Joyce Polomsky

Melva Joyce Polomsky, 84, of Huntsville, Al. passed away on June 19, 2017 in Marietta, Ga. Services and honors for Joyce will be held at Colonial Grove Memorial Park, Virginia Beach, VA on September 16th, 2017 at 11:00am. Joyce will also be included in special intentions during Mass at the Catholic Church of St. Ann, Marietta, GA and St. Nicholas Catholic Church, Virginia Beach, VA on Sunday, June 25th at 11:00am. Joyce is survived by her children, Ron Polomsky Jr. and wife, Debbie of San Diego, Ca., Rick Gunter and wife, Mendy of Sugar Hill, Ga., Randy Polomsky and wife, Lena of Jacksonville, Fl., Robin Merricks of Atlanta, Ga. and Reed Polomsky and wife, Susan of Marietta, Ga.; grandchildren, Ben Polomsky and wife, Angie, Zack Gunter, Bella Gunter, Katie Gunter, Ethan Polomsky, Ryan Polomsky, Taylor Polomsky and great-granddaughter, Abi Polomsky. She was predeceased by her husband, Ronald William Polomsky Sr. In lieu of flowers contributions can be made in her honor to the Alzheimers Association, 225 N. Michigan Ave., Fl. 17, Chicago, IL 60601 or by clicking here: https://act.alz.org/site/Donation2?df_id=32112&32112.donation=form1&. FAMILY REMEMBRANCES (below): From Robin: Oh Father, can you hear me? I’m sending a prayer your way. I’m clutching hard to my faith, as mom taught me, As she draws closer to you each day. I talk to her in whispers, And I hope she hears me pray, I hope you send an angel To guide her towards your way. I continue to tell her I love her And thank her for all the sacrifices she has made And for the unconditional love, No matter what kind of behavior I displayed. Mom, can you hear me? I have so much more to say. I will continue with your legacy. I hope I can be as strong as you one day. You taught me the importance of family. I have learned from the very best. Don’t worry yourself now, Mom, You keep yourself at rest. I worry if I’m selfish. I’m not ready to let go of your hand. I’m trying to remember the message From, “Footprints in the Sand.” Dear Mom, can you please wake up? I have not heard your voice today. I promise I would sit and listen To everything you want to say. I know you are getting weary. You are ready to go home. I imagine you are dreaming of your Savior Sitting upon his throne. I hope you take my love with you, As tears fall on your cheek. Dear God, please carry me through this, I’m feeling very weak. Dear Mom, I’m very thankful For all the years we’ve had. I’m trying to remember you laughing So I will not stay so very sad. Through the rest of my life I will carry All your love with me. I promise to be the best Sister, Aunt and friend That I can possibly be. God must think your time is almost done here. I feel you going away. I love you, Mom. No goodbyes. I will see you again one day. Always, your daughter ~ ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From Rick: Chasing Rainbows I imagine a young girl with red clay stained bare feet, running through muddy puddles on a dirt road somewhere in Huntsville in the early 1940's.? A pounding southern thunderstorm had just passed through the area as a bright, beautiful rainbow appeared in the sky above.? The girl was running as fast as she could, water and mud splashing up on her thin legs and dress.? "Joyce, where are you going?" her mother cried out to her. "I'm going to get the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow," Joyce yelled back across her shoulder as she ran. "Come back home Joyce. Come back now!" her mother yelled as she stepped out onto the wooden porch while the screen door slammed behind her. But Joyce didn't stop. She kept running. She ran until she couldn't run anymore and she slowed to a halt finally, standing in the road, panting hard, trying to catch her breath as the rainbow began to fade from the sky. Our mother, Joyce, passed away this morning. I wasn't there at that moment, but had the pleasure of seeing her for a few of the last, lucid moments of her life a couple of evening prior. We laughed about old times, and I told her about how, when I was recently teaching my 5-year old daughter to begin reading, how I once sat at our kitchen table in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida, with Dirty, our canary, singing in the background, as I struggled while reading my 1st grade Dick and Jane reader. I couldn't get past the word 'grandfather.'