Donna Ruth Bezilla, Youngstown, Ohio
She was born on August 6, 1939, in Youngstown, Ohio, to the late Erwin Behnke and Ruth (Jones) Bogan.
Find obituaries from your high school
Donna was a 1957 graduate of South High School.
She went on to marry the love of her life, the late Stephen 'Buzz' Bezilla, on August 29, 1959, with whom she would spend 41 years before his passing in 2000.
She worked at various restaurants in the area. Her love of Christmas led her to sell Christmas Around the World.
She also was a member of the Saxon Club, enjoyed being a part of her card clubs but her number one joy in life was spending time with her family and being a loving wife and mother.
Donna was endeared by all who knew her.
She will be remembered and missed by her sons, Stephen Bezilla of Canfield and Daniel (Michael) Bezilla of Vienna.
Donna was preceded in death by her husband, parents, brothers, Fred Behnke, Jim Behnke and Ted Behnke, whom she adored.
With much appreciation the family would like to thank all the home health care aides for their continued contribution of kindness, compassion and labors of love towards our mother's care.
Friends and family may call from 11:00 a.m. – 12:30 p.m., on Thursday, June 12, 2025, at Lane Family Funeral Homes, Austintown Chapel, with a service to follow from 12:30 – 1:00 p.m.
In lieu of flowers, the family suggests making a donation to Meals on Wheels of the Mahoning Valley.
To send flowers to the family or plant a tree in memory of Donna, please visit our floral store.Copyright 2025 Nexstar Media, Inc. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.
Hashtags
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
Cosmopolitan
8 hours ago
- Cosmopolitan
7 Years Into my Marriage, I Finally Stopped Expecting the Worst
Sometimes, I try to remember when I became afraid of believing it would all be okay. I assume it was when I was a small child and things rarely seemed to work in my favor. I've had therapists suggest this is rooted in early mistrust of my caretakers (feasible) or lingering trauma from a marching-band–related incident (not impossible but much less feasible). My single mother worked hard, but as the eldest sibling of four kids, holidays were typically disappointing for me, and worse, my birthday landed two weeks after Christmas... and two days after my much cuter baby sister's. It felt like a cosmic setup. The chronic disappointment was torturous, so I opted out. I wouldn't need to stop crying over another heartbreaking near-miss if I just chose to never again expect to get what I want. As an adult, I started dating my now-husband, Kelly, in college during our last year of living on campus in Muncie, Indiana, but I refused to call him my boyfriend. Our first date had been wonderful, but within weeks of four-wheeling, skeet shooting, talking, kissing, and revealing our amorous intentions toward each other, he found out he'd been accepted into an arts internship in New York City. In a matter of months, he'd be sharing a room in a brownstone turned dormitory, working with poets and other writers, professionals in the industry we both hoped to be employed in someday. I was happy for him—I even helped him celebrate the news—but I also assumed it meant that whatever flame flickered between us would soon die out. Typical, I thought, just as I was realizing how much I wanted him. But it didn't make sense to me that two people in their early 20s would make a risky commitment right as one of them prepared to start building a life in the most exciting city in the world. It wasn't low self-esteem; I just knew I wasn't that lucky. I told Kelly we should break it off. He said, 'But I really want to keep spending time together.' And even though I was certain it was a bad idea, I agreed. We spent the rest of the semester sharing meals, throwing parties, attending literary readings, throwing literary readings that were also parties, sleeping together, laughing together, and, in doing so, falling in love in a way I refused to accept. Our time felt limited, so I tried to cherish it, knowing it might never be this way again. Knowing I might not ever be this happy with anyone else. But at least I hadn't fooled myself into thinking this would be forever, a consolation as disappointing as it was unsatisfying. When the time came for him to leave our little college town, we parted on great terms. Still, I sobbed for days, convinced I would never see him again. It was almost two years after the first lap around one another's hearts that Kelly came back for me. He'd left New York once his internship ended and moved with a friend to Seattle. I'd left our college town and moved to Indianapolis. He called and asked if he could come to my apartment and say hello. I was excited to see him but also determined not to get my hopes up about rekindling our romance. I'd worked to convince myself to move him firmly into the Friend Category, no matter what my heart told me. I didn't want to want him. No, that's not true. I didn't want to lose him because of how much I wanted him. When I answered his knock, a controlled smile donned like armor, he took my face in his hands and bent down to kiss me. When the kiss ended, he looked me in the eyes and asked, 'Are you seeing anybody?' I shook my head before taking his hand and bringing him inside. Getting what I wanted felt unfamiliar, especially when what or who I wanted wanted me back. I didn't expect him to stay with me that night. I didn't think he meant it when he said he wanted to try again with intention. But he did. We went on like this, me expecting this time to be the last time and him continuing to show up anyway. I'm ashamed to say I tested him. Before I'd agree to be in a real relationship, I laid myself bare. I told him what I wanted from my life and what I wanted from a partner. Love, support, encouragement, accountability, loyalty—all of it. I thought the details would scare him off. He responded, 'I'm not everything you want or need—yet. But I believe I can be.' When I then told him I had gotten a job offer in New York and would be moving there, I expected him to remind me that he never wanted to live in New York again and that our relationship couldn't sustain an even longer