Vyonne Wright

IN MEMORY OF VYONNE LOUISE (DAVIS) WRIGHT

Vyonne Louise Davis was the first born of five children to Merlyn (“Fuzz”) and Mildred (Hahn) Davis of Beloit, Wisconsin. She was born on March 8, 1933 in their humble home prior to indoor plumbing or electricity. The story was often told of how they pulled a lightbulb on an extension cord from the neighbors’ house to the upstairs bedroom the day she was born to provide light for the doctor during her delivery.

That story usually led into other stories of her first home and growing up during the Great Depression. She and her siblings planned their trips to the outhouse together at night because they were too scared to go alone. They would take weekly baths by carrying buckets of water from the outdoor pump, heating it on the stove, and each taking a turn in the large basin in the middle of the kitchen, eldest to youngest. Her father worked for Quigley Smart as a master plumber and for the WPA, and he helped build the Beloit swimming pool. She and her sister got the same table and chair set for Christmas, year after year, only painted a different color. She and her friends would chase after the ice truck on hot summer days, hoping for a refreshing piece of ice to suck on like a popsicle. Growing up during the Depression was always part of Vyonne’s childhood stories, as well as how she adored her Grandma Bertha (who died when Vyonne was a very young girl), visiting extended family in Clinton, Wisconsin, and how she helped take care of her younger siblings: Jack, Shirley, Billy, and Jerry.

Vyonne worked at Warren’s Candies in downtown Beloit throughout high school. She often told about her long walk home at night after work, and how she never had anything to fear, back then. She knew all the shop owners downtown. The policemen looked after her, and the shoeshine men insisted on polishing her shoes whenever she passed by. Never did she drive past the corner of State and Grand without pointing out, “that’s the candy shop where I worked all through high school”. She continued to use their fudge recipe the rest of her life, making several batches every Christmas.

In high school, Vyonne meticulously made many of her own outfits and was nominated “Best Dressed” in The Beloiter, her senior year book. She graduated from Beloit Memorial High School in 1951 – the first graduating class in the new building by the river. After graduation, she spent a short period of time in Milwaukee to study secretarial skills at a business school, but got homesick and came back to Beloit.

Vyonne has always been recognized for her beautiful singing voice. She claimed to have been given the opportunity to tour Europe with her singing instructor, but she turned it down. She later said she regretted it, but was assured that God had a better plan for her life. She sang throughout her life as a soloist in church choirs, to all of her children and grandchildren, in family sing-alongs, alone in the kitchen, and really any chance she could get. Some of her all-time favorites were Frank Sinatra, Willie Nelson, and Andrea Bocelli.

Vyonne’s distinct beauty, her six-foot stature, and her vibrant personality made her a natural for modeling during high school and into early parenthood. She fondly recalled when a portrait of her with her baby son, Gary, hung in the front window at a photographer’s shop in downtown Beloit for many years. Although she did not become a famous model or singer as she once dreamt, her stately and powerful presence was never ignored. When she entered a room, she filled it with her dynamic personality and attracted people to her wherever she went.

Vyonne had a boyfriend all through high school. She planned on marrying him, but, as she would say, again God had other plans. Jack Wright was a well-known young auctioneer in Beloit. He met her at a dance hall and announced to his friends that he was determined to make Vyonne his wife. He did.

One might call theirs a whirlwind romance, and they were married on July 19, 1952 at St Paul’s Lutheran Church in Beloit. Everyone expected Vy to walk down the aisle in a grand flowing gown, but she opted instead for a simple white dress suit. Jack was drafted to the Korean War soon after the wedding. Vyonne had their first child, Gary, in 1953 when she was 19 years old, while Jack was away in the service. Vyonne was a vivacious, strong-willed wife, and Jack adored her more than anything. His love for her was evident to all. Vy advised her granddaughters to choose a spouse like Jack, “Someone like Frank Sinatra might sweep you off your feet, but better to have a devoted man like Jack. He’s my farm boy.”

