Elaine Pierce

I was born in 1954 in rural central Iowa, the fourth child (after Sharon, Jon, and Rebecca) of Jasper and Maurine Riskedahl, who farmed just outside of Williams. Ours was a staunchly Norwegian Lutheran home, with an emphasis on church, family, and keeping the house clean, although as the youngest child I had lots of play time and truly look at my childhood through rose-tinted glasses. With an abundance of love, laughter, books, and music in our home, it was a wonderful way to grow up.
I spent my childhood either at the farm in Iowa or at the farm of my paternal grandparents in northwest Wisconsin. The farm in Wisconsin was mostly timber, so as kids we spent much of our time there wandering in the woods, walking along narrow trails that the dairy cows had made. For me it was idyllic.
In 1967 Interstate 35 was built through the center of our farm, and we moved to the metropolis of Independence, population 5000, two hours due east. Mother became chair of the high school English department, and Daddy joined the Farmers Home Administration. Rebecca and I graduated from high school there. It was a good place.
Our house was next to the Wapsipinicon River (Mother hated when our basement got damp in the spring), and we had a huge back yard and a big garden, and a raspberry patch which kept trying to take over the rest of the yard. Daddy would have scratches on his arms all summer long from picking raspberries, and every summer we would freeze enough jam to feed the 82ndAirborne.
I graduated from Wheaton College, just west of Chicago, in 1977, with a double major in literature and music. With equal hours taken in voice, piano, and organ, I became a jack of all trades and master of none, but I very happily ended up using all three instruments equally. My sister Rebecca, two years ahead of me, was very smart and studious; I was a serious letdown to faculty who assumed I would continue the family honor. My primary goal was to have fun, and with the dubious help of a lot of skipped classes I succeeded.
I married Wayne Pierce (a fellow Wheaton graduate) in 1978, and we moved to Oak Park, Illinois, where we had a daughter, Trinity, in 1985. After we divorced, Larry Ritsert and I had a son, Jeff, in 1992.
I was musically active all my life, singing in choral ensembles, leading children's music at church, and substituting as a (very pedestrian) church organist. I loved old movies. I loved reading medieval mysteries and my annotated Sherlock Holmes. I loved traveling anywhere, but especially to Italy. I loved all things Disney and all things Norwegian. I loved having Jeff read me poetry. I loved visiting national parks with Trinity.
I loved my children. How can parents even begin to verbalize how much they love their children? I didn't quite worship the ground they walked on, but it was close. Trinity and Jeffrey were my north and south and east and west, and after Jeff was overwhelmed by the lies of depression and died by suicide in 2017, Trinity, even more, became my heart's delight. As much as I loved her, she loved me back. If ever any beauty I did see, Which I desired, and hot, 'twas but a dream of thee.
My gratitude for God's daily presence in my life has been boundless. Our conversations may have included a lot of grousing on my part, but I always knew that God was beside me with a love that was infinite. I believe that I will see my loved ones and all those who have gone before (Therefore with angels and archangels, and with all the company of heaven ), and it will be in a place beyond my imagining.
I am survived by my siblings: Sharon Riskedahl, Jon Riskedahl, and Rebecca Mitchell; by Trinity's father, Wayne Pierce; by Jeffrey's father, Larry Ritsert; and by my extraordinary daughter, Trinity.
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