distance from each other. I prepared my heart to break. But he said, 'I'll meet you in New York.' When my dear grandmother passed away three weeks after Kelly moved from Seattle into my Brooklyn apartment, he told me everything was going to be okay and held me when I woke up from grief-induced nightmares. He sat at the far end of my desk while I wrote about hard things so I didn't have to be alone. He nursed me back to health, physically and emotionally, on numerous occasions and insisted I seek and receive help for my mental health. And while neither of us ever had grand designs on marriage, three years after moving across the country so I could live my dreams, he proposed. I said yes, and I meant it, but I still waited for that hovering other shoe to drop. In the darkest corners of my mind, I left room for my old friend Disappointment. I waited to feel stuck or unsure or abandoned. I waited for what felt familiar. Those feelings never bloomed. And trust me, I looked for them: Most days since we got married, seven years ago this September, I've wondered if I'm walking headfirst into the biggest letdown of my existence. Is that seven year itch going to show up now? How easy is it to know if you're falling out of love? Does the fact that I'm still having so much fun with my husband even mean anything? What I've ultimately decided is that those are moot questions. If I'm honest with myself, the worrying and avoidance have never saved me from disappointment, not even once. They've only been tools I used to rob myself of the excitement and joy I've always been entitled to. At some point, I have to decide that the pleasure of my marriage is sweeter than the anticipation of bitterness. In fact, I'll make that decision now. Because that's what I truly want.
Chicago Tribune
11 hours ago
- Chicago Tribune
Asking Eric: I would prefer visiting by phone and emails
Dear Eric: My wife recently passed away and I am doing OK. Several of my wife's senior children keep wanting to come and visit me. How do I politely say no without hurting their feelings? When they have come before, I was stressed as to how to entertain them for a week. They think I am being helped by their visit but actually I would prefer visiting by phone and emails. Any suggestions? – No Visitors Yet Dear Visitors: I'm sorry for the loss of your wife. This kind of grief – recent and all-encompassing – can be very hard and we have to take it day-by-day. Loved ones are often at a loss for how to meaningfully help. So, a kind directness is going to be your best friend here. Tell the kids the truth: you love them, but you don't have the capacity right now. Tell them that phone calls and emails are really what will help you the most right now. Sometimes people need to be given a little guidance for how to show up. They'll appreciate the nudge, and you'll all have better, less stressful (virtual) visits. Dear Eric: Our daughter-in-law recently turned 40, and they had a large party, to celebrate, at their house. We were not invited but were asked to take care of their dog while they went to a family camp for a week prior to the party. We have had a somewhat contentious relationship over the years, but I thought we were doing so much better recently. We both feel hurt at having been excluded. Do you think we should just let it go? We're feeling a bit used! – Not the Dogsitters Dear Dogsitters: I understand your hurt but, thinking generously, it's possible that your daughter-in-law considered asking you to help with their dog to be a way of including you. It certainly could read as a peace offering; she wouldn't ask someone she still has hard feelings about to care for a beloved pet. See if you can bring up your feelings in a way that doesn't feel charged. Think of it as a temperature check. When repairing a relationship, we often have to overcommunicate to make sure everyone is on the same page. Dear Eric: Even typing this makes me seem ungrateful, but here we go. My husband is a gift-giver; it is how he shows his love. He is also a collector of many things (as is the rest of his family) and I am not. I am a practical person by nature. Sometimes his gifts are too numerous or just impractical (for example, he gives me a gift every day of December as an 'Advent calendar'). The fact of the matter is, I don't need or want all these gifts despite them being thoughtful and sweet. This is not just a Christmas event, it is for my birthday, Valentine's Day, Easter, our anniversary, etc. I have tried saying that I don't need all these things, but he says that he enjoys looking for them and giving them to me. How can we strike a compromise? I don't want to hurt his feelings, and our marriage is strong aside from this issue. – Too Many Gifts Dear Gifts: It might seem to some to be a champagne problem, but too much champagne can be a real problem. There are two sides to gift giving: the intention and the impact. Generally, I think it does everyone a lot of good to weigh the intention more than the impact. Or, more simply, it's the thought that counts. But in your case the impact – an accumulation of thoughtful things that you don't need – is crowding out the intention. First, what's the way that you like to show and be shown love? That's important here. If there are ways to divert your husband's energies so that he still gets joy from giving but you also get joy from getting, it's a win all around. However, if you prefer acts of service, for instance, and he loves to have something tangible to wrap and bestow, you're still going to be a bit misaligned. In that case, you might try talking with him specifically about practicality. Sure, it might not initially light his heart up to go shopping for a new set of silverware or a replacement printer, for instance, he'll come around when he sees you actually using and enjoying the gifts. A conversation is a great place to start, but a list will also be helpful here. You might also suggest that he look for things that you both can enjoy together. Maybe it's a board game, maybe it's something less tangible, like an excursion or a date night. By broadening his concept of a good gift, while narrowing the definition of a good gift , you'll find yourselves aligned more.
