Betty Jean Makela

Some lives are measured in years. Others are measured in the stories, traditions, laughter, and love they leave behind. Betty Jean Makela, affectionately known as Jean, Grandma, and GG, lived 99 remarkable years, leaving behind a lifetime of memories and a spirit unmistakably her own.

Born in Waukegan, Illinois, on February 28, 1927, to Preston and Nell Huber, Jean grew up with an independent streak and a strong sense of family. After graduating from Waukegan High School, she worked for Illinois Bell, riding the train into Chicago, where her appreciation for fashion, style, and city life found a fitting home.

Jean was a woman who knew what she liked-beautiful clothes, bold earrings, oversized rings, a good glass of red wine, and a suntan that suggested she had never heard of sitting in the shade.

She carried herself with confidence and flair, whether shopping for earrings with her daughter-in-law Kathy in Lincolnshire or arriving at her grandson's eighth-grade graduation party wearing leather pants. Jean never believed age should dictate style, and she certainly wasn't about to let it dictate hers.

For 72 years, Jean shared her life with her beloved husband, George. Together, they built a home filled with family, friendship, and cherished traditions. Their house on Poplar Street was the backdrop for countless Sunday pot roast dinners and lively gatherings, often accompanied by appetizers, her famous French onion dip, delicious baked bacon dip, and red wine-though anyone holding a glass of Merlot knew to keep a safe distance from her beloved white carpet.

There were Friday nights at the Quonset with Rob and Kathy, favorite shrimp cargot dinners, Florida vacations, and warm Arizona winters. Jean knew how to enjoy life's pleasures and, even more, how to share them.

At the center of her world was her son, Rob-forever her "Robbie" and her pride and joy. As George once remarked, the sun rose and set on their son. That devotion extended to each new generation, and Jean embraced being a grandmother and great-grandmother with the same enthusiasm and generosity that defined her life.

For her grandchildren, Grandma's house was never simply a place to visit. It was a place they couldn't wait to go. Sleepovers meant malted milkshakes, late-night conversations and school gossip, the familiar pullout hide-a-bed, gold-star food charts, visits from Chipper the chipmunk, and outings for cheese-and-sausage pizza and the beloved cheese soup at Potesta's.

Some of the sweetest memories were made in the front living room, where Jean played records, sang "I Love You a Bushel and a Peck" and "A Pretty Girl Is Like a Melody," and danced with her grandchildren as they balanced their little feet on top of hers. Those melodies became part of the soundtrack of childhood, the kind of memories that linger long after the music stops.

Jean had a gift for making ordinary moments feel special. Back-to-school shopping was an adventure, complete with Cinnabon treats and lunch at Olive Garden. Holidays brought the unforgettable sight of Jean and George arriving with garbage bags overflowing with presents.

And there was often a little something extra—a tightly rolled bill discreetly slipped into a grandchild's hand with a knowing smile. Even from afar, she made sure her family felt remembered, mailing newspaper clippings, handwritten notes, and a little money tucked inside for a meal out. It was her way of saying, I'm thinking of you. I miss you. I love you.

Jean didn't just hear about the lives of those she loved; she made a point of being part of them.

From sporting events and band performances to graduations, weddings, and life's many milestones, she showed up. That same loyalty extended to her brother, Len, whom she lovingly looked after following the loss of their parents. Jean, George, and Len were often a familiar trio, sharing life's routines and looking out for one another.

Of course, loving Jean also meant knowing she had opinions-and plenty of them. Fiercely independent, strong-willed, quick-witted, and wonderfully expressive, she could make her feelings known without saying a word. A certain look, a hand resting beneath her chin, or her infamous "bouquet of fingers" could say everything that needed saying. Being in Jean's good graces was a wonderful place to be, but no one wanted to land on what she affectionately called her "shit list." She loved to entertain with low, sexy singing voices and a few "cha, cha, chas." Her playful barking at people and perfectly timed remarks kept everyone laughing, while her generous heart ensured they always felt loved.

She also found beauty in the smallest details, especially her collection of Swarovski crystal figurines, carefully displayed to catch the sunlight and scatter reflections throughout the kitchen, which she affectionately called "my pretties." Whether admiring something that sparkled, enjoying a favorite song, or soaking up the afternoon sun, Jean appreciated life's simple pleasures.

In her later years, Jean was surrounded by a remarkable group of caregivers who became part of her extended family. Affectionately known as "My Girls" and "You Who," they cared for her with extraordinary patience, compassion, humor, and grace. They came to know not only the woman who needed their care, but the spirited personality that made her Jean. Their loving presence brought comfort, dignity, and companionship to her final chapter, and her family will forever be grateful.

Jean passed away on October 2, 2026, in Ahwatukee, Arizona, at the age of 99.

She was preceded in death by her parents, Preston and Nell Huber; her brother, Len Huber; her beloved husband of 72 years, George Makela; and her dear friends, Helen and Clyde Fawcett.

She is survived by her loving son, Rob, and daughter-in-law, Kathy; grandson Scott and his wife, Kelly, and their daughters, Kaari and Kamy; grandson Ted; granddaughter Küirsti and her husband, Dan, and their sons, RJ and Kamden; and her cherished friend, Peggy Fawcett.

Ninety-nine years is an extraordinary lifetime, yet the beauty of Jean's life is not found simply in how long she lived, but in how vividly she will be remembered.

In the smell of Sunday pot roast filling the house on Poplar Street. In the sparkle of costume jewelry and sunlight dancing through crystal. In a grandmother's knowing smile as she slipped a little cash into a grandchild's hand. In the laughter around a dinner table, a perfectly timed mischievous gesture, and the unmistakable voice of a woman who was never afraid to speak her mind.

And in little feet resting on hers as she danced across the living room, leading the way.

These are the moments that become a family's treasures-the stories told around holiday tables, the traditions carried forward, and the memories that grow sweeter with time.

Jean lived with style, loved with conviction, gave with generosity, and left behind a family who will forever carry her spirit in the stories they share and the lives they lead.

We love you a bushel and a peck, Grandma. And a hug around the neck.