Joy, I can feel the love in all these comments, I feel so fortunate to have had the opportunity to get to know you a little more each time we visited. I feel as though I and my kids really missed out on the pleasure of spending more time with you but I also am thankful for the times we did have with you. Life goes on but I along with many others will never let the candle burn out.
Love you sis.

To Joy-Not just my sister but also my very best friend, confidant, loyal supporter, encourager, motivator, and an ever on-going source of unconditional sister love! 

 It has now been three months since you left us and still I cannot speak of or think of your passing without great pain and lots of crying--resulting in messing up my make-up for which you would so laugh as only you would know how badly that bothers me!

 

I cannot even begin to thank you for all the times you have been there for me!  Due to our home life not being ideal - you took me in when I was 18, talked the nuns at the ole Mercy into giving me my first job- then proceded to provide a home for me for the next 5 yrs --always being there for me!

Next came my marriage- even though it was a "run-a-way" out of town ordeal you still managed to be there-and as was usual between us- I told you of our plans and what did you do- you went out, bought us a small wedding cake and included a bottle of wine along with bride and groom glasses for us to take with us (which we still have to this day and use to toast our anniversary every year)!

 

Then came my brain surgery ordeal!  You were my ever source of information and comfort-even though you lived in N.C. by that time, you still managed to call doctors, pry information from them & even had them to call me!  You gave me such hope and helped alleviate the fears of surgery- and you were there for me before I "went under"  and was the first one I heard speak after surgery!  

 

We had many, many happy times together! You made me laugh a lot! There were happy times with the  birth of your two sons and birth of our one daughter whom you treated like your own!  We also had many happy times with all the beach vacations together and with many treasured memories being made!

 

However, sad times begin with your diagnosis of RA when you were only 38!  Next came the tragic death of your dear son Jason-one of the most difficult times of your life!  Then you started having many problems with the ole autoimmune diseases as they kept appearing bringing the total to 6 different diseases! During all this time and with each new diagnosis (and usually you had self-diagnosed before docs did), you always managed to say, well I thought it might be this or that and it could be worse, took it like a trooper, sought  info from all sources and begin to fight each one as soon as they appeared!  What a real inspiration you are!

 

Even though  I think of and miss you not just every day but many, many times during the day-never would I wish you back unless there were for sure cures for each and every disease so that you could be pain free.    We talked on the phone almost every day and sometimes 2-3 times a day  and I could always tell just by your voice how much pain you were constantly in and to your dismay, I would almost immediately ask "which part hurts  worse today" and you would say "okay, stop it and how do you always know"!  I could hear and feel the pain in your voice and knew your frustrations were many in not being able to "kick" just one of these enemies out of your system - therefore, I know you are in a much better place and free from  all the awful pain you endured each and and every day!  But I miss you greatly and only now (and with a full box of tissues by my side) have I been able to voice my pain and sorrow in not having my sister and my best friend to talk and share stories with every day -but now I know that no matter what you will always be "there" in my heart each and every day and in the many, many memories that we shared!  I love you, Joyce Ann  (and yes, I only called you Joyce Ann when I wanted you to really listen to me)!
Love you! Your sister Brenda

This is the tribute I read during Joyce's memorial service:


 Thank you all so much for coming.

 I want to apologize to Chris's wife, Valerie. I accidentally left her out of the obituary.
 Valerie, you are the best daughter-in-law ever, and believe me, Joyce and I have not taken you for granted.

 Joyce never wanted to be the center of attention. You may have noticed that she's not here now – no casket or urn.
 She was uncomfortable in crowds. But she loved to have her family swirling around her, or to sit and talk with one or two friends at a time.
 Several times in the last few days, as our house filled with people who were talking, crying, hugging, and teasing, I caught myself almost saying, “I need to get Joyce in here. She'd really enjoy this.”
 When I was alone with my brother-in-law Mick, I told him about this. His instant response was “She's here. When we're here, she's here.”
 And I know that's true, because so many of us are going to carry her memory in our hearts forever.

 Joyce's father got tuberculosis as a young man, at a time when there was no effective treatment. He died in in bed, at home. He left a young son and a pregnant wife.
 A few months later, Joyce Ann Kelley was born in that same bed.
 And a few days ago, she died in her bed here, with me beside her.

 In between, she endured a lot of hardship. Her mother was hospitalized for months at a time, and her stepfather could be pretty mean. She got out of that house as soon as she finished high school.
 In the early Sixties, some hospitals still ran their own two-year training programs for nurses and X-ray techs. Joyce enrolled to learn radiography and also got a part-time job. It paid her a tiny amount of money and one free meal a day in the hospital cafeteria.
 Most of us look forward to a three-day holiday weekend. To her, though, those were starvation times.
 Her first marriage gave her two sons, but it ended unhappily.

