A new angel passed through the gates of Heaven this morning. Her name was Ginny. She was the mother of my second (and last and best) husband, and she was always an angel in my eyes.
Ginny's life was not an easy one, not at the beginning, not at the end, and certainly not in the middle when she laid two of her three children to rest before their time. Yet she was not deterred. She faced life's challenges boldly, doing what needed to be done, providing wisdom, counsel, and comfort to others, standing on her own two feet and lifting others to theirs.
I wish I had kept Ginny close. We stayed in touch for a while after her son and I went our separate ways, but when he remarried, I drifted away, thinking that the kind thing to do was to relinquish the in-laws to the new wife. That decision may have been a thoughtful one, but it wasn't very smart.
Ginny was a rock, a role model, a mother who supported me in ways I wished my own mother could. I'm pretty sure I told her more than once how much I appreciated her, but I hadn't told her in a long, long time. Too long.
Ginny turned 91 last month. She lived a long life. I have already told you she had a hard life. I'll tell you now that she had a good life, too, good because she wanted it to be so and because she made it happen. Her life was full of people she loved and people who loved her. She will live on in the hearts of all those she touched, those of us who believed her when she said, "Be strong. You can do this. It will be okay."