Viola Soudah

Viola Soudah, 59, of Keizer, passed away on August 13, leaving behind a family who loved her deeply, a lifetime of memories, and more than a few stories that will probably get better with every retelling.

She was born on September 5, 1966 in Amman, Jordan to Nabil and Therese Khadrawi. She moved to the US, San Francisco specifically, in 1989 after getting married.

She shared her life with her husband, John, for 37 years. Together, they built a family that became one of the greatest joys of her life. She was a loving mother to her son, George, and daughter, Tiana, and welcomed their spouses, Jazmin and Josiah, into the family. She was also the proud grandmother of five grandchildren, Ezra, Adeline, Zara, Ava, and Madison.

But the dates, places, and names only tell part of her story.

To really know Viola was to know a woman who was kind, loving, hard-headed, and always ready to have a good time. And yes, hard-headed belongs in there. Anyone who knew her well enough knows that leaving it out would be dishonest.

She had a wonderfully goofy side. She could do something completely random just to get a laugh out of the people around her, and she reminded her family that you didn't need a special occasion to have fun. The ordinary moments WERE the occasion.

Of course, the family returned the favor.

Scaring her at random became something of a family tradition. There was always the possibility that someone was hiding around a corner (George..), waiting for exactly the right moment to get her. Actually, there was a time where George and Tiana travelled to Klamath Falls to surprise her for Mother’s Day. They knew their dad wasn’t home, but she was. They snuck into the side garage door, and slowly crept into the house. Viola was on the phone. George hid in the den, knocked on the front door and listened for her foot steps. He heard them and jumped out at her, sending her up towards the ceiling. After laughing about it, and getting it on video, Tiana sneaks behind her and pushes her. She lost it, it was fantastic.

And somehow, after the surprise, the reaction, and probably a few words for whoever was responsible, there was laughter.

That laughter is one of the things her family will miss most.

She also loved the holidays and everything that came with getting the house decorated. Christmas time was everything you’d wish for in terms of the feelings. For her, those things weren't simply decorations. They were another excuse to bring some joy into the house and make memories with the people she loved.

Underneath all of that silliness was a woman with a remarkable ability to listen.

When someone came to her, she listened without choosing sides or deciding beforehand what they ought to say. She gave people room to talk, to be heard, and to be themselves. That kind of listening was one of the quiet ways she showed people that they mattered to her.

She could be stubborn, too. Very stubborn.

But even that stubborn streak was part of the woman her family knew and loved. She knew her own mind. And once that mind was made up, well, everyone else could certainly have an opinion.

One of the greatest things she taught her family was something deceptively simple: have fun.

Have fun when life gives you a reason to celebrate, but also when it doesn't. Laugh at something ridiculous. Be goofy. Decorate the house. Scare your mother when she least expects it.

Crack a smile when things aren't going according to plan. Don't become so consumed by the seriousness of life that you forget to actually live it.

And through everything, at the center of her life was her faith in Christ.

Her faith was not simply something reserved for Sunday mornings. It was part of who she was and how she approached her life.

Through good times and difficult ones, she kept Christ at the center. Even over the past few years, it was Christ above all else, He had the final word.

Today, her family says goodbye to a wife, a mother, a grandmother, and a woman who made their lives considerably more fun.

They will miss her kindness. They will miss having someone who would simply listen. They will miss her stubbornness, although perhaps not every single instance of it. They will miss the decorations, the jokes, the goofy moments, the laughter, and all those opportunities to scare her one more time.

Most of all, they will miss her.

Because eventually the decorations come down. The house gets quieter. The laughter from one particular voice becomes a memory.

But the life behind that laughter doesn't disappear.

It remains in a husband who shared his life with her. It remains in a son and daughter who learned from her. It remains in five grandchildren who will carry pieces of her into lives of their own. It remains in the stories this family will tell for years to come, especially the funny ones.

And it remains in the lesson she gave them simply by being herself:
Love your people.
Listen to them.
Laugh with them.
Have fun while you're here.
And keep Christ at the center of it all.

We will miss her kindness, her stubbornness, her silliness, and the way she could bring fun into an ordinary day. We will miss her listening ear, her love, and the laughter that seemed to follow wherever she went.

Somehow, we have a feeling she'd find a way to make us smile through this.

We will miss you, Mom. And we'll keep laughing for you."