Her Children Rise Up and Call Her Blessed

Blogging has been the last thing on my mind. That probably goes without saying if you read my last post that cut off in mid sentence. I would go back and edit it, except that it sums up the overall sense of "lostness" since my Mommy died. Even writing that last phrase "since my Mommy died", it's hard to believe that it's real. But God has been very real in the midst of it all. I would love to share the stories of how He has made His presence known in such sweet ways. But I just don't have the energy right now.

What I can do is to include the transcript from her Memorial Service of what Bill shared on behalf of the family. We wanted the opportunity to "rise up and call her blessed", but we knew that would end up being a sobbing, ugly mess. So we gave Bill our thoughts and memories (along with the other sons in law and grandchildren) and he compiled them into a beautiful "capturing" of our Mommy. A friend deemed it Mission:Impossible to try to capture my larger than life mother in 10-15 minutes. But Bill, by God's grace did a beautiful job...

I have a number of titles in my life: I’m a man, a husband, and a dad. I also have a title related to my job. But this morning I come to you as one of only four men in the world who has the privileged title of son-in-law to Danny Colladay. Over the last several days Danny’s daughters, sons-in-law, and grandchildren have shared remembrances of their mommy, their mother-in-law, and their grandmother. I’d like to take a few moments to relate some of them to you, knowing that in many cases our remembrances are yours, Danny’s beloved friends.

A lesser known fact about Danny is that her given name is Georgianne. Georgianne Lou Dutton was named after her maternal grandparents, George and Lutie Riley. When she was little, she couldn’t pronounce her name properly, so she called herself "Do Danny Du Dutt." Ever since she has been known affectionately as "Danny." Now if that isn’t enough of a departure from her given name, “Gunga” takes the cake. “Gunga” was the first word her first grandchild used to refer to her, and since then it’s been the preferred name for Danny in her immediate family.

Our family remembrance begins and ends with Danny’s faith in Jesus Christ. Her parents raised her with that faith as she grew up in Dodge City, Kansas, and that faith had a powerful impact when a young man named Marty Colladay began to take an interest in her. Marty asked her on a date that happened to conflict with a church service, so Danny politely declined. Undeterred, Marty suggested they go to the church service together, to which Danny agreed. “What church do you attend?” Marty asked.

Danny told him the name of her church. “Oh, that’s my church!” Marty exclaimed. “

Well that’s funny,” Danny replied, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you there.”

That changed. And as Marty proposed marriage to Danny, he was committed to building a family on the foundation of Christ. Danny responded to Marty with complete devotion, and that’s one of the things her girls love most about her. She loved Marty deeply, supported him completely, and followed him wherever he led until the very end. Theirs was the epitome of a loving and faithful marriage.

Since Danny married a young officer in the Air Force, it’s no surprise that one her favorite sayings was, “We’re off on another one of life’s great adventures.” Not only was this a family motto, but her girls never once heard their mother complain about packing up her household and children, yet again, to move far, far away…yet again!

Wherever Danny went, she was the kind of person who lit up a room. Her presence was enough to fill a room with fun, joy, and love. She brought out the best in everyone she met. Her faith, laugh, and love were contagious. So was her compassion. In the 1967 edition of the Colladay family Christmas letter she writes, “The greatest joy outside of my family has been the opportunity of making tins of fudge each week and going with our wonderful Minister to take it to the Paraplegic and Quadriplegic Ward at Walter Reed (Hospital).”

The joyful compassion she expressed in 1967 foreshadowed the compassion she expressed years later through her leadership in Quality Living Incorporated, a facility that serves people with brain injuries and physical disabilities. Danny loved the people and the mission of QLI. She also loved her church, Avery Presbyterian. She loved Fox News. She loved her dogs, Dickens and Fritzie.

And people loved and adored Danny. People from all walks of life: whether generals, hair dressers, diplomats, cleaning ladies, or CEOs. Pretty much everyone who met her wanted to be related to her. But even if you weren’t, it was OK; she would make you feel like you were. She even shared her love with telemarketers, engaging in warm conversation that would even include her saying things like, “I just have to ask: are you a Republican?”