? It was the biggest word I had ever tried to read up to that point in my life. While washing dishes in the sink near me, she would periodically pause to come over, sit down, and patiently help me sound the word out. It took a while, but I finally got it. From that day on, I never struggled again to read, having learned how to sound words out, thanks to my mother's patient guidance. Years later, whenever she saw me sitting at the same dining table in our house in another town, working on a sketch, she would stop for a minute as she passed by, seeing what I was doing. She taught me how to draw a perfect circle and told me that once I could do that every time, I would be able to draw anything without any help, full of confidence in what I was doing. One day, when she picked us up from the Catholic elementary school we attended in Ft. Lauderdale, a storm had just finished passing through.? We suddenly diverted from the well-traveled and familiar route we took everyday, heading in a direction towards a rainbow that had suddenly appeared in the sky to the north. We asked where we going. She said, "We're going to see if we can reach the end of that rainbow." "Why Mom?" we asked. "Because that's where the pot of gold is," she said enthusiastically. And as we drove, she explained to us how the Irish believed you could find a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow.? As she drove, we talked about how we would spend the money, confident that she would get us to? end of the rainbow before it disappeared.? Well, we obviously never reached the end of the rainbow, but we enjoyed the adventure. Ever since then, every time I see a rainbow, I think about that day and how she seemed to really believe there was a pot of gold that could be found if it only could be reached. And even if you never reach it, it is worth the breath and energy wasted. I imagined this morning, when I arrived at the hospital too late to say a final goodbye to Mom, as she was already gone, a little, barefoot girl, standing on a dirt road, looking towards the sky, while a young boy came walking towards her, smiling, and saying, "Hello Joyce, I've missed you."? As she turned her gaze to meet his, she smiled and said, "Hi Ron. I've missed you too. Do you want to chase a rainbow with me?" - Rick ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From Reed: The picture of Mom this past Mother’s Day is sweet and beautiful. A butterfly pin is proudly displayed upon her jacket, front and center. My sister commented that Mom asked for help in applying the pin that morning. Her arthritis was probably painful and limiting her ability. “She must not have liked where I put it on her coat because when we got in the car the butterfly pin had been moved!”, my sister laughed and smiled. The story made me recall a moment I shared with Mom when I was a young boy. Butterflies were important to Mom, they were majestic… With one deliberate step after another I chased the sidewalk to my front door fiercely protecting my discovery. A 12 year old boy, especially this one, was not one to take such light and careful steps. Without recognition I ascended the steps to the kitchen never glancing away from the future miracle in my possession. Dinnertime was at hand and I had placed my bets that Mom would be there effortlessly navigating the preparation of another scrumptious meal. Abruptly ending her singing I chanted, “you have to see this, you have to see this.” Without hesitation, in one motion, she spun around putting her arm around my shoulder while sitting down at the kitchen table. “Where did you find that!”, she exclaimed. It wasn’t lost on me that most of my friend’s Moms would have run screaming from that room. But my Mom wasn’t like those Moms. She wasn’t afraid of anything, she loved nature, and she was the most nurturing person I ever knew. Silently, we both stared in amazement as the most obese caterpillar I had ever seen slowly devoured the leaf supporting his enormous weight. “He’s magnificent”, she said. Half of me delighted in the thought of finally grossing out my Mom by bringing this horrid creature in to our home, but the other half paused in disbelief that this ‘girl’ was not phased by this at all. In fact, she was fascinated by the enormity of the slug that was placed upon her shrine. “You know what we have to do don’t you?”, she whispered. Well I didn’t have any idea what we should do other than place this creature in a cookie jar and stare at it for days. With her arm still gripping my shoulder she pulled me close, looked me in the eye and said, “we have to help this caterpillar on his journey”. At the age of 12, I could not comprehend that I had the ability to enable and affect the life path of another organism in this world. Thanks to my Mom I was about to learn a lesson. Mom departed from the table and approached the far left bottom corner cabinet in the kitchen. The one that seemed to swallow up old pots and pans and felt neglected like the island of misfit toys in my favorite Rudolph cartoon. My heart was racing and sweat was beaded up on my forehead while I patiently waited for her to dig and dig and dig in that old cavern. Jumping up she revealed a large mason jar and exclaimed, “this jar will be your window to an amazing journey”. With the trust only shared between a mother and a son I relinquished this prize to my Mom’s care and watched as she placed the branch and tattered leaves into the jar. “This is really important, listen to me closely”, she said. “This caterpillar is really, really fat! He is getting ready for a transformation but in order for him to change we have to put him somewhere very dark