It has been a while I posted a blog. Sorry about that, but I have been mulling over my next newstory as well as being involved in all the hoopla of Thanksgiving,Christmas and New Year’s Eve celebrations.

          I decided to dedicate thisblog to my daughter-in-law, Maria Bittner, who passed away one yearago on New Year’s Eve day at the young age of 54. I will miss herforever. My blog this month is a repeat of the dedication I wrote forMaria that was read at her funeral. She had a huge funeral with apacked sanctuary and a lovely talk by my son about how much he lovedher. The following is my personal memorial to Maria that the ministerread at the funeral. Rest in Peace, Maria. I will miss you forever. Rosanne

          Throughout our lifetimes weall end up attending funerals. The cycle of life makes it impossiblenot to. But most of us expect the funeral to be for an old person,whether our own relative or someone else’s. 

 

Expected. We manage our waythrough those expected ones. Much as we love and will miss thatperson, we are relatively prepared for his or her death.

 

Then comes the unexpected, andit hits like a blow from a baseball bat. There is always the “why?”of it. Here I am 78 years old and Maria was only 54. Why her? I wasblessed to live through my own sons turning into men, my grandsonsturning into men, and now I have been ultra-blessed to be here for mygreat-grandson. I might get to see him grow into a young man, too,but that is up to God. The fact remains that Maria won’t get to seeher grandson or her step-grandchildren become adults. She won’t getto enjoy their children. 

 

          I have decided on the “why?”of it. She was one of the most loving women I have known, and perhapsmy son and my grandsons will remember her patience and her unselfishcaring for them and their little ones. Perhaps her memory will helpthem be good fathers and grandfathers, and will help the women whoknew her be better mothers and grandmothers. Perhaps Maria was sentinto my son and grandsons’ lives simply to help them through thetough years of learning to live in a blended family and to leave aglow in their lives … the glow of warmth and love that will alwaysbe with them, not in the flesh, but in the spirit.  

If we believe that JesusChrist is always among us, and that angels are always among us, thenwe have to believe that the spirits of certain special people arealso among us. After all, death is only in the flesh. I can name afew of my own loved ones who have passed on who I am sure are alwayswith me. Some people just plain can’t help leaving a “forever”memory that doesn’t fade with time. Maria is one of those. We wereas different as the sun and the moon. Other than when I would go to agathering of friends at her and Brock’s home, we never did anythingtogether socially because I was the extrovert and Maria was thestay-at-home introvert. I could give you a long list of ourpersonality differences, but that doesn’t matter. I just loved thatwoman, and she loved me. Although she was step-mom to my grandsonsrather than mom, she loved them just like her own. She had totallove, honor and respect for her husband’s family, and there wasnothing fake about it. You could sense it, feel it. You knew it wasreal.

 

Brock told me Maria often saidshe didn’t really want to live long enough to have to go to ourfunerals. What a thing to say. And she did tell me once that shedid not believe she would live to be an old woman. I don’t know whyshe felt that way, but she seemed to sense that was exactly how itwould be. The morning of the day she died I took her some things sheneeded and felt bad that she wouldn’t be able to go to the belatedfamily Christmas that was to take place later. As bad as she felt,she made me take the gifts she had for the baby, and for my husbandbefore I left. She was thinking about them. I figuredBrock would take her to the hospital and she would get better andnext year we would have a normal Christmas.

       But when I walked out thedoor, something struck me, and I will never forget it. A little voicetold me I might not see her again. I feel so guilty for leaving, butdon’t we all think it’s not possible that a healthy 54-year-oldwoman would die just a few hours later? I told myself that, and Ileft, glad that Brock was going to take her to the hospital. We wouldall celebrate and eat the ham I had in the oven and then Brock wouldtake some home for Maria.

 

We can all look back andthink, “I should have done this, or that.” But God will have Hisway, and no matter what our decisions, His will always rules. So Itell myself not to feel guilty, because Maria Bittner died exactlylike she wanted to die, a happy, happy woman who loved much and liveda giving, unselfish life, and without a jealous bone in her body. Sheloved sunsets, and once told Brock that enjoying a campfire andwatching the sunset with him was like heaven.

 

She is there now, and she diedbefore she had to bear the death of other loved ones. Some of us havethe strength for that, and some of us don’t. Maria would ratherwatch over us from a better place, where she is perfectly happy towait for us to come to her. I will be so glad to see her again, anduntil then, I will miss her as much as any other special loved onewho has gone before me. She was not my daughter-in-law. She was mydaughter.