There comes a time when we must move on and leave behind those we've loved on this plane we call life. It's not a choice we take lightly and it's not the end of our story. It's really the beginning of yet another story, one that each of you here will someday experience. They say you can't take it with you, but what we all take is our love and memories.

My story here began on July 13, 1926, in Omaha, Nebraska. I was the fourth of five children born to Maurice and Mandana Knapp. My family were of modest means and struggled like so many did during the depression years. My mom had been a school teacher before she married my dad and he'd been in the service in World War 1. We weren't highly educated and didn't have fancy professions, but we had each other and we had a home in each other's hearts. As a child I always thought I'd live to be 100, so making it to 96 is pretty much making it all the way.

I wanted to quit school while in high school, so my parents told me I could if I got a job and paid my own way. So I took a job shaving hair off of pigs ears at a paint brush factory. After one week, I was back in school. I married just a few weeks before I graduated from North High School in 1944. By 1947, I had three children: Pepper, Pete and Gordon. Pepper was born in Omaha, Nebraska; Pete was born in Atascadero, California; and Gordon was born in Council Bluffs, Iowa. I decided not to move again if that was the result, even though I always said I wanted 12 boys and I didn't care how many girls in between.

In the fall of 1954, after recently divorcing, I moved my kids to California and remarried their father. I went to work for McDonnell Douglas Aircraft in Santa Monica in February of 1955, working as a tool crib attendant. Mind you, I barely knew the difference between a paper clip and a rolling pin, but somehow I learned all the tools quickly. After a few years, I transferred to the planning department where I worked as a change recorder and then as a release planner with only a short hiatus until my retirement in 1988.

In 1960, I divorced my childrens' father a second time. I was a decent cook, but I was an even better baker. So, I began to make extra money by baking and decorating cakes in addition to taking in ironing. The kids were a great help as I'd taught then from the time they could stand on a chair to do dishes and help with cooking chores. In 1963 I double-dated with two co-workers in the planning department and that's how I met and married my second third husband. In the spring of 1964, we moved to Tempe, Arizona and I became a housewife. After about a two-year stint, we came back to California and I returned to McDonnell Douglas in the planning department. That marriage ended in 1979 after 16 years.

I remained unattached until I met my last and final husband, John Hartman, and married him in 1990 after about a six-year relationship. After his death in 2006, I remained in our home until 2009 when I moved to Denver, Colorado near my youngest child. I was having some health issues that needed attention and my son couldn't accommodate me at his home due to construction in progress, so I took a respite at Park Place Retirement Community in Denver and ended up leasing an apartment there where I lived until 2020.

The pandemic was a pretty tough time for us. We were isolated from everyone. Care facilities were forbidden from letting visitors in, so I used to go out on the balcony and my son would sit down on the ground and we'd talk on the phone and see each other. In the midst of 2020, Gordon moved to the outer edges of Denver and so I decided to move to another facility nearby. Harvard Square became my home which made it much easier for both of us because he was only two blocks away.

I was known at both Park Place and Harvard Square for my fancy hats that I wore each day, for the butterflies I collected and pasted all over my walker and wheelchair and for the butterfly brooches, necklaces and rings I wore. I was famous for my peanut butter and Ritz cracker cookies that I made for every occasion. Everyone knew me as the Bingo lady and the poker lady. They never liked seeing me coming because they knew I'd take their money away.

Though I could be salty and sarcastic but not stubborn, I was known for my quick wit, my sense of humor, my kindness and generosity and my ever sweet smile. Those close to me knew I could smile through all of it.

I loved my children fiercely and was so proud of each of them. I was proud of my whole family and would get to brag about the 10 grandchildren I had, the 20 great grandchildren and the 23 or 24 great-great grand children plus two more on the way. I am now with four of my grandchildren: Billy, Jim, Petie and Scot. I leave behind a long line of descendants who have filled my heart with pride and joy.

I've been blessed with 96 years and many chapters in my life, but here is where my last chapter ends on this plane. Speaking through my children, their children and their children, if I haven't told you lately, I have loved you all with each and every breath I took.

I will leave you with these words from Many Winters:

Prose and Poetry of the Pueblos:

There were always loving arms to enfold you no matter what the pain.

There was always an open mind to embrace you, no matter what the difference.

There was always hope to guide you, no matter what the horizon.

There was never a time that love did not live at home.

There was never a time when a mother's love was not enough to feed the spirit and give strength to an uncertain life.

There were times when we doubted it, but it was there.

We only had to open up to it.

Hold on to what is good even if it is a handful of earth.

Hold on to what you believe even if it is a tree which stands by itself.

Hold on to what you must do even if it is a long way from here.

Hold on to life even when it is easier letting go.

Hold on to my hand even when I have gone away from you.