Hamilton Spectator
2 days ago
- Hamilton Spectator
Lively's Gerry Wagner got married on D-Day, then went to war
To reach 100 years old is quite the milestone. It is with sadness that the family of Gerald (Gerry) Wagner share that their dad is no longer here to recount his memories. He was in otherwise good health right until his last days. Born March 24, 1925, and leaving us on July 19, 2025, Wagner represented a chapter of Canadian history that is soon to disappear. 'I am writing to let you know of the passing of Private Gerald Wagner, of Lively, the last known member of The Royal Hamilton Light Infantry (RHLI) who served in World War 2,' posted Captain (retired) Tim Fletcher. As a young man, Wagne joined 'RHLI late in the war and fought through some of their toughest battles towards war's end,' said Fletcher. 'I was supposed to meet him last year. The fates conspired against us getting together. I was in the Army Reserves for 36 years. I try to stay involved with as many veterans as I can.' Wagner served in Italy, then France. After hospitalization, he caught a returning English convoy to Belgium. In Holland, he was at Nijmegen, then off to Essen and ended up with the Royal Hamilton Light Infantry. He was then part of the occupation of Germany as part of the Queen's Own Rifles. 'The loss of someone like Pvt. Wagner is a loss not just for our regiment but for all Canadians, Fletcher said. 'His experience was a reminder of the human condition and that we have to work towards something better. It is an erosion of memory.' For this reason, donations to the Royal Canadian Legion Branch #564 Lockerby Poppy Fund would be appreciated. His daughter Kathy O'Neill recalled her father's last days. 'We were just loading the motorhome on the ferry to Newfoundland and in the lineup. We got the call. We came back fast. I even offered to drive. Dad was in hospital and he waited for us. My sister was here. We were soon all here.' Like many pensioners across Sudbury, Wagner had long service with Inco (34 years.) He had been living at the Meadowbrook community (a Chartwell retirement residence in Lively) since 2015. 'So many people have come up to us and said such nice things,' O'Neill said. 'In Lively, drivers used to honk and wave to our dad. He used to be at the corner. Messages on Facebook recall him being there. He said before he passed that he just wanted peace and love.' I had an afternoon to talk with Wagner this spring. It was soon after he received the King Charles medal on his birthday. He was musing about letting his hair grow; maybe to even – he said jokingly - consider a ponytail. 'I was born in Pembroke. My dad was a diamond driller. I was later with the same company. There were five children, and I was number four. It was a happy childhood ... 'In 1941, I came up north to join my Dad. I've been here ever since. I ended up in Creighton. I met a good-looking girl. I knew she was the one for me.' Ivy (nee Hodgins) predeceased in 2009. 'It was Christmas. I proposed with a box of Laura Secord chocolates. Robert Brown Jewellers sold me a ring. There was a tray of rings. My Mum chose, and I paid in full. 'I drove my Dad's green Buick out to Creighton. I put the ring in the centre spot of the box. Ivy did not see it. She took the box, thanked me, and put the chocolates to the side. It was only when her grandmother said that Ivy should have a second look inside that she realized what was there.' Wagner had to get permission from the Canadian Army to get married. 'I was just a private. We got married on D-Day (June 6, 1944.) The church was packed … I thought they were there for our wedding, but actually the doors were open for everyone and anyone to pray. They all stayed.' The ceremony was delayed for hours. 'I was waiting patiently for Ivy as she and her parents went into town to get her flowers and found everything was closed. We were 65 years married when Ivy left us. I had no appetite, but I had my little dog.' Beauty was a Bichon and the love of Meadowbrook. She was close to Wagner's heart. 'She took sick and suffered, and she had to leave me. She was 15.' For this reason, donations to Pet Save is another of Wagner's wishes. What was the secret to his long and rewarding life? 'I quit drinking, I eat well, and no, I don't exercise,' he said in the spring. 'I moved in here. I have been in the same suite. I have been happy here.' In the summer on a nice day, you might have spotted Wagner. 'Any day I go out to the corner, and I sit and watch the cars driving by. Sometimes I get a toot-toot. I get very suntanned over the summer. 'It's been a good life. Have loving children, four grandchildren and four great grandchildren … and another coming. Life is what you make of it. If something is broken, go and fix it. If it isn't broken, don't mess with it.' Bluesky: @ X: @SudburyStar Error! Sorry, there was an error processing your request. There was a problem with the recaptcha. Please try again. You may unsubscribe at any time. By signing up, you agree to our terms of use and privacy policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google privacy policy and terms of service apply. Want more of the latest from us? Sign up for more at our newsletter page .
