|Birth: ||Oct. 30, 1926|
|Death: ||Nov. 26, 2012|
"Unable are the loved to die. For love is immortality." - Emily Dickinson
"We don't have a soul. We ARE a soul, we have a body." C.S. Lewis
'Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal.'
It's beauty that captures your attention; personality which captures your heart."
DEATH IS NOTHING AT ALL
Death is nothing at all.
It does not count.
I have only slipped away into the next room.
Nothing has happened.
Everything remains exactly as it was.
I am I, and you are you,
and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged.
Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.
Call me by the old familiar name.
Speak of me in the easy way which you always used.
Put no difference into your tone.
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.
Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word that it always was.
Let it be spoken without an effort, without the ghost of a shadow upon it.
Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same as it ever was.
There is absolute and unbroken continuity.
What is this death but a negligible accident?
Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?
I am but waiting for you, for an interval,
somewhere very near,
just round the corner.
All is well.
Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost.
One brief moment and all will be as it was before.
How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again!
"I am standing on the seashore.
A ship spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and starts for the ocean. I stand watching her until she fades on the horizon,
and someone at my side says, 'She is gone."
The loss of sight is in me, not in her. Just at the moment when someone says, 'She is gone' there are others who are watching her coming. Other voices take up the glad shout, 'Here she comes!'" (Henry Scott Holland}
Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the snow on the mountain's rim,
I am the laughter in children's eyes,
I am the sand at the water's edge,
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle Autumn rain,
When you awaken in the morning's hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush of quiet birds in circled flight,
I am the star that shines at night,
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there, I did not die..."
MISS ME, BUT LET ME GO
When I come to the end of the road.
And the sun has set for me.
I want no rites in a gloom-filled room
Why cry for a soul set free?
Miss me a little but not too long
And not with your head bowed low.
Remember the love that we once shared
Miss me - but let me go.
For this is a journey we all must take.
And each must go alone
it's all a part of the Master's plan
A step on the road to home.
If when you are lonely and sick of heart.
Go to the friends we know,
And bury your sorrow in doing good deeds.
Miss me - but let me go.
MAY SHE DANCE AGAIN
As I watched the old, emaciated woman in room 202 gasp for each breath and moan in excruciating pain, I wondered why a kind and caring God would permit such agony and indignity. Bruises from IV sites covered her swollen arms and the annoying drone of an oxygen concentrator filled the sterile room with the ominous sound of death. A "slow-morphine drip" was pumped into her frail body in a vain attempt to "ease her passing" as an oxygen mask distorted her fine features.
In the same room a portrait of a beautiful, young girl caught the attention of each unsuspecting staff member who entered the old woman's domain. A proud, lively Southern belle with long auburn hair, an enticing smile and large, green eyes gazed at them from a distant and more genteel period in time. The spirit of a life just beginning, filled with many dreams and desires contrasted sharply with the moaning, crumpled figure in the bed.
The girl in the portrait loved to dance. The old dying woman longed to dance. The girl in the portrait flaunted her luxurious, cascading hair. The old dying woman's hair was dull, dirty and unkempt. The girl in the portrait wore stylish clothes. The old dying woman was adorned in a drab, blood-stained hospital gown. The girl in the portrait had spoken with a light Southern drawl. The old dying woman rarely uttered a word.
Exhausted and drugged, the old woman would struggle to keep her eyes open long enough to peer at the young vibrant girl in the portrait who seemed to be taunting her with her youth, beauty and vitality.
Why is life so cruel? I wondered as I gently grasped the old woman's frail hand. Why is God so uncaring that He would allow her to suffer as she sensed her life ebbing away?
Then, opening her eyes and looking directly at me, she mustered every remaining ounce of energy to whisper "I love you!" in a faint Southern drawl.
It was then that I realized that "love" is the whole purpose of life and that suffering was merely a passing nuisance. God had shared His greatest gift-- for the old dying woman and the lovely girl in the portrait were the same wonderful, loving spirit that embodied the beautiful being that I called "mother."
May she dance again!
I found the following poem in mom's belongings after she passed:
"The Time Is Now"
If you are ever going to love me,
Love me now while I can know
The sweet and tender feelings,
Which from true affection flow.
Love me now, while I am living...
Do not wait until I'm gone
And then have it chiseled in marble,
Sweet words on ice-cold stone.
If you have tender thoughts of me, please tell me now...
If you wait until I am sleeping, never to awaken,
There will be death between us and I won't hear you then.
So, if you love me , even a little bit,
Let me know while I am living so I can treasure it.
Hazel E. (Westberry) Paesano, 86, of Jeannette, died Monday, Nov. 26, 2012, in RNC at Greater Pittsburgh, Greensburg. She was born Oct. 30, 1926, in Keri, Fla., a daughter of the late William A. and Vera (Griffis) Westberry. In addition to her parents she was preceded in death by her husband, Albert R. Paesano, in 1970; a brother, Dwight Westberry; and infant sister, Glynice Westberry; and two half sisters, Helen Fowler and Mattie Mae Lambert. She is survived by four sons, Carl Paesano and wife, Beth Ann, of Avonmore, Robert Westberry and wife, Jane, of Greensburg, James Paesano, of Rock Hill, S.C., and John Paesano, of Greensburg; a daughter, Virginia Ceresa and husband, Dom, of Jeannette; seven grandchildren, Gina, Anthony, Joseph, Carter, Michael, Jacob and Jennifer; three great-grandchildren, Sonia, Ian and Sydney; and a brother, Hayden Westberry, of Waycross, Ga. Services and interment will be private. The JAMES E. LINDSAY FUNERAL HOME, 3343 Route 130, Harrison city, in charge of arrangements.
William Alvin Westberry (1888 - 1973)
Vera Lovada Griffis Westberry (1910 - 1991)
Albert Ralph Paesano (1921 - 1970)
Mattie Mae Westberry Lambert (1908 - 1987)**
Helen Elizabeth Westberry Holt Fowler (1909 - 1976)**
Glynice Westberry (1925 - 1925)*
Hazel Eileen Westberry Paesano (1926 - 2012)
Dwight Emory Westberry (1932 - 1999)*
Good Shepherd Catholic Cemetery
Created by: Wiregrasswalker
Record added: Nov 26, 2012
Find A Grave Memorial# 101319211