Candiss Dasovich Woolverton

Candiss “Candy” Dasovich Woolverton passed Monday, January 31, at the age of 65 of cancer under the care of the University of Mississippi Medical Center in Jackson surrounded by her children. Born February 19, 1956, in Omaha, Nebraska, she was preceded by her husband, William “Bill,” and her parents Mr. and Mrs. Louis Dasovich (Lucy). Survived by her children, William Christopher “Chris” Woolverton, and Lucy Susan Woolverton; her sister, Denise (Mrs. Tony) Maryanski, her brother, Jeff Dasovich, as well as numerous cousins, nieces and a nephew. A graduate of St. Mary’s University in San Antonio, Texas, she served as the Facilities Manager and Assistant to the Dean at the University of Chicago. A lifelong and consummate teacher, she left an indelible mark on students in Texas, Missouri, Chicago, and in Mississippi at MRA, Olde Towne Middle School, and St. Andrew’s Episcopal School. Visitation will occur on Friday, February 4, at Parkway Funeral Home at 1161 Highland Colony Parkway in Ridgeland, with a memorial celebration to follow on her birthday, February 19.

Okay . . . now that that’s out of the way, and I’ve got you alone, lemme tell you about our mom:

Candy Woolverton: not everyone’s cup of tea. A fair headline, but for devoted Candyheads out there, her larger-than-lifeness was the wound and the medicine.

Mom could misremember anything and everything with unrivaled precision. In fairness, it wasn’t on the grounds of needless hyperbole or embellishment; she was always sharp as a tack. There was just no way to catch her feelings bounded by the surly bonds of facts and details.

Ask your local Candy disciple about one of the classics: like the time she banged her forehead and launched a booger into her principal’s coffee cup. Or the time her skirt fell off in front of her class while writing Buildingsroman on the blackboard. Or the time she picked a wedgie in front of a window of a crowded board meeting she was about to enter. Each story artfully crafted, in full technicolor, and beyond belief –there are literally hundreds.

One of her favorite jokes was “I’m a recovering Catholic,” – no doubt a product of the authoritarian nun regime of St. Agnes Catholic school in Omaha. (She claimed to have coined “recovering Catholic,” and for the benefit of this obituary, we’ll give it to her). She implored others to be welcoming of all faiths, and we’d ask you to do the same in her memory. All of that said, her personal ministry, though, was an amorphous category of individuals we lovingly called, “the strays.” People from all walks of life who she happened upon and welcomed as they were. We cannot count the number of chosen family she had, or people she helped – to name any one in particular would be a disservice to the multitude. They were people to whom she gave the room, time and kindness they needed to heal from the unwelcoming world around us. Bit by bit, her elbow grease shone through and nothing brought her such joy as to see her tutelage succeed.

Cholangiocarcinoma (she couldn’t pronounce it either) – cancer – took a lot out of her. She was so energetic and watching that being taken away was hard. Damn, was she tough, though. And, man, did we admire her courage. As one of her favorite authors, Mark Twain, said, “Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear, not absence of fear.” But every day since her diagnosis she had to keep her own fear at bay for the benefit of all of us, which was her greatest battle of all. Even with the rare and grim diagnosis she had, she gave it the old college try and we thank her for that.

So, you may be wondering at this point in the obituary, “What should I do?” If you ever sent her flowers, she put them in a vase, got a runny nose and then had someone else throw them away. So, instead:

1. Donate to the American Cancer society. They helped us in numerous ways, so help us pay that forward.

2. Give blood. Cancer and other critically ill patients depend on it.

3. Be a person you needed in your life for someone else.

4. Take a bubble bath till the water gets cold and sing to your dog.

She loved books; she loved music; she loved art; she loved travel; she loved her friends; she loved her dogs; she loved her children, but most of all she loved our father, and we find no greater comfort than knowing she is somewhere dancing in his arms.