MomI just became an orphan. I tend not to write about other people without their permission, but I have a few words to say about Doris Ruth Miller. First of all, she was a saint. I’m often accused of putting the needs of others before my own, and this is something I learned from Mom. She set me on my lifelong course of reading the Bible, determining, in some inexplicable way, what I call a career. Mom was born April 7, 1935 in New Jersey. She was the youngest, and last surviving, of five siblings, and the only girl. When I reached that age when children (as adults) get curious about their parents, I asked what town she was born in. By that stage she couldn’t recall, but at one point she told me Cherry Hill, and at another, Asbury Park. She never finished high school and never had any job training. But she always believed. She was faith personified.
She married to get away from a difficult relationship with her own mother. My father, who died twenty years ago, was an alcoholic. They had three sons together. Mom, very aware of Dad’s condition, didn’t believe in divorce and stayed with him until she no longer felt safe doing so. Not for herself, but for her sons. Her life revolved around her children. She eventually remarried and her final son was born. This marriage involved a move to Rouseville, Pennsylvania—I’ve written about it before—my last childhood home. Neither of her marriages were happy ones, but she was determined about two things: maintaining her faith, and caring for her children. She believed unquestioningly and the only book I ever saw her read for herself was the Bible.
I only found out over the weekend that she was in rapid decline. Circumstances (medical and financial) had kept us away for far longer than I would’ve liked or hoped. I talked to her on the phone nearly every other day and told her with joy just about a month ago that we had finally got a car that would enable a visit. We were planning on spending Thanksgiving with her. The universe, which operates on its own timetable, had different plans. Mom was a remarkable woman. She was not afraid of death and she embodied these famous words from Paul of Tarsus: “O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?” Mom lived eighty-eight difficult years. She dedicated her life to others and lived the Gospel by example. I miss her terribly, but I have no doubts about her being among the saints. Thanks for life, Mom, and for showing how to love unconditionally.
