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BORN
1929
DIED
2023
Patsy TSCHIDA Obituary
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for Patsy TSCHIDA
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4 Entries
Christine Tschida
November 7, 2023
Eulogy for Patsy Ruth Tschida
March 12, 1929-October 29, 2023
My siblings and I want to thank you all for being here with us today to honor our mother, Patsy Ruth Tschida.
Many of you have told us how much Patsy meant to you, how sweet and kind she was, and how she truly made the world a better place. We think so too, and want to share a little more with you about her life, and the qualities that we think made this simple woman simply remarkable.
To say that Patsy grew up in humble circumstances would be an understatement. She was born in 1929 when things were tough for everyone, but her family was truly poor. Her first home didn't have indoor plumbing. Her father was 22 years older than her mother, and, more than once, Patsy was sent to catch up with him on payday before he spent too much at the corner bar.
But mom never told stories of how hard things were for her growing up. Instead, she told us about the chickens they had, or how her wonderful great-grandfather (a Civil War Veteran) came to live with them. Up until the last year of her life, she would talk of how she loved it when Grandpa Rolph played the fiddle. If she had music in her life, it seemed, how bad could things be?
Despite moving from one rental property to another, Patsy managed to go to school, where she was an eager learner and diligent student. Her beautiful cursive penmanship, which she retained into her 90´s, earned her a Palmer Method Award. But a more prized possession, which still hangs on the wall at home, is a small painting of flowers given to her from her 3rd grade teacher, Mrs. Hardwick.
"My dear Patsy," it is inscribed, "I want to thank you for the many, many dear sweet things you have done for me. Keep this red poppy picture to remember your old friend and teacher."
In high school, she got a job selling candy at The Paramount Theater in downtown St. Paul, where she could see some of her idols like Shirley Temple and Eleanor Powell, or newsreels featuring her admired President Franklin Delano Roosevelt. She liked working, and her life-long habit of saving and managing money started way back then. Perhaps she was a victim of her own success, because she was asked to drop out of high school to help support the family. She did, but returned a year later, determined to graduate. She joined the same class as my father, and the romance that began at Washington High School truly was "until death do us part."
As a young couple, Ralph and Pat both worked hard. Dad was not much of a risk-taker -- the "glass half-empty" part of the duo. But mom´s budgeting skills, coupled with her determination and optimism, persuaded him that they COULD buy their first home, right over on James Avenue, in a wonderful neighborhood, near a good Catholic school.
They started a family, and there´s a story that, on the night I was born, as Grandma and Grandpa Tschida awaited their first grandchild, Grandma took a nurse at Miller Hospital aside, pointed to Patsy and said, "You be sure and look out for this one, because she is NOT A COMPLAINER." Truer words were never spoken about Patsy Tschida. Everything was GOOD, ALL RIGHT, JUST FINE (even when it wasn´t) because Patsy would make it so.
The family grew, the hard work continued, and by the time daughters Christy, Cindy and Caron were sharing one bedroom on James Avenue, another child was on the way. Mom worked on finding our next home and the seed for her real estate career took root when she arranged a house swap with an older woman with a bigger house on Brimhall, who wanted to downsize. When the woman expressed some hesitation over the steep front lawn on James, mom offered dad's services to come and mow for the first summer, until she got settled and could find a neighbor boy to do it. That sealed the deal.
Michael and Joseph were the welcome sons that made the family complete, and 447 Brimhall became the home we grew up in. From the wonderful fireplace (even if a bat did fly out of it once or twice) to the kitchen that mom and dad planned and remodeled with a neighborhood carpenter, to the big tree in the front yard, it was good place and the loving home where Patsy raised her family.
Each one of us kids has a unique and special relationship with our mom - because she saw each one of us as unique and special. I will be forever grateful for all of the bedtime stories she read to me, and for the fact that she hauled me across town on long bus rides for tap dance lessons at an early age. For my sister Caron, it was gymnastics, and drum lessons. While Cindy's childhood diabetes took management and care, mom made sure her daughter's social life was unimpeded by the diagnosis, and the ever-present PEPSI in our fridge was replaced with TAB. Mike and Joe's musical pursuits were actively encouraged - bands rehearsed in our basement. Mom was so proud of her kids. She would go to any dance recital, amateur theater show, choir concert, softball game, roller rink or dive bar to see her kids do their thing - beaming with pride, cheering us on.
