Pat was a colleague, mentor, and friend. She was always ready to help me--having no family in the area, I often needed support, and Pat was right there. She was a great storyteller, and a great children's librarian. She had wonderful ideas and great enthusiasm. Once, she agreed to work for me on a Saturday, so I could stay home to watch my alma mater's football team play Nebraska. She even had to do a craft that day. It was a Thanksgiving turkey, and I was certainly grateful. Pat was a wonderful mother and left a legacy in her two sons and her daughter who herself became a wonderful mother. I will miss her.

Sandy Reynolds

my mom

My mom was the greatest mom, in my eyes it seemed. I'm sure most sons say that, and for them and me it's true. I would like for you to leave today knowing a little of why I think she was great, and how she lived to make her the woman and mother we continue to love. The songs we have been singing this morning were some of her favorites. She loved singing hymns because she felt closer to God when she sang. She would hum them while she worked or drove in the car. One of my favorites was one that she sang in the car, and we'll sing it at the end today, "I'll Fly Away". If you don't know it listen to the words and you will know why it's a favorite of mom's.

Mom loved family. She loved it when we were all together, my dad, brother, sister and myself. She loved it when we all would get together after my sister got married and had a family of her own. She loved it when her and her sisters, mom and dad got together. Again, she loved to sing hymns and singing them with her sisters was always something special to her, especially when her parents could listen. She would talk about how special that was while we would drive home from Kansas. She loved seeing my dad's mom and family in Pennsylvania. Two of the sister-in-laws didn't get together for years. And a few years ago when we went to visit both sister-in-laws, dad's brothers and their children came to visit at the same time. And it seemed that canyon that was between them was bridged. My mom was so glad to see that. It had been something she prayed about for years.

My mom loved church and loves Christ Jesus. To really know and understand my mom I encourage you to seek and then know Christ as your Savior, Christ was the architect of her life. Now, it wasn't always this way, at least as my mom alluded from time to time. There was a time when my mom did not put all of herself into the faith she held so dear. She had doubts about God and I'm sure fear. For that she had some regret because she saw wasted time. Time she could have been more productive. But as long as I knew her she put Christ first, humbling herself, and seeing joy and the positives in live was how she lived!

Of course, when she would burn her purse in the oven, a whole story in itself, or the peanut butter cookies, which was more often than a purse. She would panic, "a-a-ah!" And then call for us, if we hadn't already scampered into the kitchen first, and would say, "we better eat these cookies before they get too cool." And there is nothing better than eating a warm cookie than being told to eat them all. Of course, you had to share! Mom would always share. Often, if there was not enough to go around she did without and if you said, "that's okay, you take it", she graciously and unyieldingly refused. Some times she shared involuntarily, like ice tea, candy bars (Butter Finger, her favorite), and of course POPCORN! But mom shared much more than that, she shared her faith, which was much greater. And for that I am thankful.

I would like to close with a Psalm that she had marked in one of her bibles. It seems to describe how mom tried to live. Psalm 119:30-33 "30 I have chosen the faithful way; I have placed Thine ordinances before me. 31 I cleave to Thy testimonies; O Lord, do not put me to shame! 32 I shall run the way of Thy commandments, For Thou wilt enlarge my heart. 33 Teach me, O Lord, the way of Thy statutes, And I shall observe it to the end." New American standard. 1978. The Ryrie study Bible.

Pat was an amazing person. Having worked with her since the 1980’s, I am able to say she truly embodied creativity. An outstanding storyteller, she could draw in audiences of children and adults, until we were all hanging on her words. Her knowledge of Children’s Literature allowed her to develop creative programs for children at all levels and the programs included unique crafts, songs, and dramatic presentations, as well as the printed book material. No challenge seemed to daunt her, and together we provided Garland’s children with year-round literary stimulation.

At first glance, Pat seemed shy and retiring, in short, a typical librarian. This however did not do justice to her open mind and flair for the dramatic. We could always count on Pat to come up with the sparkle and pizzazz for a program.

Although she retired just a short time ago, she will remain in my memory for years to come…and I suspect in the memories of thousands of children who grew up in Garland. I admired her enormously.
We will all miss her.

Liza Arredondo

early morning call

My dad called at 6:15 this morning to tell me that my Aunt Pat had died. A heart attack during a visit to Pennsylvania.

