Two weeks ago, my wife and I were driving south through Washington, Oregon, and California to attend a memorial service for my Aunt Marian who died at the age of 97. She was a much-loved matriarch of the Snodgrass family, the older sister of my father and his brother, Ross. They grew up in Pittsburgh (PA) during the great depression. My grandfather, her father, was a civil engineer employed by US Steel and spent his career working on railroad logistics, a vital role that moved raw materials and steel in and out of the Pittsburgh steel plant.
In 1950, Aunt Marian married Norman Phillips after he came back from the Korean War. ‘Stormin’ Norman spent his entire career with Eastman Kodak. After making several moves around the US east coast, they moved in 1969 to the US west coast and bought a home in Menlo Park (CA) where they raised my three cousins. During the summer of 1977, I was employed as a roustabout in the California oil fields near Bakersfield. I was able to visit the Phillips’ Menlo Park home several times along with spending weekends in National Parks, Reno (NV), and Bakersville with my cousins.
One of my aunt’s many gifts was hospitality. She was a suburb cook who kept detailed records of every dish she served visitors. She never served the same dish twice to a guest, no matter how often they ate at her home. Her meals were feasts, especially her heavenly desserts. As I was leaving her home to drive back to Bakersfield, she offered to pack me sandwiches for the long drive. I declined as there were strict rules about traveling with fruit during the fruit fly outbreak.
When I was stopped at an agricultural inspection station, the state official asked if I had any fruit in my car. I replied “no.” He asked if he could open my ice chest. I said “sure,” and he popped the lid off. Inside the ice chest were apples and oranges placed by Aunt Marian who decided, without telling me, that I needed the food. I tried to explain to the official about my aunt’s hospitality, but it did not work. He angrily told me to dump the fruit and leave.
Over the decades, I saw my aunt and her family at weddings, family gatherings, and funerals. Somehow, she always managed to be with her extended family. Norm and Marian sold their Menlo Park home in 2004 and moved into the Sequoias Portola Valley retirement community, not far from Stanford University. Uncle Norm died in 2012, a great loss for our family. Two of Marian’s children lived nearby her and looked after her needs.
In 2018, the extended family gathered in San Jose to celebrate her 90th birthday. Tables were set up in my cousin’s backyard, and she was surrounded by loved ones. Speeches and toasts were made in her honor. People spoke about her cooking, funny stories, and past family gatherings. It was an evening celebrating the love and joy of a life well-lived.
When the Covid pandemic hit, my aunt was stranded in her retirement community. She was frail and the health risks were too great for her to be in public. This was a really difficult time for her, and we called her to keep her spirits up. After we all had our Covid vaccinations, I flew with my dad to San Jose to reunite the two siblings. It was a joyful reunion that she greatly appreciated. I promised to arrange for her brother Ross to see her.
In the Spring of 2022, I drove my father to Phoenix (AZ) and picked up his brother Ross. We drove to San Jose and spent four days together with the Phillips family. We swapped family stories and laughed as we viewed old pictures. I don’t think I have ever seen my aunt so happy.
I was able to see her during the summers of 2023 and 2024 as we drove through California on our way to and from Canada. Her health was in decline, and our last visit was in her retirement community assisted living area. I knew that her earthly end was near. No matter how difficult it is to see a loved one decline in health, every time together was a celebration of a life well-lived.
After learning of Marian’s death, the Phillips family informed us that Marian’s wish was for the family to gather at Seascape Resort, a favorite place for the Phillips during holidays. Marian paid for our rooms as she requested that the family be together. After her memorial service, we drove south to Monterey Bay for the weekend. Her two brothers in their 90s, my siblings, the Phillips, my Chicago cousins, and my father’s Philadelphia cousin traveled many air miles to be together to celebrate Marian’s life. We mourned her death, but we knew that Marian had a deep Christian faith as she joined the Church Triumphant in eternal life.
My recent publication, Charismata: A Life of Vocation, directs the reader to harken back to the original biblical meaning of vocation, accepting the call of God to a life of faith, and focus on using God-given gifts in service. Aunt Marian understood the true meaning of vocation and served her community. Her home was always open, a place where joy abounded. I miss her greatly and look forward to seeing her again when I join the Church Triumphant. I thank God for the life of Marian Phillips.