I'd like to think that we were "good kids". If half of that was due to fear of dad's discipline, certainly the other half was the dread of mom's disappointment. When Patsy looked at you, the reflection you saw in her eyes was that of your very best self. Were you less that that, you could see the hurt in those eyes. And Patsy - a woman who was so tender-hearted, and showed her emotions freely - was not a woman you ever wanted to hurt.
By the time mom reached her middle years, with her family more or less grown up, she pursued that real estate career seriously, and loved it, even getting her broker's license and setting out her own shingle. Those years were not without sadness. As time went by, she suffered the loss of each of her younger sisters, her father, her mother, and her own daughter, Cindy. For mom, the loss she called "the worst thing that could happen" came in 2016, when our dad, her partner of 65 years, passed away.
By that time, mom and dad were living on Hartford, and for two years after dad's death, we supported her desire to stay there independently, because she loved living there, and told us how HAPPY she was to be in that place. Admittedly, this was despite dad's warning that her memory was slipping, and the worrisome signs we were starting to observe - but Mike lived next door and would check on her nightly. He was there in June of 2018 when she had the seizure event that dictated the trajectory of her last several years.
She spent time at Regions Hospital, then Saint Anthony Park Home -- receiving good care and regaining the ability to talk, and eat and walk again. She moved to the Waters Memory care unit, which was close to home - but wasn't really home. Staff at all of these places never failed to remark about how sweet Patsy was, and how they loved having her as a patient or resident.
But mom always said she just wanted to be home.
I remember bringing her back to The Waters after a short hospital stay, and person after person greeted her with warm smiles and an "It's so great to have you back, Patsy." Putting a positive spin on things, I said, "Gosh mom, Look how happy everyone is to see you!" She gave me a little sarcastic smile and responded, "That's just me. Spreading joy all over."
We eventually agreed with her that "There really IS no place like home," and we were fortunate that we were able to move mom back to Hartford Ave. before COVID might have made that impossible. She lived there from the fall of 2019 until just this past week, giving us many more of her genuine, beautiful smiles.
From a humble and hardscrabble beginning, our mom somehow developed the manners, poise and self-confidence of a young woman who might have gone to finishing school. She was ladylike in the best sense of the world. She never drank, smoked, or cursed. She spoke kindly to others, made liberal use of "PLEASE" and "EXCUSE ME" and gave freely of compliments and encouragement. And if you said something nice to Patsy, she wouldn´t deflect or protest, but rather look you in the eye and answer with a sincere "Thank you." She forgave easily. She loved unconditionally.
Patsy's wants and needs were simple, and she was deeply satisfied with her life. She acknowledged, with amazement, how long that life was, but also expressed disbelief at how quickly all those years had passed. In the end, She couldn't travel, but she delighted in "a ride in the car." She couldn't go to Baker's Square for a piece of pie, but took pleasure in her tea and toast. She remarked on the beauty of the snow falling, the leaves tossing in the wind, a cardinal on the lawn - all the things she could see from her own front window. This was her life, and it was GOOD, ALL RIGHT, and JUST FINE.
We will love her always and are eternally grateful she was our mom.
Christine Tschida
Kristine Holmgren
November 3, 2023
I remember `Patsy´ as the exuberant, fast moving `Mrs. Tschida´ I admired when, as a Mac student, Chris would invite me to her St Paul home.
Unlike other mothers I knew. Mrs. Tschida genuinely LIKED her kids, and it showed! Her humor was always on display and her hospitality was warm, accepting. Mrs. T. made a home that welcomed the stranger.
Now she rests from all her good works.
A long life. A good life. "Her children rise up and call her `blessed.´ "
Colleen Kaiser
November 3, 2023
Patsy will be missed more than words can express. She has been the window that allowed me to briefly experience my loving mother; her dear sister who passed on the same day years earlier. When I saw Patsy, I could see my mother and when I listened to Patsy, I could hear my mother. Thank you, Patsy, for always checking on me all these years and may you now rest in eternal peace my dearest auntie.
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