Janice Maruca died this morning, unexpectedly, in her home, probably in her sleep. The journalist in Janice would note that this covers the facts, the who, how, where, when and what. The why is a remaining question that a journalist can’t answer and a reader can only ponder. She lived her 61 years and twenty days passionately on this earth, and those of us who love her will miss her deeply.

We do know from the pages of the website she created that, like Janice, her mother also died suddenly and unexpectedly. We know that Janice took this tragedy and turned it into the passion of her life, writing first person biographies, her “quest for the heroism beneath the surface of everyday life.” She challenged women to speak the truth about our lives, so that “we may begin to redefine how a woman can and ought to live....We can learn not to fear the unconventional, the ambitious and the bold, and how to include such traits within in our definition of what is normal, womanly and even feminine.”

Janice wrote “It is my hope that the narratives that appear here [http://20thcenturywomen.com/] will inspire sons and daughters to look twice at their mothers, grandmothers and aunts. Ask them about their lives. Listen without judgment. They may tell you stories that will stop your heart.”

So what was the story about Janice’s life? I witnessed its unfolding, in memories that appear like snapshots in a photo album. Janice hugging me on her wedding day, her billowing skirts enfolding me like the texture and freshness of her love. Janice playing softball on my family’s front yard with the guys at a summer reunion, holding her own with grace and humor. Janice wielding a croquet mallet with an intensity that held malice toward none but friendly competitiveness to all. Janice picking me up at JFK airport and racing me to LaGuardia because my connections were so tight, fostering my love of travel and delighting in seeing me if only for moments. Janice in her brownstone with her Siamese cats, in the city she adored with the people and living creatures she loved. Janice good-natured when I announced three-fourths the way up to the top of the pyramid we were climbing at Giza that it was time to start back down. Janice gleefully describing her delight in watching TV in the hotel on a recent trip, and explaining to puzzled listeners that refusing to have a television at home was her one-step way of dealing with that addiction. Janice catching me at a quiet moment, and another, and another to share her perspective on things that puzzled or troubled me. Janice planning her time in Florida so that she ate the maximum number of oysters possible, regardless of whether it was an “R” month.

And always and everywhere, Janice with Dan, two soulmates who met in this life, cared for each other, supported each other, loved each other. Two people, each joining their own life to the other’s, but not losing it in the process. Together they lived unconventional lives that peacefully coexisted with others more conventional. Heroes beneath the surface of everyday life.

Her own heart has stopped now, and I can no longer ask her to tell me about her life. There had always been next year, next visit, plenty of time to learn this or that. Now Janice’s story lives on in her series of first person biographies, her plays, her passion and the mark these have made in our lives. She was my aunt, my role model, my hero. Read about her life. And ask your mother, your sister, your aunt to share their stories.

Elaine Powell