Schneider, Betty Jo, age 83 of Dayton passed away Friday June 12, 2026. She is preceded in death by her husband, Jim in 2016, and her daughter Catherine in 1978. She is survived by a daughter, Amy Schneider; a son, John; two sisters, Mary Costanzo, Veronica Sacksteder; two brothers, Vincent and Nicholas Sacksteder. Mass of Christian Burial, 10:00 am Tuesday, June 23 at Corpus Christi Church. The family will receive friends 4:00-6:00 pm Monday at the Westbrock Funeral Home, 1712 Wayne Ave., Dayton, OH. Interment, Calvary Cemetery.

Betty was a bright, creative woman with a curious mind. One of her guiding principles was that knowledge was good in and of itself, that learning new true things was always valuable, that the “life of the mind” was as important as the “life of the body.” She was academically successful from an early age, eventually pursuing post-graduate degrees in mathematics, but she struggled throughout with a society that did not value the mind of a woman, from grade school teachers who didn’t know what to do with a “smart girl,” to the collegiate department head who openly stated that women had no place in his department. To get to the places she wanted to go, she didn’t just have to be smart: she had to be stubborn, and brave. That bravado she most often credited to her father, a mathematically inclined man himself who saw no reason for someone to take guff for being good at something.

She was a teacher through and through. She treated questions as an invitation to Socratic dialogue and debate, and she was always thrilled to find new things to learn, new facts and new connections. Professionally, she taught math to students from grade school to college over the course of her life, but her particular joy and gift was teaching mathematics to those to whom it didn’t come naturally. Her oft repeated explanation of her teaching philosophy described each fact that a student learned as a metaphorical ‘hook.’:

“It’s like hanging a picture on the wall. For some people it’s heavier, so you have to install enough hooks on the wall to support the weight of the picture. You keep giving them hooks, and eventually, you’ve given them enough hooks in their wall that they are suddenly able to hang the picture and see everything clearly.”

She had a deep love of creation. She cooked meals from a wide range of cultures, rarely using measurements, cooking by feel and flavor and intuition. She dedicated herself to a staggering array of artistic crafts; by the end of her life she would joke that the only craft she’d never tried was blacksmithing. Perhaps the most meaningful craft to her was pressing and preserving dried flowers for use in cards and other decorative purposes, combining her love of creation with her love of nature. She had a never-ending interest in the natural world, always wanting to “take the scenic route,” particularly in the spring, as the flowers started blooming, and the budding leaves began to haze the forest in green. She learned gardening from her mother, and raised flowers of her own for many years.

Betty struggled with mental health issues throughout her life. But she learned a lot from her experiences with anxiety, depression, and grief, and like the teacher she was, she was always wanting to pass those lessons along to those who might need them. When the winter was at its height, the holidays were over, and everything was feeling “grey,” she would say “Wait for the snowdrops. They’re those little white flowers, the first flowers to bloom in the spring. You just need to get through, because once you see them coming up, spring is right around the corner.”

The ebb and flow of her episodes of depression and mania were a constant mystery to her, but she leaned on her faith in God, turning to prayer and scripture and her loved ones to weather the anxiety until the snowdrops in her mind bloomed again. Because of this, her favorite Psalm for many years was Psalm 88. It is filled with despair, and among all of the Psalms it has an ending that mirrored her own feelings of depression:

You have taken from me friend and neighbor-

darkness is my closest friend.

This cry from someone chosen by God, was inspiring to her. That people of renowned faith in God can be shaken, and even in their faith, even in their prayers, be in agony and despair. It was a great comfort to her to know that that grief did not separate her from God or others. That one can be holy and loved and still be filled with hopelessness.

She ended her days with friends and people who cared for her, the last words on her lips were songs sung with family, and her last moments on earth were spent with family.