Birth date: Aug 29, 1919 Death date: Jan 13, 2022
Lakeview-Joyce Marie Mizga, age 102, passed away on Thursday, January 13, 2022, at Masonic Pathways in Alma. She was born to Henry and Beulah (Potter) Swender on August 29, 1919, in Ovid, Michigan. Joyce attended Laingsburg school Read Obituary
Such a lovely lady and neighbor. So sorry for your loss. Karen Kehl
A simply grand lady. She always had a welcoming smile when Gary and I visited her. Plus she fed us well. Pie , cake whatever it was. It was always delicious. She leaves us with fond memories and that's a treasure in itself. Thank you ❤️
Joyce lived just a few doors from my parents at Masonic Pathways. She was my mother's (Donna Bigelow) best friend there. Joyce such a sweet lady. Kay Richards.
I have been struggling to find words to express my grief at the loss of my Grandma Joyce, or the cold fact that she's gone and life and the world just go on without her. It's such an odd, mysterious feeling I can't quite seem to grasp. She died this week at the age of 102. I never heard her speak about Jesus, but she was more Jesus than anyone I ever knew. The fruits of the spirit lived in and through her to the very end. She also never talked about herself. She always put others above herself. She showed love, compassion, and was a comforter. She was never too busy and when you were with her no one mattered but you. I never heard her speak a cross word. And if she ever had a complaint about her modest life, I never heard it. I only saw her cry twice, and only for a moment. She was always your biggest supporter, and indignant if you were wronged. She was eager to listen to what you had to say. Life centered around her kitchen table and a cup of coffee and, later, her chair and your life and what was important to you. My memories of my grandma and the things she taught me are impossible to separate from who I am today. She taught me a dignity and love for home and homemaking and caring for my family; the joy and magic of making holidays special; the rhythm of the seasons; how to bake cookies, pies, and bread; how to make strawberry jam, homemade soup, mashed potatoes, and nut rolls. She shared all her recipes. Her house was always clean, but she must have done it before we got out of bed because I never remember seeing her clean. She took long baths at night and was always reading a book. It seemed like she was always home. I don't ever remember her not being home, except to walk up to town once a week to get her hair done. And I do remember her walking to the hospital to go to work in a nurse's uniform. She babysat for extra money. She apparently was also a bookkeeper for my grandpa's business for a quarter century, but I never knew this. I also never knew her middle name was Marie, until I read her obituary. No matter what time of night you arrived at Grandma's from your long drive in for the weekend, she was up and there was homemade chicken soup and homemade batter bread waiting for you. And you could count on waking up without a worry in the world to the smell of thick toast with butter and jam, bacon, and heavily salted eggs, and feel the warmth of the wood burning stove that heated their home and almost always roasted you out on holidays when people were over and the house was full. Time stopped at grandma's house, and started again when it was time to leave. Her big freezer in the back room was always full of cookies and was ours (meaning my little brother and many cousins) to climb on and jump off from, and that back room and her entire upstairs was ours to utterly turn upside down. We made full blown spook houses and who knows what else. I don't remember now whether we ever cleaned up those messes or she did, but her home was our home. We pulled out mattresses into the living room and did flips until someone got hurt and then we put them away. We climbed into her closets and cupboards for hide and seek, and dressed up in her clothes and costume jewelry. She had a candy dish. My childhood summers with her were spent sitting on her porch snapping the ends off beans, and rocking on gliders; backyard birthday parties and picnic tables; tree swings; poppyseed cakes; Monarch butterflies that would roll their tongue out onto your finger; sparklers; and homemade ice cream. I recall walking down dirt roads picking up the potatoes the farm trucks had dropped off their trucks. We had bonfires and big gardens to run through, and a piece of property called "the farm" where we shot guns, carved our names in trees, and climbed trees to hide from doing any work. We raided her coin stash and walked up to the dime store to spend hours perusing the candy section and filling bags with candy that we'd eat all the way home walking back to her house. We used pennies to ride the coin-operated pony that still sits in that shop to this day. We'd climb out windows, onto roofs, and use our imaginations; we were children. We ate ice cream and sugar cereal for dinner if we wanted to when we spent the night at grandma's. We spent peaceful evenings taking long drives and getting silver dollars for every deer we spotted. We stuck toothpicks into all of her potatoes and made animals and monsters for fun. We also watched the Lawrence Welk show and Hee Haw summer evenings and colored in her living room with crayons and coloring books out of the drawer of the low round table in the living room, while the breeze came in through the front door. I suspect there were wind chimes because I still have them on my porch today, and they seem to bother everyone but me; I find them comforting. We were never bored. Her big, fat, real Christmas tree took up the whole living room, and so does mine when I can find one fat enough. You could hardly sit in the room and you always got poked by sharp pine needles. She had spicy pickled apples, cheeseballs, nutrolls, nuts and a nutcracker, peanut brittle, and relish trays at Christmas time. There were rock candy, sea foam, and other mysterious forms of sugar set out on tables for eating at will. There were always cardinals outside her window and candles on her dining room table. At Thanksgiving there were turkey, ham, and everything in between. Her countertop was always lined with homemade pies of every kind. I remember snowstorms, snowdrifts and snowmen, and riding around her yard on a snowmobile. Grandma Joyce always told you how much she appreciated your visit, no matter how much time it had been since the last one. Until we meet again, Grandmas Joyce. I love you. You live on in me, my children, and everyone else who knew and loved you.
What a wonderful lady! She cared for my children while I worked for only a couple years but she left a lifetime of memories with them. We will never forget this sweet woman! Our condolences to all of you.
We are deeply sorry for your loss ~ Brigham Funeral Chapel - Lakeview
Our condolences to the Mizga Family Stan and Suzanne Krogman
Joyce was my best friend for many years. I'll always remember eating frozen blueberries & milk with her, watching Golden Girls, picking string beans & eating berries from her garden, watching Mr. Roger's together & guessing which color sweater he was going to put on, and the time I carved my name into her wooden family tree plaque hanging outside her front door. Even as I grew older & didn't need a babysitter anymore, she still sent me cards & cared for me from afar. And after all these years, you've always held a special place in my heart. ❤️
