Vivian Draper

Vivian Draper, 87, of Robinson, IL, passed away on Sunday, December 7, 2025, at Robinson Rehab and Nursing. She was born May 17, 1938, in Porterville, IL, and grew up all over the area before settling into the Palestine community, where she tended to her home and everyone who ever found themselves welcomed through her front door. It was evident that Vivian cooked like someone who trusted her heart more than any recipe card. She was famous for her bean noodles, her dressing, and her one-of-a-kind beef rice-a-roni seared in a cast-iron skillet. She never measured. She just added a pinch of this and a pinch of that until the kitchen smelled right. She was glad to share a recipe, but bless your heart if you thought it would turn out like hers. Her cooking lived in her instincts to the point that whatever she wrote down was more of a polite gesture than an actual guide.

Vivian was a woman of routines. She went to bed in the early evening, woke up around midnight or one in the morning, and started her day before most people even rolled over. She loved big breakfasts. Bacon, eggs, the whole spread. And Sundays always meant Sunday dinner at ten o'clock sharp, which made perfect sense to her since it was practically suppertime in her world. Her family came for the food, but even more for the warmth of gathering in her house, under her care, around her table. The way she cared for her family was the same way she coaxed life out of a fading plant, steady and instinctive and full of attention. If you had a plant that was drooping or dying, you would take it to Vivian, and she would bring it back to life.

She also had a soft spot for needlepoint and spent countless hours creating things her family now cherishes. Handkerchiefs, baby blankets, little projects that found their way into drawers and boxes and hearts. When she wasn't stitching, she had a word search puzzle nearby, usually cut straight from the newspaper. She clipped everything from the paper. New recipes. Interesting articles. If you made it into the newspaper (for any reason at all), she clipped that too and added it to the collection on her corkboard. She collected salt and pepper shakers, too. Not a few. Not dozens. Hundreds. Thirty years of collecting turned a hobby into something closer to a family-supported habit. Her people fed that addiction as faithfully as she fed them.

Vivian enjoyed many things, but she especially loved her "Redbirds." Cardinals in the yard and the St. Louis Cardinals on TV. She followed the team with enthusiasm, partly out of love and partly because it bothered her significant other, Richard, a die-hard Cubs fan. That was Vivian. A little mischievous. A lot entertaining. Her sass did not fade with time, either. If anything, it grew stronger in her later years. She would cuss out the nursing home staff with conviction and then turn right around and say, "I've always loved you," like the sun coming out after a storm. They called her "the cookie monster" because she always wanted a cookie to nibble. Oatmeal creme pies were her favorite, and oatmeal raisin a close second. Snacks made her happy, especially at Christmas when she could open a bag, box, tin, or tray of munchies and declare the holiday complete.

But nothing made her life complete like her loved ones, especially the kids of the family. She spoiled her nephews. She took care of her great-granddaughter, Hope, while her mother worked. She babysat grandkids and made memories that still get told and retold. She would take them to the VFW, order them kiddy cocktails, and let them shoot pool like they owned the place. And over all that spoiling and all that fun, there was one constant. She was always singing. She sang made-up songs to her grandkids. She sang in the nursing home hallway. She sang when people came to perform for the residents. She clapped, she swayed, she hummed, and she filled silence with melody. For years, she always had the radio and/or the TV going in the background at home, even during phone calls. She simply lived with a soundtrack.

But away from home, she appreciated the stilled silence of early morning walks with Little Bear, her dog and closest companion. They were inseparable. The kind of inseparable where one did not know how to be without the other. Last week, Little Bear passed, and we take comfort in knowing they are finally together again, walking those quiet morning paths.

Vivian was fiery, unpredictable, hilariously unfiltered, deeply caring, loud in the best ways, and tender in the ways that mattered. She was a handful, but she was our handful. And we would not have had her any other way.

She is survived by her children & their spouses, Donna & Tony Terry, William Hershey, Nellie Denny, and Carl & Marcy Crecelius. She also leaves behind six grandchildren, Christina, Amanda, John Paul, Jenny, Carl Jr, and April. Several beloved great-grandchildren, great-great-grandchildren, nieces, and nephews also survive. She was preceded in death by her parents, Theodore & Cora (Melton) Littlejohn; her brothers, Thomas Littlejohn, James Littlejohn, and Robert Littlejohn; her sisters, Cora Berry, Margaret Littlejohn, and Bonnie Burtron; and by her special friend, Richard Flynn.

A time of visitation will be held from 1:00 to 2:00 p.m. on Friday, December 12th, at the Goodwine Funeral Home in Robinson. Funeral services will immediately follow at 2:00 p.m., with Celebrant Curt Goodwine officiating. During the service, family and friends will be invited to speak to the fullness of this one-of-a-kind woman's life. Burial will be in the Palestine Cemetery. Memorial contributions may be made to the Alzheimer's Association, with envelopes available at the funeral home. Donations may also be made online by clicking the link below.