Eulogy
I stand here before you today as Donna's only biological granddaughter. I don't say this to set myself apart, but to remind us all that Donna's love knew no limits. Because as I look around the room, I see so many people here that called her Mom, called her Grandma, called her Grammy. She gave birth to one child and welcomed three more to her home. She loved the children of her second husband like they were her own and was delighted to be Grammy to their kids. Everyone was welcome at Donna's table, family or not. And she would treat you like family no matter who you were. She had enough love and laughter and spunk for everyone.
But it seems to me that love and laughter and spunk has been the theme of Donna's entire life. While many of us here today knew Donna Peebles well, few had the privilege of knowing Donna Edwards. I never had the chance to meet Donna Edwards myself, but I’ve heard countless stories, asked plenty of questions, and spent hours looking through the pictures you see here today. Donna Edwards was the baby of the family, and ornery from the start. She had a knack for mischief. After dinner at their Creal Springs home, she would sneak outside and climb a tree while her sister Shirley did the dishes. Shirley would threaten to leave the dishes undone, but when Donna came inside, the house was always neat as a pin. She’d grab a stack of comic books to share with Shirley, but she would sit on top of them, reading one at a time so Shirley couldn’t get to them—only handing over the ones she had already finished.
Donna once told me there were train tracks behind their house, and gypsies would travel along them in their wagons. When she heard them coming, she’d run outside to wave at them as they passed. She told me she was always jealous of the kids who seemed to live such a free-spirited life, but as she grew older, she realized those same kids might have envied the stable, loving home she had.
Donna was independent and outspoken with an adventurous spirit. Maybe too adventurous sometimes. Like when she fell in love with Wayne Fosse when she was a teen. He drove a cab and a little flirting turned into something more. I asked her, "What did your mom and dad think about you dating an older man at your age?" And she said, matter of fact. "I didn't think they needed to know." And they didn't know until he showed up at their door to take her to Vegas just in time for a little wedding and the birth of the joy of her entire life, Wayne Dale. She reminded me (again and again) as I struggled in my own pregnancy that being pregnant was the greatest she ever felt in her entire life. And how when my grandpa got word that she was having labor pains, he had a police escort home to see about her. She would describe how milk would dribble down baby Wayne's chin, how she loved his smile, and how she couldn't wait to get back to Illinois to show him off to everyone. And so they packed him up in a laundry basket between them and drove back to Marion where they would spend another 30 years together. And during that time, she would open her home and her heart to three more children, Terry, Connie, and Rocky. Hearing stories of their shenanigans and quotable moments, watching my dad narrate stories as they giggle and chime in is always a fond memory I have of times we've all been together.
But like most of you here, the lady I knew and the lady I loved was Donna Peebles. My earliest memories of Donna are at the Lake of Egypt in her house with her second husband, Loren, and their dog, Scout. When I close my eyes, I can still feel the breeze off the lake and hear her chimes twinkling as I sit on the screened in porch. I can still see her puttering in the kitchen pulling out every pickle and side and crunchy veggie known to man. I can still imagine those evenings sitting around the dining room table after dinner playing cards. "My hand looks like a foot." Loren would say. "Ok, it's pitch. You got your high, you got your low, you got your jack, and you got the game." I still don't know what that means. Donna loved to have everyone there, and she delighted in telling stories and playing cards. She had lots of friends. Her friend, Honey, would sit at her table and smoke cigarettes while they chatted. She and her neighbor, Betty, would fish and garden and gab. She would often talk on the phone to her friends, one leg kicked up over the arm of the chair. She had a room in the basement where she would paint. I can still see her in a button up shirt standing in front of her easel there.
I can still remember seeing Dillon and Ethan toddling over from their house across the street to see Grammy Donna. Of course, those two boys are now here as adult men, Dillon with two children of his own have grown up knowing and loving Grammy Donna. But even though it has been decades since they were boys, she still loved to tell the story of when she found ketchup colored green and she told the boys it was "GAGS ketchup – Green as Goose Shit" and they thought it was hysterical. When their mother would come over, they would say, "give me some of that GAGS ketchup, Grammy" and giggle and giggle, thinking they had a big secret.