 When I met her, Joyce was divorced and trying to get ahead by learning a new diagnostic tool called ultrasound. These days, ultrasound pictures of unborn babies are commonplace and college training programs are widespread. But in the 1970s there were no established courses. She learned by driving once a week, from little Portsmouth, 90 miles up to Columbus, where she was tutored by doctors doing research at the Ohio State University medical school. There was no diploma, but when she learned enough she became one of the first techs in Ohio to perform ultrasound exams outside of a university setting.

 While we were dating, she was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis. When I asked her to marry me, she tried to warn me off. She said it wouldn't be fair to saddle me with someone who had a chronic illness. I said “It's just arthritis. How bad can it be?”
 We had 30 years to find out.

 Throughout our marriage, there were very few times when she was not in pain. Rheumatoid arthritis is just one many related autoimmune diseases, and over the years several of the others attacked her, too. The worst one caused her thigh muscles to atrophy to the point where weakness and pain left her unable to walk or stand for very long. Often she couldn't even get out of a chair by herself. Meanwhile, other autoimmune diseases killed one of her aunts and one of her nieces.
 Her treatments rarely took away all her pain, but they often brought side-effects, risks, and miseries of their own. Those of you who've been on prednisone, or lived in the same house with them, know that its benefits can sometimes seem miraculous. But they're often paired with anxiety, depression, and abrupt mood swings, not to mention cataracts, osteoporosis, and weird weight gain.

 Joyce's younger son, Jason, died suddenly in 1989, just a month before he would have graduated from high school. I believe her grieving fed her diseases, with her emotions making it even harder for her body to get well.

 At least eight times Joyce had multiple-day hospital stays. By 2011 the prednisone had reduced the bones in her spine to the consistency of chalk. One by one, eight vertebrae cracked, sometimes from minor falls and sometimes just from the strain of standing up.
 I tell you this not so you'll feel sorry for her, but so you'll realize what she achieved just by living. If you saw the pictures of her on the TV out in the lobby, or on the funeral home's Web site, you saw her having a lot of fun over the years.
 Joyce did not give up without a fight. She got out of bed almost every day and did as much as she could, whether it was housework like shopping or cooking or fun things like getting out in nature, or decorating for Christmas, or visiting her family back in Ohio.
 Gradually the scope of what she could do decreased. We used to hike to waterfalls off the Blue Ridge Parkway. Then we strolled to the few that weren't too far from the parking lots. Then I just helped her to a picnic table and we had lunch beside a stream. But she did as much as she could, and was often so stubborn that she did a little bit too much.

 In early May 2008 Joyce spent a week in the hospital and later that same month I spent a week. That was a lot of nights apart for us, and a lot of fear, because either one of us could have died. The first morning we were both back home my alarm clock went off. I rolled one way to turn it off, then rolled the other way to see her sleeping beside me. I snuggled up behind her and put my arm around her and just held on for dear life. And I think I might have fallen back asleep myself.
 Some mornings I was late for work, or I dialed in to conference calls from my car instead of my desk. I'm afraid sometimes I inconvenienced my coworkers, and I apologize for that. But those minutes hugging Joyce in the morning were the best minutes of my life, and I wouldn't trade them for anything.

 Since she died on Wednesday I've been telling everyone to hug your wife, or your husband, every single day. One of you said “Hug him? I'm about to hang him by your toenails!”
 That's right, you know who you are – the one who said it, and the several of you who've been thinking it.
 When you get married, someone's sure to tell you the secret is to never go to bed angry. Well, that's not as easy as it sounds. But if you can manage to not to wake up angry, you just might pull through.

 We were really lucky. We got to celebrate our 30th anniversary on September 25th. We spent a week by the Gulf coast in Florida. Only one day was she strong enough to walk across the sand to the water's edge, and we probably didn't even make it 50 yards down the beach before she needed to turn back and rest in the room for a while. But that week we saw a lot of beautiful sunsets with drinks in our hands. And we had lots of time to look back on our marriage and talk about how much we meant to each other.
 Some of those 30 years were kind of rocky. But we stayed together and made things better. I realize how richly blessed I am now to be able to remember that special week, so close I can almost reach back and touch it.

 Let me end by telling you a few of the things Joyce loved:
 Of course she loved her children, Chris and Jason, with a fierceness that every mother takes for granted but that I don't think any non-mother can completely understand. (And I realize it won't clear up any confusion when I mention that Chris is the son that the immediate family always called Scott. That may have been some kind of clerical error.)
 She had a special bond with her niece Kelli, and then with Kelli's adorable children Madysen and Andrew. She was really looking forward to seeing them this Thanksgiving.
 She loved our dog, Pixie, not exactly with a fierceness but with a mother's imperviousness to logic. This made it obvious that a little dog should get as much chicken or steak or pepperoni for dinner as her human mom, but made it a mystery that a little dog could get so big in the butt.
 She loved the science of medicine. She always regretted that she didn't have the opportunity to go to college and become a doctor. But she was fortunate that in her career there were always doctors she worked for who would answer her questions and share their knowledge.
 She never stopped believing in medicine. She knew, and was grateful, that even though researchers never found a cure, they were able to make advances that kept her alive and active much longer than people who were diagnosed even a decade before her.
 She loved pizza, and I taught her to love beer. But she only got as far as one kind, so the Coors Light people just lost a loyal customer.
 She loved to cook, especially to bake. She loved to collect cookbooks, and I don't know how I'm going to figure out which recipes she was using.
 She loved autumn, and every fall we tried to spend a Saturday or two driving out in the country to see the trees turn brilliant colors.
 But the activity she loved most of all was reading books.