Being the oldest of five and then beginning her own family at a young age, Vy’s world was ever full of children. Nothing gave her more joy than babies. She would even seek them out in public places and engage in long conversations with new mothers whom she’d never met before. In her own family, she would teach them her favorite songs, asking them to tell her a “big story about a bird in a bush,” feed them “pablum”, and rock them (and herself) to sleep. She was the mother to Gary, Daniel, Brian, and Mary. She loved to tell how she had Mary late in life (at age 36), 10 years after the youngest boy, Brian, was born. Four years after Mary was born, the first grandchild, Amy, was born. And babies continued to fill her home, her life, and her heart.

One of the dearest people in Vyonne’s life was her sister, Shirley (Ward). They were nearly inseparable. The depth of love and devotion they shared is immeasurable and impossible to put into words. Shirley and her two children, Kelly (Grzebieniak) and Vicky (Steege), were at Jack and Vy’s home all the time. Vy and Shirley attended church together, went on long shopping trips together (Kmart, Jupiters, and TJ Maxx were favorites), organized garage sales together (usually at Vicky’s house), spent hours upon hours together in the kitchen, played games together (mostly 500 Rummy and Scrabble), and vacationed together (many road trips to Florida). They were together every chance they could get.

Shirley’s children had a very special relationship with Vyonne and saw her as a second mother. They are eager to express how grateful they are for the love and care Auntie showed them throughout their lives. They lovingly laugh about the “delicious” food they would find in her kitchen (that they would not find in their own): Lucky Charms, TV dinners, Tombstone pizza, donuts, and always a huge jar of Jif peanut butter (one of Vy’s all-time go-tos). Later in life, until Vy and Shirley were no longer able to go, Kelly and Vicky would take them to get their nails done and out for lunch at Panera’s or the Mexican restaurant almost every Wednesday, which was a highlight for Vyonne’s week.

Never was a harsh word spoken between the two sisters, and they were still together sharing a room at Fairhaven in Rockford, Illinois up to the end of Vyonne’s life. The last picture of Vyonne taken in the nursing home was of Shirley holding her hand right after she passed away. A very powerful image.

Jack’s parents, Emmett and Angeline Wright, had several winter homes in Florida over the years, and the family took numerous road trips down there to visit them and go to Disney World. In the early 1970s, Jack remodeled a school bus into a family camper. Vyonne told animated stories about their adventures on the old blue bus – about all the meals made going down the road, how the curtains were sewn by a good friend, and how baby Mary’s crib was installed over the water tank. Another often-talked-about Florida vacation was in 1976 in another family-packed camper (Jack, Vy, Dan, Brian, Mary, Shirley, Kelly, and Vicky). All the gifts, cookies, and even a small tree were hauled along so Christmas could be celebrated while on the road. Throughout the trip, Brian narrated and interviewed everyone on his little tape recorder. Vy loved to reminisce about these trips, and when asked recently what places she loved the most, she listed home, Florida, and TJ Maxx. Always a great sense of humor.

Everyone who knew Vy knew that she was quite “fussy”. She was a self-proclaimed perfectionist by nature (excluding punctuality), but the chaos of a large family didn’t allow her to maintain her home to her high standards. Vy would reminisce about her Aunt Amelia and how particular she was and decided she took after her. Jack bought her a steam press when Brian was a baby, she used it to press his cloth diapers. She even ironed Jack’s undershirts. No one could step onto her porch without hearing, “wipe your feet!”. She never left a crumb of food on her plate and was very much against wasting. If ever a morsel was left uneaten at a restaurant, it had to be boxed up and brought home, either “for Danny” or “for the birds.” When her niece, Kelly was in high school, she would help Vy clean the house on Saturdays. Kelly has fond memories of staying overnight and folding laundry with Vy in the living room, long after everyone else was in bed.

Vyonne was a member of Christ the Savior Orthodox Church, and her Christian faith was something she shared by word and by example. She did not have a shy bone in her body, and she was eager to offer a Bible verse, prayer, and a personal testimony exemplifying God’s grace, mercy, love, and forgiveness. Her charismatic personality carried over into her strongly held beliefs, which had a great impact on her family, friends, neighbors, caregivers, and even strangers (soon to be friends) she would start chatting with wherever she went. Her faith was genuine, shared not out of obligation but for the pure opportunity to be God's hands and feet in this world. When it came to sharing the Gospel, she never sought recognition or merit; instead, she found true joy in human connections and was the personification of love. She had a mysterious and dynamic way of immersing even the most unsavory persons with profound, genuine love. Up to her final days, hearing a Bible verse and singing along with a favorite hymn would bring her comfort and joy. Faithful to the end.

