Barbara Estle Westover, age 70, passed away 10/28/17 in Tulsa, Oklahoma. Born December 14, 1946 in Wewoka, Ok, she was the loving daughter of Walter James and Corrine Frances Penson, beloved stepdaughter of Betty K Elliott-James, eldest sister of Marilyn and John Pickens, Walter and Kathy James, Jennifer Lynn James, Jim Cody James, Linda Kay and Beverly Delcore, beloved mother of David and Carolyn (Geltz) Strickler, Christina and Nasser Mehriary, Barbara and Larry Bilby, Brenda and Jason Waugh. Her grandchildren meant so much to her: Kelly, Hunter, Spencer, Chelsey, Christian, Kirstie, Lauren, Nathan, Arianna, Aaron, Elias, and Miki. Her Nieces, nephews and cousins: Jonathan and Braden, Michael and Corey, Enrique and Chloe, Christopher, Tracey and Caroline, Matthew, Emily, and Kaden, Stephanie and Steve, Austin and Zane, were like children to her cousins Donald, Tully and Lucina like siblings. She has so many extended family, in-laws, cousins, nephews, nieces, and friends (especially AA, fellow employees, gym and painting class friends) that she cherished and who loved her.

She served her country in the Air Force, honorably discharged as staff sergeant. She was an accomplished artist, retired phone operator, awesome cook, clever story teller, amateur comedienne (could have been a pro!), forklift operator, breast cancer and lung cancer survivor, (even foiled death once!). She was smart and tough, loving, personable and wonderful. She was passionate about everything she did. She loved with enthusiasm! She was generous and kind, but also stubborn and obstinate at times. She was adored by those that knew her and cherished by her friends and family.

Services are planned at 10:00 A.M., Friday, November 24, 2017 at Moore's Southlawn Chapel, 9350 E. 51st, Tulsa, OK 74145.

Recently, I watched a movie that made me think about life and death and, like Mom, had its moments of jocularity even about a serious, even morbid subject. It was about a very successful woman respected, but not loved, by most everyone. Mom was quite the opposite, she was loved by everyone, even if she made spontaneous, frivolous, questionably sane decisions. She didn't do what anyone said or thought she should. In fact, she often held some derisive pleasure in doing quite the opposite of what others thought she should. I have some stories, some which may shock you.

She craved attention and loved shocking others, if it would bring an ounce of joy, or any emotion, good or bad, pleasant or unpleasant. She made you feel, made you think, made you wonder - in both senses of the word. You may have thought, "What are you thinking Barbara", but she got you thinking none the less. She would travel around the world to make an impact, to make someone's day. Literally. Around the world. She came to every birthday of Hunter's and Chelsey's when they were little, even traversing the ocean. And that was no small thing, she absolutely detested flying. She had to be medicated to do so. Not kidding. But after the meds wore off and she rested a bit, it was ON. Non stop the whole visit. She kept them entertained, ALL of us, including the kids, the church folk, the neighbors, our friends. She once came out dressed as "Chuckie", plastic googly eyes popping, freckles stenciled on with an eye brow pencil, striped hosiery, cackling with glee, toting a huge butcher knife, shocking the heck out of the nice church people at our home for a gathering, much to our dismay and their wonderment. I snapped a photo of her and saved it for posterity. She was mortified that I included it in her little "Nanny" photo album, but secretly, I know she savored that moment, all the moments. She did things more shocking than that, and that, for another time, another place. But the truth is, she spent herself for others. She risked her own self pride if it meant a laugh for another. She risked her self-esteem, her dignity, her resources (spent all her retirement on others), didn't have a thing to show for it materially, but so, so much to show for it immaterially. She humiliated herself to benefit another and I am grateful for every single time she made me laugh and smile, which was often. She had no filter, and that was a double-edged sword. Once when I was graduating from nursing school at Emory University, she howled, "GO OKIE!" when they called my name. You may not understand, though I am really not one for pomp and pretense, this was a solemn ceremony at a prestigious university, some consider the "Ivy League" of the South. Jimmy Carter and Mr Gorbachev both spoke at the main ceremony. She didn't give a rat's behind. She did wait until the smaller ceremony on the nursing campus. But, I am certain, if they had us walk in front of Mr Carter or Mr Gorbachev, she STILL would have done it. She didn't care what anyone thought of her. I have a little bit of that in me. I have suffered trouble on more than occasion because of it. I was nearly "escorted" from Iraq because of it: "If there is one seat left on one aircraft tonight, SHE better be on it!", not from my CO, a Marine Corps Lt Col, but from HIS CO. Thanks, Mom, every time I was ever kicked out or fired from a job, for standing up for those that could not stand up for themselves, I have YOU to thank for it. If anyone ever hurt your babies or threatened them, you were truly a Mama Bear. You always protected us. You fell on many hard times, but never gave us away. We always stuck together. We ate "government cheese", astronaut food, pig cracklins and Dr Pepper.

We were the poorest of the poor; I remember sleeping in a car once, probably more than once, running away to Aunt Jen's when our safety felt threatened. You whisked us from the fire on so many occasions. I know things weren't always perfect. Everyone seems to focus on the positive when someone dies, and they should, you had SO much positive about you. Even if you had shortcomings and troubles, all were forgiven, even when you couldn't forgive yourself. I won't glamorize, it was hard to live with you sometimes, but it was harder to live without you. I loved when you came to stay at our house. I hated when you left. You made me feel loved and cherished, even if you challenged me. And you certainly did. I received more than one tongue lashing from my aunts when we would sabotage your diet. You would find food, hidden and planned to space out in a generous but reasonable way. You would giggle when we found the "evidence" of your dietary indiscretions. You lacked self-control in foods, words, thoughts, deeds, almost everything. You could never keep a secret, not a birthday surprise, a thought spoken in private, not a darned thing. You absolutely cherished every moment, every little thing, every crumb of life. More people should learn from your careless abandon, your free spirit, your lack of temperance. It was as if you had a hunger that would never be sated; you had a thirst and a zest for life. You were terrified of death. You loved life. And I love you for it.
I digress. Back to what I learned about you from that movie Last Words, (you were nothing like that lady, but you were everything like what she aspired to do, to leave a meaningful legacy and to have a great obituary). She left three life lessons, about what every good obituary had, and what she wanted in her obit, what she wanted from life.

1. Make a difference in people's lives
The obit's subjects are loved by their families, they're respected by their co-workers, and they somehow touch an unexpected person in a profound way.

2. Risk failure
"Fail," Harriet (from the movie, Last Words) tells us. "Fail spectacularly. When you fail, you learn. When you fail, you live."

3. Make every day count
At the age of 81, Harriet becomes a disk jockey for a local experimental radio station, dropping pearls of wisdom between records. One morning, she gives us this. "Please don't have a nice day," she says. "Have a day that matters - have a day that means something." They want to be remembered, not forgotten.

You did all of these things, Mama. You Made a difference in so much many peoples lives. You risked failure for others. You made every day count. You will not be forgotten.

I will miss you every day the rest of my life. Moore's Southlawn 918-663-2233 share memories at www.moorefuneral.com