I confess I did not know my Aunt Pat well growing up. I knew she was my mom's big sister, the smart one, the one to whom my mom always compared herself.
I knew she was a librarian, and spoke with a gentle voice, and told stories to children. I knew she had three children herself, my cousins: Sabrina, who seemed destined for the stage somewhere as she swooped about our family meetings dramatically, Cliff, artistic and the quietest boy I had ever met, and Eric, the youngest who bubbled with energy and had a smile that begged to be splashed all over ads for peanut butter and cereal. I knew she used to live in Kansas City with my parents and her husband, big Cliff, before I was born, but had moved to Texas and made it her home for many years. Everything else about her was hidden in the secrets of the Adult World. And when I finally joined the Adult World myself, I never thought to ask, finally, for the rest of her story. After all, there are so many questions to ask once you're old enough to finally think of asking them. And old enough to stop and listen to the answer.


Aunt Pat on her second birthday

When my first daughter, Annika was born, Aunt Pat sent me a thick book of Mother Goose rhymes, beautifully illustrated by Rosemary Wells. It was the kind of gift that matched perfectly my memory of my Aunt: bookish, aware of tradition, but slyly humorous. When Annika was a few years older, it became such a favorite that I had to put it away out of her reach. She kept trying to tear out her favorite pages and tuck them into her bed.

Aunt Pat took time off to come to Chicago when Annika was at her very sickest as she waited for a liver transplant at the tender age of 12 months. Her sons, first Eric and then Cliff, had volunteered to donate a piece of liver to replace Annika's dying one. She had to sit with both Eric and Cliff as the doctors and social workers explained in stark terms the possible complications of donating. She was there with Cliff before they wheeled him off to the operating room. The last question they ask, and not for the first or even second time or third time, before putting donors under anesthesia is, "Are you absolutely sure you want to do this? Even if it kills you? You do know that you could die from this?" Cliff answered, "Yes," and his bravery is astonishing to me. But also amazingly brave was his mother, my Aunt Pat, who stood there with him. As a mother now, I know that the thought of losing a child is many times more painful than the thought of dying yourself. And yet she stood by Cliff, and told him how proud she was of him and his decision to save a dying baby that he had never even met before his trip to the hospital in Chicago. She was a strong and compassionate woman, who raised strong and compassionate children.

During those days that we waited for the arrangements for the operation to be made, Aunt Pat spent most of her time in the hospital with Annika and my mom and me. The waiting was hard: Aunt Pat was not used to the waiting. She believed in being useful and productive in every waking minute, and our time spent waiting and watching Annika struggle was certainly neither. So she volunteered to do story times for the kids, but was told that the vetting process for volunteers at the hospital took many months. I'm sorry that the kids there didn't get a chance to hear her spin a tale in her soft and careful enunciation, and sorry, too, that I didn't get a chance to hear one of her stories as an adult.

By the time Aunt Pat arrived in Chicago, Annika had reached the point in her illness that she needed me to hold her constantly. Even sleeping, if I tried to lay her in her crib, she would scream, eyes still closed but feeling the cold air that signalled that human contact had been broken. Jörg brought food to the room for me, and my showers became 45-second affairs rather than the warm-water escape therapy of the previous months. I could not stand to hear her scream. I was scared of her dying, but I was even more scared that she would die unhappy or hurting or not feeling the safety and security of loving arms.

I was sleep-deprived and dreaded the necessity of showers and toilet breaks and anything that meant I had to remove Annika from my arms. But one day I handed Annika to my mom. As usual, Annika realized that the always available comfort of my breasts (she nursed often), was suddenly missing, and she started to cry. My mom began to rock Anni back and forth on her shoulder as she stood in the middle of the room. My Aunt Pat came over to them and stood right behind Annika, rocking in time with my mom, so that Annika was completely surrounded. Aunt Pat rubbed Anni's back and began singing her a song she had heard me sing Anni many times, Tell Me Why. Amazingly, Annika stopped crying. I left the room for the first time in weeks feeling relaxed. When I came back 25 minutes later, Aunt Pat and my mom were still standing and rocking together with Annika snuggled in between them. Aunt Pat was still singing, and my mom had joined in. It was a beautiful and touching scene. I wish I could have recorded that moment to show Anni, to show her how very much she was loved by this great Aunt that she never met again and now never will. I hope this eulogy will help her know someday. Aunt Pat was a beautiful woman, the sort of woman who knew how to give comfort, and which song fit the moment best.

My Aunt Pat was generous with her love, and I am so sorry for the pain her children and husband and parents and sisters and grandchildren must be feeling right now. She lived a full life, raised three wonderful children, and touched the lives of countless others as the librarian who told eye-widening stories. The world is a lesser place without her gentle voice and smiling eyes. I hope her touch is carried on in the lives of her children and grandchildren, and perhaps even in my own child, who felt her loving touch at a time when she needed it most. Thank you and I love you, Aunt Pat. Goodbye.