On Saturday, November 27, 2021, my sister, Norma Lilly Todd, left this world for the next, the heavenly one, after a long, long illness. You may find her obituary here.
She was 16 months older than me, two years ahead of me in school. Born Sept 5, 1950 in Providence, RI, she was a premie by at least a month, maybe more. This would show up years later in her health problems.
We were raised in Cranston, RI, joined two years after my birth by our brother Edward. Norma, as the oldest, was the one to one supply childhood names for our grandparents, Gar and Grime—names that stuck forever. She established the pattern of the Todd children being scholars (a pattern Edward broke, not because he lacked smarts, but because he had to carve out a different territory for himself).
When Mom died in 1965, Norma was 14, I was 13, and Edward was 11. A lot of the burden of the family duties fell on her. Of course, Mom was so sick leading up to her death that we all were already doing most of the chores a mother would do, including Dad taking on much of the cooking. But Norma probably had a greater burden than Edward and me.
Norma graduated with honors along the way, from Cranston High School East in 1968. She went on to Rhode Island College, graduating in 1972 with a B.S. in Elementary Education.
She discovered that teaching young children really wasn’t her calling, and instead went into retail, working at a Pier One Imports close to our house. They offered her a management position in Evansville, Indiana. So she became the first of the fledglings to fly the coop in, if I remember correctly, November 1973. I did the same in June 1974, moving to Kansas City.
Once we moved away from each other, and in the age back when long-distance telephone was still expensive, communications became infrequent and visits even more so. I drove from KC to Evansville to visit her twice before I married, and she flew to KC twice to visit Lynda and me after we married. Since, over the years, we made many trips from KC or Arkansas to Rhode Island, we stopped often in Evansville to see her.
Norma’s health was never good, and she didn’t have a lot of strength. At some point, maybe around 1990-91, she left her retail management position—which involved her unloading delivery trucks—and went to work as a receptionist at her church, a job she held until her retirement around three or four years ago. Her connection to that is an interesting story, one that I had a part in. When I visited her in October, 1974, I witnessed to her about my conversion experience (from being a nominal, Christian-in-name-only to being born again). After my trip, she wrote me a letter saying thanks but no thanks. It was less than a year later that she sent me a card, saying something on front like, “I meant to call, I meant to write, I meant to visit, but I didn’t so…” and then, inside, “…I’m praying for you.” In that card she wrote about her conversion. Needless to say, I hopped in the car as soon as I could and visited her over the weekend, including Sunday morning service at Bethel Temple.
Norma was a girl scout growing up, active in that throughout her school years. As an adult, her interests outside of work and church included crafts, especially making greeting cards. Each birthday and holiday we received a homemade, personalized card from her.
Norma never married. If she had boyfriends along the way she didn’t tell me about them.
About 10-15 years ago, she called to say she had been diagnosed with uterine cancer. In the course of the examinations, they discovered she had only 40 percent lung capacity, most likely as a result of her premature birth. Due to her general health condition, they would not operate for her cancer. They treated it by radiation, and she was considered a cancer survivor.
But her health deteriorated over the years as her knees wore out and she battled the bulge, like everyone in our family did. She had been confined to a wheelchair, though still living at home. Various friends looked in on her. It was August this year that she took a turn for the worse, spending the rest of her time in hospitals, rehab, and a nursing home. When we last talked by phone, she requested that we not come out and see her. “We went our separate ways long ago,” she said. We reluctantly honored her wish. She had her after-death arrangements made, which included cremation and no services.
Norma is survived by me, our half-sister Deb Harris, six nephews and nieces, many cousins, and a host of friends, mainly in Evansville. I want to give special recognition to Bob and Ellan, the friends who have given her much help and lots of time over the years, especially lately.
A popular response to the death of a loved one is to say they have joined so and so in heaven and is now looking down on us. I’m not sure that’s biblical, though it may be comforting. But I do know that’s where Norma is now, because of her faith in Jesus. She fought the good fight; she finished the race; she kept the faith. She has now heard those words that all who love Jesus want to hear: “Well done, good and faithful servant. Enter now into the joy of the Lord.”
