A Tribute to Warreen Iozzia

My mom, Warreen Iozzia, is 88 years old and lives with our family. She is wheel-chair bound from years of falls, broken bones and severe osteoporosis and widowed since the loss of my father, her husband of 59 ½ years when he passed away in 2002. She is by all accounts a remarkably ordinary woman, and one, I believe, worthy of honor.

She was the youngest of 8 girls, born to a farming family in Georgia just prior to the Great Depression. As with most during that era she grew up with a love for God and a solid work ethic, and though she was born with a condition that pre-disposed her to brittle bones from an early age, she kept busy with farm life and was expected to do her share of the chores. She contracted scarlet fever at a young age which left her deaf, and as an adult, began wearing a hearing aid. She moved to Washington D.C. prior to WWII for work, and met my father, a U.S. Marine, fell in love and married, only to see him immediately shipped off to war in the South Pacific. They spent most of the first 4 years of their marriage apart.

Once they set up a home together, they discovered, after 15 years of marriage, that her fragile body couldn’t bear nor carry a child and so, they began to pursue adoption to fulfill their desire to begin a family. Through the recommendation of a nurse and close friend and a series of sovereignly ordained events, I came into their lives as a newborn in need of a home. I became their one and only child.

Though my mom had physical limitations, she provided the most wonderful experience a child could grow up in. A stay at home mom, she introduced me to a love for learning and the arts. Books were read to me constantly and music was always played in our home. Creativity was encouraged and game time was commonplace. Though she was never able to drive and therefore, take me places, she created a world at home that was magical. Through the years, all of my friends loved to spend time at my house.

As mom has aged and her physical limitations only increased, without a doubt, her joy and love for others has more than kept pace. She has lived through the death of her husband and most of her older sisters and yet, she remains steadfast in a loving God who has cared for her. She is the most grateful person I know. Even though she relies on others for almost every basic daily need, she never ceases to say, "Thank you’" for the smallest kindness shown.

She is my hero and deserves her crown awaiting her in heaven one day.

Jeannie Harvey