Atlanta, GA
December 6, 2023
God is not a helicopter parent. At the dawn of life He sends us out, giving us free will to guide our way.
As time passes, shadows lengthen, and the sun sets. When celestial street lights begin to brighten, our Heavenly Father calls us home, demanding an account of how we lived.
Occasionally, as with several beckonings in recent weeks, the return is heralded. When First Ladies, famed investors, global diplomats, or Supreme Court justices get the call, we’re all informed of their time to go.
Headlines amplify such renowned deaths. Obituaries drip with fawning tributes, spiced with obsequious hyperbole and sycophantic myth.
But for most of us, the return is quiet and dignified, honored and mourned by an affectionate few.
Sunday in Los Angeles, unburdened by universal acclaim or public praise, a lovely lady heard the Voice. But it’s the sound of hers we’re going to miss. It soothed my wife since the day she was born.
Born in the Black Sea city of Odessa in the Ukraine, Rita spent her first decade in the Soviet Union. Leaving the country was rarely permitted, and wasn’t easy. But for the sake of his daughter, my father-in-law decided to depart.
He brought his ten year-old to the United States. Piercing the Iron Curtain, they spent a couple weeks in Vienna and a few months in Rome, stops on a path that carried them to Savannah.
They didn’t travel it alone. With them was a family who’d become an extension of their own. Bringing a son a few years older than my wife, David and Marsella Tolmazin joined this father and daughter on their transatlantic trip.
From Rome they separated, the Tolmazins going to New York while Rita and her father went to Georgia. But they always remained close.
To Rita, Marsella could be considered an honorary aunt. But she was more like a second mom.
To our sons, she became another grandmother. She never missed a birthday, and wouldn’t hear of not sending gifts.
From New York, Marsella would sometimes come to babysit. On many occasions she’d offer to host.
Rita took her up on it as often as she could, including for David’s funeral many years ago. She was there several times before and since, always wishing she could see Marsella more.
About a decade ago, my sons and I were happy to do so. On a drive up the coast, we stopped in New York, where we stayed with Marsella and her son. She treated us like we were her closest kin. Whenever I saw her, I felt like I was.
Marsella always remembered special occasions, or created them when they needed to occur. Our family was a frequent beneficiary.
With various ailments, my father-in-law was occasionally hospitalized. When he was, Marsella often came to Atlanta to be by his side. As she raised his spirits, her benevolent presence always lifted my wife’s.
The last couple years, Rita returned the favor. As her health declined, Marsella relocated to Los Angeles, where her son and granddaughter had recently moved.
For four years she’s suffered pancreatic cancer. My wife and younger son visited last year, unsure whether there’d be another chance.
Fortunately, there was. Rita took advantage of it a couple weeks ago. She flew to Los Angeles, where she spent several days with the wonderful woman she’d never not known.
When Rita left LA, she knew she’d never see her again. Marsella was frail and weak and had difficulty eating. Yet she was coherent, and able to speak. And upon Rita’s arrival, she proved she could smile.
But the cancer had spread, and Marsella was in pain. A couple days ago, she received relief.
Tears fell when the call came. We’d expected the news, but anticipation isn’t always an effective shield.
Despite knowing for a year Marsella was ready to go, it’s hard to believe she’s gone.
“I already miss talking to her”, Rita said.
The last few months she’d called Marsella a couple nights each week, often on the way home from work. The time difference helped, assuring Marsella was usually awake.
“I can’t believe she’s gone”, my stunned wife continued to lament. “I just wish I could hear her voice.”
I can’t imagine there’ll be a day she doesn’t.
JD
Beautiful tribute to a beautiful life.