 Soon after we met, maybe my second visit to her house, I was checking out her bookshelves. She had a lot of mysteries, a few non-fiction books, and what looked to be every book of poetry ever written by Rod McKuen. I wasn't sure that was a good sign.
 But then I found this item: Hell's Angels by Hunter S. Thompson. It was 1981 and I recognized it as a cult classic. But this is an early hardback edition from 1967. She wasn't following the crowd then. She took a chance on it before it was commonplace.
 “Hmmm,” I thought. “This woman could be interesting.”

 Joyce read and read and read. In the last few years, there were fewer and fewer things she could do. Cataracts appeared and progressed quickly, making it difficult to read. And pain and weakness in her hands and wrists made it hard to even hold a book for long.
 But she needed books, and every couple weeks she went to the High Point Public Library to check out six, or seven, or even eight mysteries or thrillers. Big, heavy, hardbacks.
 A couple Christmases ago I got her this canvas tote bag. And when she got to where she couldn't tote, she dragged. You can see where the bottom is wearing through because she'd fill this bag up and drag it along the floor to the checkout desk, and then drag it down the sidewalk to the car.
 And I tell you this because this book bag is a metaphor for her life: Despite all the challenges that came her way, she kept doing what she needed to do, and some of what she wanted to do, until she wore her out her heart.
 And I will admire her, and love her, for that for the rest of my life.

This is a poem Joyce wrote in 1999. We framed it for display at the memorial service.


All the leaves were dancing
and I had a front row seat
next to my window

Some danced alone
some together
but all danced the dance of autumn

A few danced so hard
I thought they might collapse
and indeed they must have

For they went spinning off the tree
and into the air
waltzing down my street till
stopped by some immovable object
Others clung tenaciously to the tree
dancing to a different beat but
holding on for dear life
Some of the die hards will probably
be there till spring
where they'll be pushed aside
by the leaves of spring
dancing a new dance

But right now,
alone or together
they all danced
the dance of autumn
and promised a grand finale
these leaves, this tree
this dance of life and death
and new beginnings

Our deepest sympathies Scott, for the loss of your Mother. Chuck and I will keep you in our thoughts and prayers. Your Mom was a special lady!

Dear Dave Stroble,
I remember fondly when some years ago you and Joyce attended New Garden Friends Meeting. I was out of town when Joyce's obituary appeared in the Greensboro paper. Otherwise I would have been to the service on Saturday. I was so sorry to hear of her illness and passing.  The last time I remember seeing you both I believe you were helping on the Hospitality Committee at one of the Monthly Meeting meals.  My sympathy is with you now as you mourn the passing of your lovely wife.
Gertrude Beal

Thank you for being a second mom growing up and I pray you are at peace.  My sympathies to Dave and Chris (Scottie) and family.

Not how did she die, but how did she live?
Not what did she gain, but what did she give?
Theses are the units to measure the worth
Of a woman as a woman, regardless of birth.
Not, what was her church, nor what was her creed?
But had she befriended those really in need?
Was she ever ready, with word of good cheer,
To bring back a smile, to banish a tear?
Not what edid the sketch in the newspaper say,
But how many were sorry when she passed away.

Joy, my sister, we will probably never know how many lives you "touched" in your journed of life.  We will miss your gentle spirit and your contagious laughter!

To Joyce's family - I hope for every second of sorrow there are many moments of happy memories to help ease the pain.  To Joyce - Thank you for sharing Scott and Jason with me.  I wish you could have heard the love in their voices and seen the sparkle in their eyes when they talked of being with you.

Please accept our deepest condolences on your loss.  You are in our thoughts and prayers.
Let God give you and your family enough strength when you all need it. Let Him give you peace and restoration with his love for you.

WE WILL MISS YOU JOYCE, ONE OF OUR BEST FRIEND.

What a blessing to have known Joyce.  There was a special sweetness about her, especially in the way she took such interest in our grandson Coby.  She made him feel special. There will always be a tender place in our hearts for her.  We pray for comfort and strength for Dave and the family.  We could see how much Dave loved Joyce by the way he cared and protected her. We sure will miss her.

I am very sorry to hear of your loss. My thoughts and prayers are with you, and I hope that you may find peace in this time of sorrow.

In loving memory of my sister....Oh Joy, we will miss you so much. Where did the time go???  I'm so glad you are pain free now and at peace. You will be remembered with much love and the deepest regret that we didn't have more time together.

OBITUARIO

Joyce Kelley Stroble

24 mayo, 1944 – 10 octubre, 2012

Hanes Lineberry Funeral Home & Guilford Memorial Park

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