and he can’t be disturbed”, she commanded. Sadly I watched her place the jar deep into the darkest recesses of the forgotten cabinet. She sat back down putting her hand on my shoulder, leaning in she said, “promise me you won’t open that cabinet for a week no matter what.” “What’s going to happen to him, won’t he die in there?”, I said sheepishly. “Trust me, you’re about to see something wonderful I promise. Do you trust me?”, she said. I did indeed trust her. One week later I sat down at the table thinking about school and what my day might bring. I was nervous because I desperately wanted to confirm my fears that my cherished caterpillar was in fact dead. “Can we please open the cabinet and check on the caterpillar?”, I pleaded. Knowing the absolute answer would be ‘No’ I focused on piercing the milk in my cereal bowl with my spoon. “That’s a great idea!”, she said. We walked over to the cabinet of death and she pulled the jar from the darkness placing it on the counter above. Much to my amazement my pal caterpillar was very busy spinning a cocoon that soon would envelope his enormous girth. I marveled not knowing how it was happening nonetheless why it was happening. However, Mom had known the course of nature all along. Bouncing with excitement she said, “this is what I wanted you to see. This caterpillar is going to hibernate inside this cocoon, a cocoon he made for himself to protect himself.” “Protect himself from what Mom?”, I said. “To protect from the outside world and those that don’t understand the process. He’s transforming into a beautiful butterfly and based on the size of him it will probably be one of the most amazing butterflies you’ll ever see”, she said. Every morning, for weeks and weeks we checked on that cocoon eagerly awaiting the arrival of a miracle. As every day passed I checked the jar and I began to doubt the infinite confidence that once united Mom and me. One morning, as habits go, I pulled the jar from the cabinet and noticed the slightest perforation of the cocoon. “This is it!”, she shouted. Realizing what was about to happen we both slipped into our chairs and fixated on the jar. Time didn’t matter, school didn’t matter, breakfast didn’t matter. What mattered was the two of us, in that moment, sitting side by side witnessing something unique and shared by nobody else in the entire world. This was our moment. A butterfly slowly emerged from the cocoon and patiently waited for its wings to dry. It was the largest and most breathtaking thing I had ever seen. 12 year old boys are usually not described as patient but I had been awfully patient waiting for this miraculous event. Waiting to witness this moment was agonizing so I wanted it to last for days and days. Much to my disappointment Mom said, “It’s time to set him free”. We stepped out on to the balcony just behind the kitchen table, slowly lifted off the lid, and without hesitation the butterfly took flight! He danced around our heads for a moment and then gracefully floated away with disregard for the pain and anguish I invested in his creation. It was as if I had given birth. It made me feel special that we had done this great thing together, just Mom and me. In her subtle way, Mom had taught me the value of persistence and patience. That if you inherently know you should follow a path, and you work hard to achieve your goals, you will be rewarded handsomely. Something beautiful and amazing is likely to occur… And so it is with her life. Her persistence, her patience, her faith, her dedication, her commitment, her perseverance, her love, and her ability to gather every fiber of strength she had to stay the course. Through victories and losses nothing would sway her from her beliefs. One day she too would evolve and undergo a transformation unlike anything I’d ever seen before. Just like the butterfly we set free that day. As I stood next to her bed in the hospital holding her hand, watching over her, I couldn’t help but run my fingers through her hair. It was so soft and beautiful and the last part of her that seemed untouched by the ravages of time. By doing so I wanted to provide her comfort and show her that I loved her so very much. Almost unintelligible she said, “don’t mess up my hair”. It was then and there that I realized she was breaking out of her cocoon. I was that 12 year old boy that was in danger of disrupting the process. Her evolution, transformation and journey was happening. I held her hand without motion and she felt the warmth of a son’s love for his mother pass between us. I whispered I love you in her ear and I sat down for the long wait. Emotions were high, tears were flowing, and sparks danced around my eyes. She was gone and the void was suddenly insurmountable. Something wasn’t right. This wasn’t what I expected. Feelings of loss, confusion, disbelief and doubt swirled around me with the voracity of a typhoon. Then there was a glimpse of light, the curtain pushed aside and a shadowy figure emerged. Without hesitation he shook