Danny was a staunch Republican to be sure. But there was a great breadth to her personality and love. She could be serious without taking herself too seriously. She was classy, but also down to earth. She was very sympathetic, but also very strong. She could be childlike and silly one moment, and be sitting on a board of directors the next. She loved fun and consistently shared that fun with others, and yet she was also an extremely hard worker and self-sacrificial mother and friend. She knew how to make people feel comfortable and welcome and at home, but she never inserted herself into other people's lives. She was concerned and involved and invested, but she rested in the peace of God and left the results in life ultimately in God's hands.

Her four daughters appreciate that she delighted in them. They remember a mommy who was excited for snow days and summer vacation so that she could have her girls at home. They remember feeling like they were a source of joy to her, not of impatient frustration. Danny’s girls love that their mommy prayed for them. They love that she taught them to love each other, their mommy and daddy, and the Lord. They love that she let them be who they were and find their own way. They love that she lived a life like Christ and gave them an example to pass on. They love that they never doubted her love for them, no matter how difficult they might have been. They love her purity of heart. Even on a certain occasion when she got cut off in traffic, all they got from her was, “Up yours you…bad man!”

Gunga’s 14 grandchildren will miss many things about her: her competitiveness in card games and Candy Land, going out to eat when the family was together (especially at Jade Palace), talking with her and sleeping with her in her bed, paying for the girls’ cute haircuts, letting them do whatever they wanted at her house (as long as they kept it clean), the sweet smile that was always on her face, her beautiful singing voice, and spending time at the family lake cabin together.

They’ll always be grateful for a Gunga whose faith has affected their own relationship with Christ, a faith in Christ that guided everything she did and was at the center of her life. Whether family member or friend, we’ll all miss Gunga’s boundless optimism. There was never a question of whether the glass was half-empty or half-full. It was full to overflowing. She didn’t take lemons and make lemonade. She took lemons and made a lemon frappe! After having bunion surgery, she described it with words like “wonderful” and “delightful.” After having a port inserted into her body and receiving an MRI in preparation for cancer treatment, she described the day as, “all things considered, a pleasant experience.”

We’ll all miss the perspective Gunga brought to our lives. She was fond of saying, “In the grand scheme of things, this is no biggie.” She was also fond of saying, “I fine,” a statement borrowed from family friend Chad Matthews that expressed her trust in God and contentedness in spite of her physical limitations. But we’ll also miss Danny’s more light-hearted sayings like, “I made my favorite thing for dinner: reservations,” and “Behind every successful man is a woman who made it necessary.”

Our remembrance of Gunga begins and ends with her faith in Jesus Christ. A few years ago, one of her grandsons graduated from high school and sang a duet with Gunga at his graduation party. They sang “Great is Thy Faithfulness.” One line in that hymn speaks of “thine own presence to cheer and to guide.” He writes, “I think this line epitomizes the life of my grandmother. Everything about her—her servant’s heart, her joyful attitude, her nurturing relationships—pointed those who knew her back to the Lord, whose presence cheered and guided her throughout her life. Now, he has guided her to himself, and the cheerfulness that defined her earthly life is nothing compared to the pure ecstasy she is experiencing this very moment.”

Another grandchild wrote a letter to Gunga shortly before her death, saying, “You have touched many people and their hearts.” All of us—whether daughter, grandchild, son-in-law, or dear family friend—thank God for working through Gunga to touch our hearts in a way that has pointed us back to Him.

There's so much more that I could communicate about the past two weeks, but it's hard to know how much to write of such a deeply personal experience in a public setting. And given the combination of exhaustion, numbness and grief, this seemed like the easiest place to start. I'm taking it one day at a time as we adjust to our new normal without Gunga in our lives. But despite the pain, I can't help but smile when I think of her. If you knew her or have read my posts about her in the past or only the above remembrance, I think you can understand why. She was an extraordinary woman and I have nothing but a heart of gratitude that I got to belong to her.
I'll love you forever. My Mommy. My friend. My hero.