Ninety-four years is a long time — a really long time.

We seem to forget that in this day and age, don't we? Ninety-four minutes seems like an eternity, and the mere thought of waiting 94 years is daunting at the very least.

But that's exactly how long Mama Lesney lived on this Earth. And when I say "lived," I mean she lived it, baby.

As an 18-year-old married woman, she took on the responsibility of raising a family. Not just any family, a farm family.

Seventy-six years later, nine children, 14 grandchildren and dozens of great grandchildren, nieces, nephews, it is safe to say Mama knew what family was all about.

That's what has made her recent passing such a joy. That's not a typo, friends. Her passing has been a wonderful blessing, as she was surrounded by literally dozens of loved ones prior to her death and at the funeral home this past week.

There really weren't a lot of "friends" who weren't family. I know, as I became a newbie to the family about 14 years ago when I married into her wonderful tribe.

There are times, as a father of two, when I reflect on my shortcomings as a parent, spouse, role model and friend to my family. Mama stopped me in my tracks countless times to remind me that it's not what we say, but how we say it.

"Chris," she said one time in her delightful Ukrainian accent, "you got yourself a good one there," she continued, pointing to my daughter who was eating perogie and drinking a can of pop. At the time, my daughter was 3 and made a bowling ball look slender.

Her timing, as always, was impeccable, as I had just finished wondering out loud if Mia would ever eat vegetables.

"Don't worry. Vegetables will be ALL she eats one day, and you will worry more," said Mama. I still smile to this day, hearing her voice in my head acting as a voice of calm and reason. Mia eats vegetables everyday now. Mama, as usual, was right.

The infectious laugh of a woman who has seen it all, from the death of a spouse and infant sister, and the Great Depression to a packed living room filled with Steelers fans celebrating yet another Super Bowl, will brighten every rainy day going forward for me.

And while it's natural to cry, all I want to do is laugh. Laugh because I know that the lessons she taught me are ones that I don't even know yet. I want to laugh because I know that every Steelers game at the farm will be dedicated to Mama, and every time I see a tabloid magazine I will think of her. Laugh because she lived and loved her life to the fullest.

In a day and age when all you hear about is the breakup of family, Mama lived the exception by insisting that the family stay close. It's OK to fight, get angry, be bitter and even carry a grudge, but at the end of the day, we're all really family, aren't we?

Maybe that's the part that does make me want to cry. In some symbolic way, her passing proves to me that yes, our greatest generation really IS the greatest generation to ever walk the Earth. I'm crying because I know that as we lose good people like Mama, my ability to learn from them diminishes.

Again, this comes back to my selfishness. Compared to Mama's selflessness, it's a stark contrast, but one that I want to correct over time.

The family will go on, following the same thoughtful approach that Mama would take, and be strong. That's what families do, and that's what Mama would do. Mama will be greatly missed, never forgotten and always loved.

Christian Ola, a community columnist for the Butler Eagle, resides in Mars with his wife, son and daughter and can be reached at christianolac@aol.com.