my hand and walked directly to the one in need. Our prayers swiftly deferred to his delivery of the last rights. Beckoning an endless army of Saints to carry her to heaven I was not surprised to hear Saint Martin and Saint Theresa included in that procession…and then the waves were no longer crashing on the shore. I realized at that moment I was witnessing the greatest journey of all. This miracle that Mom taught me so many years ago. That little boy, all grown up, letting go…watching the most beautiful and glorious butterfly I’d ever seen float away. She was truly majestic. Thank you for guiding my path in life Mom and for teaching me that my actions can affect the path of other’s in the most positive way. And thank you for teaching me that persistence, faith, devotion and unconditional love are the foundation for the greatest journey in life. The circle of life is complete and I love you dearly, Your Son Reed ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From Randy: I would love to share my entire life with my Mom with all of you, she was an amazing lady. I have the best memories of our Mom and could go on all night about all she taught my brothers, and one little sister. One was family, she once told me that nobody, and I mean nobody will look after you like your own family. So I did the best I could. She taught me many wonderful things, as I grew from just a little boy into a man. Now that she has passed, and is with our father, and her siblings, I know in my heart that she is happy and free. Here is one of my memories of her. One Sunny day, Mom wearing her taxi hat, picking us up from school, I opened the door and jumped in, and without even saying hello, She says ,”How would you like to win the Soap Box Derby”, And I of course said, "Heck yeah". To this day I don’t know how she found out about this. On the way home she already had a sponsor lined up for me. We pulled into Mel’s Union 76 gas station, Mom jumped out and said "how would you like to sponsor a winner", And he said "sure". So it began, Dad and I were running all over town picking up parts to start this project. We ran everywhere, Junkyards, airports, I’m telling you everywhere. After many months in the garage of our home, planning, building, talking about race day, Mom always made sure that my dad and I had plenty to eat and drink. Then the big day came, Race day, I was so scared, but my Mom was magical at calming me down. All I can really remember is she kept telling me “you’ve got this, your going to win, I know it”. So up in the blocks, waiting on them to pull the pin to release the gate, I just kept telling myself, I’m going to win, because Mom said so. I won my first heat, then the second, and third, forth, and I’m starting to think, how did my mom know. Well it came down to the last heat for the championship, scared to death, here I am, the championship race!!! When the guy pulled the pin, and the gates dropped, everything seemed like it was in slow motion. I couldn’t hear anything but my car slowly picking up speed. We hit the finish line, and I won, so I thought! I can’t remember what happened, but I had to race this guy again. And I had just beat him by just a hair! So they loaded us up, and took us back to the top to do it all over again. I looked everywhere for my Mom and Dad, but couldn’t find them anywhere. There were hundreds of people up and down Broadway, and it was being televised, I thought where are they, so I climbed back into my car, the guy pulled the pin, the gates dropped, and I started picking up speed, And guess what? I beat him again…and as they rolled me over to the winner’s circle, there was my Mom, with the biggest smile that I think I’ve ever seen. She came up to me, gave me a big hug, and said, “See, I told you, you would win”…I guess what I’m saying is, our Mom saw something in me, that nobody else did. That’s one of the many fantastic thing’s that she could do. From that day on, our Mom taught me more about life then ever before, in just one day. Mom and I had a very special bond, she got all of us into so many different things. I’m very sad that she has passed, but also happy because she is back with her family, and our Dad. Those two together were something to behold. In closing, one other thing that our Mom taught all of us kids was, try to make other people happy and smile. She had the best laugh of anyone, and would always say, laughter is the best medicine of all. And you know, she was right again. Mom, Thanks for you and Dad tag teaming, and making me the man I am. Ethan, Lena and I will never forget you. Mom, sorry I was not there in your final hours, but I’m at peace, and you know how much we all love you. Please go now and find Dad, and give a big hug for me. You know you are always in my heart, mind, and soul…You were the best, and every time I laugh, or make someone else smile, I’ll be thinking of you, Walk with our lord, and may you rest in peace. - Your no. 3 son, Randy

Joyce Polomsky

August 7, 1932 - June 19, 2017