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Quiet Strength, Modest Demeanor, and All Resolve

Betsy Wolf is my friend, and she died of cancer this spring. Betsy Wolf is also a Friend.  For those of you who are familiar with the Religious Society of Friends, you’ll know that Betsy is a Quaker.  You’ll also know that fact alone speaks to a number of qualities that I want to share with you about Betsy. For instance, Betsy had a quiet strength, a modest demeanor, and most of all resolve. And while Betsy's resolve was not enough to keep her cancer at bay, it was more than adequate to make her last weeks and days a true celebration of life.

Betsy was by profession a middle school teacher. She did not just teach the decades of students who came through her classroom, she taught all who knew her. She was thoughtful and fair, and when at our Quaker Meeting we had hard decisions to make, her guidance was felt but not seen. She was a skillful leader, who led with a gentle touch.

As you might have guessed by now, nobody was more organized than Betsy—but not just in her own life as a school teacher. She helped her family, friends and co-workers to organize themselves as well. I remember at Betsy's memorial service when one of her teacher colleagues shared a story of how she was apprehensive about the new curriculum, she discussed the curriculum she was considering with Betsy to get some ideas. A few days later, when she was still mulling over what to do, Betsy presented her with a binder bringing together the ideas they discussed into a brilliant execution. Her binders were a thing of joy and beauty. She gave of herself without reservation and without expecting anything in return. She was matter of fact about these things; simply put, when she could help, she did whatever needed to be done.

My last gift from Betsy was spending her final weekend in the hospice with her family "celebrating" her life. We knitted for her grandchildren yet to be born, painted her nails and colored her hair, put up balloons and recorded this all on video. But my real gift came when I was leaving for what I knew would be the last time. I was so overwhelmed with grief that I left the room and wasn't sure if I could come back to say "goodbye." But I'm glad I did, because she didn't give me a chance to say those words. Instead, she rallied, sat up in her bed as best she could, looked me in the eye and said, "Concetta, take all the light to the (Quaker) meeting and let them know I love them." Those simple instructions set me on a path, forgetting my own grief and giving me a purpose. It was not until I was well on the road home, that I realized the gift she had given me. I also was able to see how she was probably a master in the classroom at distracting and redirecting her kids without their even knowing it. And I smiled.

Betsy was a school teacher in a small town, spending her entire life not far from her family home—but she touched many lives. Her memorial service at the Quaker meeting house was packed with over 150 Friends, family, co-workers, students and more friends. The messages and remembrances that were shared were familiar to us all, even though most of us were only meeting each other for the first time. We smiled, laughed, cried and sang together as if we had known each other for a lifetime. And I suppose we did, through Betsy's life.

—Submitted lovingly by Concetta Stewart
   Dean, School of Communications and Theater
   Temple University