the nights I’d spent holding Mom’s hand while he was absent. All the doctors’ appointments I’d driven her to. All the medications I’d carefully organized in daily pill cases.
Pills in a pill organizer | Source: Pexels
But then I saw his clenched jaw. The way he’d already decided. The grief that was making him cruel.
So, I nodded.
“Fine,” I whispered. “Whatever you want, Mark.”
***
He gave his eulogy. It was fine. Generic. A few stories from childhood and some lines about “how much Mom meant to all of us.
People clapped politely when he finished.
A man giving a speech | Source: Midjourney
I sat in the front pew, tears streaming silently down my face. The speech I’d written burned a hole in my purse. All those words I’d carefully chosen to honor her were now silenced.
As Mark stepped down from the podium, one of the hospice volunteers, Grace, walked over and handed him an envelope.
“Your mother wanted you to have this,” she said, loud enough for the front rows to hear.
Mark looked confused but took the envelope.
A sealed envelope | Source: Pexels
He opened it at the podium, unfolding a sheet of pale blue paper that Mom always saved for important letters.
I watched his hands tremble as he read the contents. He cleared his throat once. Then twice.
Then, he began to read aloud.
“To my children, Mark and Emily. Yes, both of you. Blood makes children related. Love makes you mine.”
A sob caught in my throat.
“Mark, you were my first. My wild child. The one who never stopped running. Emily, you were my answered prayer. The soul who chose to come to me in a different way, but just as deeply.”
A woman putting a note in an envelope | Source: Pexels
The church was completely silent now.
“Emily, I hope you kept the words I helped you write. Because they’re my last ones, too.”
Mark looked up from the letter, his face transformed by shame and grief. His eyes found mine across the sanctuary.
“Please,” he said, his voice breaking. “Come up here. I’m sorry.”
I stood on shaky legs, aware of every eye in the church following me as I walked to the front.
A woman walking in a church | Source: Midjourney
My hands trembled as I unfolded my speech.
Mom had helped me draft it during those quiet hours between pain medication doses, when her mind was clear and we talked about everything and nothing.
I took a deep breath and began to read the words we wrote together.
I told them about her courage. Her kindness. The way she could make anyone feel like the most important person in the room. How she taught second graders to read for three decades and still got Christmas cards from students now in their 40s.
And how she made the best apple pie in three counties, but would never share her secret ingredient.
An older woman smiling | Source: Midjourney
And I told them what she taught me about family.
That it’s built by choice, by love, and by showing up day after day.
When I finished, the church was filled with both tears and smiles. That was exactly what Mom would have wanted.
Afterward, people lined up to hug me. To tell me how beautiful it was. How Mom would’ve been proud. Her book club friends sharing stories I hadn’t heard before. Her fellow teachers reminiscing about staff room pranks and school trips.
Mark pulled me aside before I left the reception.
A man talking to his sister | Source: Midjourney
“I was wrong,” he said, looking directly at me for perhaps the first time in years. “About everything.”
I nodded. “I know.”
We stood there, in silence. Not the kind that erases you. The kind that makes space for healing.
“You know what, Mark… She loved you so much,” I finally said. “She never stopped hoping you’d come around.”
His eyes filled with tears. “I… I should’ve been there for her. I wasted so much time.”
A man looking down | Source: Midjourney
“Then don’t waste any more,” I told him, thinking of Mom’s most frequent advice. It’s never too late to start over.
And I realized something as we walked back into the reception together. I didn’t need the podium to prove I was her daughter. She’d already said it herself. Louder than anyone else ever could.
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