Remembering Bruce and Diana Baldi

Obituary: Bruce Gaston Baldi & Diana Jo Baldi

Our beloved parents, Bruce Baldi, 65, and Diana (Wozniak) Baldi, 66, have departed this earthly plane to be amongst the stars. They were always smiling, adventuring, and holding hands during their devoted 35-year marriage. Our family is heartbroken by this sudden loss, but knows their beautiful soulmate journey continues to unfold.

Bruce was born on December 3, 1956 to Gaston and Anne Baldi in New Jersey and Diana was born on September 3, 1955 to Mitch and Flora Wozniak in Ohio. They met at the University of Maryland in an organic chemistry class where they indeed had a lot of chemistry. They fell in love exploring Washington, DC. Diana fully supported Bruce’s ambition to get his PhD at Washington State University, and after he moved across the country they each took on side jobs to cover their long-distance phone bills.

Both lovers of nature and travel, Diana and Bruce brought their three daughters on countless road trips and adventures around the world such as Europe, the Brazilian Amazon, and Alaska. Whenever a business trip popped up, Bruce and Diana seized the opportunity to travel together and explore China, Australia, Trinidad, and New Zealand. Their zest for life was truly unparalleled and service to others was equally as important.

Bruce and Diana devoted their time and energy to nonprofit organizations supporting creativity, community, and conservation. Their contagious joy and selfless character shines brightly in the memories of people around the world who had the pleasure of meeting them, whether once or many times during life-long friendships.

Bruce and Diana are survived by children Brooke Baldi, Siena Baldi, Josie (Pickens) Gruber, and Mike Pickens; siblings Karen Baldi, Donna Baldi, and Mike Wozniak. They were preceded in death by their parents and siblings Maretta (Baldi) Olson, Joe Wozniak, and Cindy (Wozniak) Hart.

Inseparable even in death, a joint service will take place on Tuesday, August 30th at Oglebay Park in Wheeling, WV.

The shipwreck

— Author Unknown

“Alright, here goes. I'm old. What that means is that I've survived (so far) and a lot of people I've known and loved did not. I've lost friends, best friends, acquaintances, co-workers, grandparents, mom, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbors, and a host of other folks. I have no children, and I can't imagine the pain it must be to lose a child. But here's my two cents.

I wish I could say you get used to people dying. I never did. I don't want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don't want it to ‘not matter’. I don't want it to be something that just passes. My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people who can't see.

As for grief, you'll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you're drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it's some physical thing. Maybe it's a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it's a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.

In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don't even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you'll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what's going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything...and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.

Somewhere down the line, and it's different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O'Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you'll come out.

Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don't really want them to. But you learn that you'll survive them. And other waves will come. And you'll survive them too. If you're lucky, you'll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.”