FUNERAL: From Funeral Home Website:
Nancy Jean (Nash) Hansen of Maple Valley died August 23 of complications from non-Hodgkin lymphoma. Born in Friday Harbor, Wash., on April 16, 1934, she was 77.
Nancy grew up on San Juan Island, where many islanders were relatives and everyone else was a friend. She visited the mainland just twice before her senior trip to Lake Wilderness with the Friday Harbor High School class of 1953.
On Feb. 20, 1954, Nancy married Raymond Leon Hansen, a Montanan who had joined the Coast Guard because he wanted to see Alaska, but was sent to Friday Harbor instead.
The couple settled in Seattle, where Ray worked for Boeing. In 1966, they bought acreage near Lake Webster and three years later moved into a house they built with the help of friends and family. In later years, Nancy and Ray traveled extensively.
Nancy is preceded in death by Ray and her parents, John and Edna Nash, as well as her four siblings: Patricia, William (Jackie), Richard and Robert. She is survived by her sons, all graduates of Tahoma schools: John (and LaDonna) and Keith (and Chris) of Maple Valley, Dan (and Pam) of Spokane and Rodney (and Dawn) of Pasco. She was blessed with nine grandchildren and two great-granddaughters.
A celebration of Nancy's life is scheduled for 11:30 a.m. on Saturday, Sept. 10, at Maple Valley Presbyterian Church. In lieu of flowers, the family suggests donations to the Maple Valley Food Bank.
Memorial Service
Saturday September 10, 2011, 11:30 a.m. at Maple Valley Presbyterian Church
MISC: Written by her son Dan Hansen and posted on Facebook, the morning of 23 August 2011
Thoughts on salmon and mothers
If somebody told me they left their dying mother's bedside to shop or see a movie, I'd wonder about their loyalty. Yet, Monday, I left Mom for something equally frivolous, knowing that even as I stood on the riverbank, casting for salmon, I might get a call saying she had passed.
For those who didn't know her, Mom was an island girl, raised in a family where salmon fishing was very nearly a religion. (Her grandfather made just one promise to get elected to the Legislature: to protect the rights of fishermen.) So Mom was amused by my recent frustration at being unable to catch a salmon. It's August in an odd numbered year, which means pink salmon (humpies) are swarming into Puget Sound and up rivers for spawning. Anyone with a garage-sale rod can catch them… no boat (or skill) required.
In mid-July, I vowed not to shave till I caught a salmon. We had no idea then that the cancer Mom has battled for nine years was about to win. Even after she entered the hospital three weeks ago, we assumed she'd return home. As the crisis developed, I made repeated trips to the West Side to see her, each time grabbing quick opportunities to fish. On one such day, I entered the hospital room, put my face near hers and tenderly whispered good morning. Without opening her eyes, she raised her hands to my face and said, "You didn't catch anything." It was a scold.
Now, I've been in Maple Valley since Wednesday, staying in her empty house when I'm not at the hospital. Three days ago, she became non-responsive. My brothers and I sit in her room, waiting for the labored breathing to stop. I'll be there again today, and it's my turn to spend the night... if she's still hanging on.
On Monday, Keith grew restless. After a while, he told the body in bed, "Mom, I'm taking Dan for a shave." Rod was in the room; John was home getting rest.
Let me admit that our fishing gear was in my truck. So, yeah, we had always seen this a possibility. "Mom wouldn't want us sitting around, crying," Keith justified. "She'd say, get out of here."
We drove half an hour from the hospital to the most abused river in the state, where our conversation was shouted over the roar of commercial airplanes, highway traffic and heavy equipment.
Earlier Monday, I had gotten to know a hospital volunteer whose wife died in February. Before she passed, Emilio told her that Dave Neihaus, the late Mariners broadcast commentator, would announce "My, oh, my!" when she entered heaven.
I wish I had thought to say that to my Mom, who loved the Mariners. But at least I'll be clean-shaven at her memorial service.