Donna was the best grandma—patient, kind, and never in a hurry. She found pure joy in being with children and loved being "Grandma" or "Grammy" to anyone in her life. Funny, quirky, and creative, she filled every moment with warmth and laughter. We would do Sweatin' to the Oldies together, paint and draw, and she’d even set me up to sleep on the back porch. She had a love for yard sales, where she'd find the most ridiculous play outfits and swimsuits—like the one I remember most, a yellow bathing suit with a flopping duck bill on it. Looking back on these memories now, I can’t express enough how idyllic she made my childhood.
But it wasn't until much later in my life that I would get to know Donna Peebles as a friend, as an adult, as more than just my grandma. As most of you remember, in 2009, we had a bit of a storm here in town and during that storm, an oak tree fell on Donna's house with her inside. Some brave neighbors (and former classmates of mine) found her and talked her through until the emergency crews could arrive to pull her out. After some time in the hospital, she managed to fully recover but later would suffer from a partially detached retina that would render her blind. Somehow, Donna managed to have a generally good attitude about her blindness and while consistently lamenting how she wished she could see and what she would do if she could see, she generally took it in stride. She would ask us to move the furniture around if things were feeling stale, she lived at home and did well navigating life without sight. And while I would've given anything to grant her her sight back, I will say that I became closer to her during that time. I was already going over weekly for lunch that she prepared, but after she lost her sight, I started going over more frequently, either eating dinner with her or bringing dinner by a couple times a week.
During that time, I got to know Donna Peebles as my friend. I learned quickly that while she may have lost some of her sight, she more than made up for it in appetite, often eating me and my dad under the table. Donna had strong preferences—she knew what she liked and how she liked it. She had a love for her “crunchies,” often saying, "Sara, cut me an onion," and she never met a garden tomato she didn’t adore. In her later years, she coached us relentlessly on how to perfect the recipe she used to make "just right," though we rarely got it to her standards.
Donna also had a deep love for listening to her talking books, religiously tuned into Rick and Bubba’s radio programming, and was always ready for a cup of coffee on the back porch. I witnessed the incredible friendship she shared with her sister, Shirley. I have notebooks full of their banter and quotes—some I wish I could share, but most are sadly not fit for this audience.
I also saw the strong bond she had with her son, and his dedication to her care, her comfort, and, most importantly, her laughter right up until the end. Last week, she said to him so seriously, “Son, I hope I was a good mother to you.” Without missing a beat, he responded, “You were a great mom… if you hadn’t been so slow. You were a slowpoke my whole life.” And then they both laughed, as they always did.
Through my time with Donna, I learned how fiercely she loved her people, how she unapologetically danced to the beat of her own drum, how wonderfully raunchy and hilarious she could be, and how much of her I see in myself.
After the birth of my son, Javier, pretty much every time I would visit with Donna, she would talk about how Javi would never remember her. And I am now reminded of this. I read once that you have two deaths – the first death is the one we are here to honor today, the one where your heart stops beating. But the second one is when the last person utters your name. And I know I can speak for everyone in this room when I say that I will be telling stories about Donna and celebrating her memory for as long as I'm able to tell them.
In closing and on behalf of our family, I want to thank you all for being here today to support us but mostly to honor Donna Sue, the woman we all loved but probably not as much as she loved us. Donna’s legacy will live on in the stories we share, the laughter that fills our hearts, and the love she gave so freely to everyone she knew. Donna lived a long and full life, one that touched the hearts of so many. While we take comfort in the years she shared with us, her absence is felt more deeply because of the profound impact she had on all of our lives. But as I think of her now, I find comfort in imagining that she’s exactly where she planned to be—heaven. And I like to think that heaven looks a lot like a large oak table, just cleared after a hearty meal, where Donna is surrounded by friends and family, ready to begin another game of cards, her laughter echoing around the room. We love you, Donna Sue.