Nancy Jean (Nash) Hansen of Maple Valley died August 23 of complications from non-Hodgkin lymphoma. Born in Friday Harbor, Wash., on April 16, 1934, she was 77.
Nancy grew up on San Juan Island, where many islanders were relatives and everyone else was a friend. She visited the mainland just twice before her senior trip to Lake Wilderness with the Friday Harbor High School class of 1953.
On Feb. 20, 1954, Nancy married Raymond Leon Hansen, a Montanan who had joined the Coast Guard because he wanted to see Alaska, but was sent to Friday Harbor instead.
The couple settled in Seattle, where Ray worked for Boeing. In 1966, they bought acreage near Lake Webster and three years later moved into a house they built with the help of friends and family. In later years, Nancy and Ray traveled extensively.
Nancy is preceded in death by Ray and her parents, John and Edna Nash, as well as her four siblings: Patricia, William (Jackie), Richard and Robert. She is survived by her sons, all graduates of Tahoma schools: John (and LaDonna) and Keith (and Chris) of Maple Valley, Dan (and Pam) of Spokane and Rodney (and Dawn) of Pasco. She was blessed with nine grandchildren and two great-granddaughters.
A celebration of Nancy's life is scheduled for 11:30 a.m. on Saturday, Sept. 10, at Maple Valley Presbyterian Church. In lieu of flowers, the family suggests donations to the Maple Valley Food Bank.
Memorial Service
Saturday September 10, 2011, 11:30 a.m. at Maple Valley Presbyterian Church
MISC: Written by her son Dan Hansen and posted on Facebook, the morning of 23 August 2011
Thoughts on salmon and mothers
If somebody told me they left their dying mother's bedside to shop or see a movie, I'd wonder about their loyalty. Yet, Monday, I left Mom for something equally frivolous, knowing that even as I stood on the riverbank, casting for salmon, I might get a call saying she had passed.
For those who didn't know her, Mom was an island girl, raised in a family where salmon fishing was very nearly a religion. (Her grandfather made just one promise to get elected to the Legislature: to protect the rights of fishermen.) So Mom was amused by my recent frustration at being unable to catch a salmon. It's August in an odd numbered year, which means pink salmon (humpies) are swarming into Puget Sound and up rivers for spawning. Anyone with a garage-sale rod can catch them… no boat (or skill) required.
In mid-July, I vowed not to shave till I caught a salmon. We had no idea then that the cancer Mom has battled for nine years was about to win. Even after she entered the hospital three weeks ago, we assumed she'd return home. As the crisis developed, I made repeated trips to the West Side to see her, each time grabbing quick opportunities to fish. On one such day, I entered the hospital room, put my face near hers and tenderly whispered good morning. Without opening her eyes, she raised her hands to my face and said, "You didn't catch anything." It was a scold.
Now, I've been in Maple Valley since Wednesday, staying in her empty house when I'm not at the hospital. Three days ago, she became non-responsive. My brothers and I sit in her room, waiting for the labored breathing to stop. I'll be there again today, and it's my turn to spend the night... if she's still hanging on.
On Monday, Keith grew restless. After a while, he told the body in bed, "Mom, I'm taking Dan for a shave." Rod was in the room; John was home getting rest.
Let me admit that our fishing gear was in my truck. So, yeah, we had always seen this a possibility. "Mom wouldn't want us sitting around, crying," Keith justified. "She'd say, get out of here."
We drove half an hour from the hospital to the most abused river in the state, where our conversation was shouted over the roar of commercial airplanes, highway traffic and heavy equipment.
Earlier Monday, I had gotten to know a hospital volunteer whose wife died in February. Before she passed, Emilio told her that Dave Neihaus, the late Mariners broadcast commentator, would announce "My, oh, my!" when she entered heaven.
I wish I had thought to say that to my Mom, who loved the Mariners. But at least I'll be clean-shaven at her memorial service.
FUNERAL: From Funeral Home Website:
Nancy Jean (Nash) Hansen of Maple Valley died August 23 of complications from non-Hodgkin lymphoma. Born in Friday Harbor, Wash., on April 16, 1934, she was 77.
Nancy grew up on San Juan Island, where many islanders were relatives and everyone else was a friend. She visited the mainland just twice before her senior trip to Lake Wilderness with the Friday Harbor High School class of 1953.
On Feb. 20, 1954, Nancy married Raymond Leon Hansen, a Montanan who had joined the Coast Guard because he wanted to see Alaska, but was sent to Friday Harbor instead.
The couple settled in Seattle, where Ray worked for Boeing. In 1966, they bought acreage near Lake Webster and three years later moved into a house they built with the help of friends and family. In later years, Nancy and Ray traveled extensively.
Nancy is preceded in death by Ray and her parents, John and Edna Nash, as well as her four siblings: Patricia, William (Jackie), Richard and Robert. She is survived by her sons, all graduates of Tahoma schools: John (and LaDonna) and Keith (and Chris) of Maple Valley, Dan (and Pam) of Spokane and Rodney (and Dawn) of Pasco. She was blessed with nine grandchildren and two great-granddaughters.
A celebration of Nancy's life is scheduled for 11:30 a.m. on Saturday, Sept. 10, at Maple Valley Presbyterian Church. In lieu of flowers, the family suggests donations to the Maple Valley Food Bank.
Memorial Service
Saturday September 10, 2011, 11:30 a.m. at Maple Valley Presbyterian Church
MISC: Written by her son Dan Hansen and posted on Facebook, the morning of 23 August 2011
Thoughts on salmon and mothers
If somebody told me they left their dying mother's bedside to shop or see a movie, I'd wonder about their loyalty. Yet, Monday, I left Mom for something equally frivolous, knowing that even as I stood on the riverbank, casting for salmon, I might get a call saying she had passed.
For those who didn't know her, Mom was an island girl, raised in a family where salmon fishing was very nearly a religion. (Her grandfather made just one promise to get elected to the Legislature: to protect the rights of fishermen.) So Mom was amused by my recent frustration at being unable to catch a salmon. It's August in an odd numbered year, which means pink salmon (humpies) are swarming into Puget Sound and up rivers for spawning. Anyone with a garage-sale rod can catch them… no boat (or skill) required.
In mid-July, I vowed not to shave till I caught a salmon. We had no idea then that the cancer Mom has battled for nine years was about to win. Even after she entered the hospital three weeks ago, we assumed she'd return home. As the crisis developed, I made repeated trips to the West Side to see her, each time grabbing quick opportunities to fish. On one such day, I entered the hospital room, put my face near hers and tenderly whispered good morning. Without opening her eyes, she raised her hands to my face and said, "You didn't catch anything." It was a scold.
Now, I've been in Maple Valley since Wednesday, staying in her empty house when I'm not at the hospital. Three days ago, she became non-responsive. My brothers and I sit in her room, waiting for the labored breathing to stop. I'll be there again today, and it's my turn to spend the night... if she's still hanging on.
On Monday, Keith grew restless. After a while, he told the body in bed, "Mom, I'm taking Dan for a shave." Rod was in the room; John was home getting rest.
Let me admit that our fishing gear was in my truck. So, yeah, we had always seen this a possibility. "Mom wouldn't want us sitting around, crying," Keith justified. "She'd say, get out of here."
We drove half an hour from the hospital to the most abused river in the state, where our conversation was shouted over the roar of commercial airplanes, highway traffic and heavy equipment.
Earlier Monday, I had gotten to know a hospital volunteer whose wife died in February. Before she passed, Emilio told her that Dave Neihaus, the late Mariners broadcast commentator, would announce "My, oh, my!" when she entered heaven.
I wish I had thought to say that to my Mom, who loved the Mariners. But at least I'll be clean-shaven at her memorial service.
Nancy Jean (Nash) Hansen of Maple Valley died August 23 of complications from non-Hodgkin lymphoma. Born in Friday Harbor, Wash., on April 16, 1934, she was 77.
Nancy grew up on San Juan Island, where many islanders were relatives and everyone else was a friend. She visited the mainland just twice before her senior trip to Lake Wilderness with the Friday Harbor High School class of 1953.
On Feb. 20, 1954, Nancy married Raymond Leon Hansen, a Montanan who had joined the Coast Guard because he wanted to see Alaska, but was sent to Friday Harbor instead.
The couple settled in Seattle, where Ray worked for Boeing. In 1966, they bought acreage near Lake Webster and three years later moved into a house they built with the help of friends and family. In later years, Nancy and Ray traveled extensively.
Nancy is preceded in death by Ray and her parents, John and Edna Nash, as well as her four siblings: Patricia, William (Jackie), Richard and Robert. She is survived by her sons, all graduates of Tahoma schools: John (and LaDonna) and Keith (and Chris) of Maple Valley, Dan (and Pam) of Spokane and Rodney (and Dawn) of Pasco. She was blessed with nine grandchildren and two great-granddaughters.
A celebration of Nancy's life is scheduled for 11:30 a.m. on Saturday, Sept. 10, at Maple Valley Presbyterian Church. In lieu of flowers, the family suggests donations to the Maple Valley Food Bank.
Memorial Service
Saturday September 10, 2011, 11:30 a.m. at Maple Valley Presbyterian Church
MISC: Written by her son Dan Hansen and posted on Facebook, the morning of 23 August 2011
Thoughts on salmon and mothers
If somebody told me they left their dying mother's bedside to shop or see a movie, I'd wonder about their loyalty. Yet, Monday, I left Mom for something equally frivolous, knowing that even as I stood on the riverbank, casting for salmon, I might get a call saying she had passed.
For those who didn't know her, Mom was an island girl, raised in a family where salmon fishing was very nearly a religion. (Her grandfather made just one promise to get elected to the Legislature: to protect the rights of fishermen.) So Mom was amused by my recent frustration at being unable to catch a salmon. It's August in an odd numbered year, which means pink salmon (humpies) are swarming into Puget Sound and up rivers for spawning. Anyone with a garage-sale rod can catch them… no boat (or skill) required.
In mid-July, I vowed not to shave till I caught a salmon. We had no idea then that the cancer Mom has battled for nine years was about to win. Even after she entered the hospital three weeks ago, we assumed she'd return home. As the crisis developed, I made repeated trips to the West Side to see her, each time grabbing quick opportunities to fish. On one such day, I entered the hospital room, put my face near hers and tenderly whispered good morning. Without opening her eyes, she raised her hands to my face and said, "You didn't catch anything." It was a scold.
Now, I've been in Maple Valley since Wednesday, staying in her empty house when I'm not at the hospital. Three days ago, she became non-responsive. My brothers and I sit in her room, waiting for the labored breathing to stop. I'll be there again today, and it's my turn to spend the night... if she's still hanging on.
On Monday, Keith grew restless. After a while, he told the body in bed, "Mom, I'm taking Dan for a shave." Rod was in the room; John was home getting rest.
Let me admit that our fishing gear was in my truck. So, yeah, we had always seen this a possibility. "Mom wouldn't want us sitting around, crying," Keith justified. "She'd say, get out of here."
We drove half an hour from the hospital to the most abused river in the state, where our conversation was shouted over the roar of commercial airplanes, highway traffic and heavy equipment.
Earlier Monday, I had gotten to know a hospital volunteer whose wife died in February. Before she passed, Emilio told her that Dave Neihaus, the late Mariners broadcast commentator, would announce "My, oh, my!" when she entered heaven.
I wish I had thought to say that to my Mom, who loved the Mariners. But at least I'll be clean-shaven at her memorial service.
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