Jack and Vy lived in numerous houses in Beloit, South Beloit, and Rockton throughout their marriage. They lived on Grove Street in Rockton for nearly 50 years, and it was in this home that the grandchildren have their fondest memories. Due to the care they both needed in their twilight years, they moved to Fair Oaks nursing home in South Beloit together in 2019. Jack died in 2021, at the tail end of the Covid shut-down. The isolation from family (and often from one another) took a great toll on both of them. Vyonne never fully recovered from the loss of Jack, her husband of 68 years. At times, she would whisper to loved ones that she had seen him up and walking around after his passing, and perhaps she did.

Although she suffered significantly from dementia in her final years, her vibrant personality remained. Caregivers and nursing home staff would visit her room on their breaks, just to sit and chat with Shirley and Vy, laugh along with their jokes, and soak up the openhearted love that they both shared with all of God’s children. Vyonne died on February 28, 2023, just shy of her 90th birthday. She was blessed to end her life in a calm and peaceful way, surrounded by her loved ones daily.

The best way to remember and honor Vyonne is through the words of those who love her dearly and whose lives she influenced profoundly.

From her granddaughter, Sarah:

“My grandma spent her life pouring into the lives of her kids, grandkids, and family. It was her life’s work. I personally have benefited so much from her many life lessons. Most of my childhood memories include her. She is deeply a part of who I am and from whom my core values stem (love of God, importance of family, kindness, love). I was her Sarah Bird.
It’s hard to recall a single memory to share, it’s more like a bunch of life moments. Picking me up for church every Sunday (late, of course), putting her lipstick on in the car and having her purse ready with notebooks and crayons, playing rummy in the gazebo, late night shopping trips to Shopko, doing her nails and braiding her long hair, listening to her recount the book of Revelation and the coming of the Lord, trips to TCBY and McDonalds, long car rides to little quaint towns, and going through her jewelry together.

She would sing “Playmate," “Animal Fair,” and “1,2,3 The Devil’s After Me.” The main one was “I’m in Love with You Honey.” She sang it to me at my high school graduation party and other times even once I was an adult. After I left home, she would write long hand-written notes and send folded hankies that I would keep close. She wrote out a few songs for me as well. I sing many of these songs to my son Tyler every night, and he usually always requests “I’m in Love with You Honey.”

I spent a lot of time at the house on Grove. It was a safe haven. I remember sleeping in the big bedroom in the big bed, the sound of the cuckoo clock, and the pictures in the hallway and bedroom. She would fix meals at the round table in the kitchen. She would always put together some random leftovers, “I have a hot dog and some olives, let me see I think I have half of a hamburger in here somewhere too.”

Every Christmas, I would wrap gifts for her. I would sit in the back bedroom for hours and she would bring piles of things to wrap stacked up to the dresser and all the way to the door. I would also help her around the house with dusting and vacuuming. I would carefully remove all of the picture frames and jewelry from her dresser and dust them individually, admiring all of the unique pieces. She would take the dresser scarves waaaay out onto the end of the driveway and shake them individually.

I remember when I was in college, she had written my phone number down wrong and would repeatedly call some random stranger asking for Sarah Bird. She ended up making a new friend and we had many laughs over that.

As an adult, there were so many times that I just wanted to sit at her feet and absorb the many nuggets of wisdom she had to pass along. It seemed to flow so freely from her.”

From her granddaughter, Amy:

“I have been thinking a lot about my own “existence” and reflecting on Grandma’s life, I realized that who she was and what she meant to me had nothing to do with resume-type of things. It is comforting in some ways…to know that how you love people is how people will remember you.
I am the oldest of 13 grandchildren, an identity I do not take lightly. My place in the family is often reflected on and something of pride for both my grandparents and myself. Anointed “ruby lips,” for no reason except that is what Grandma decided to call me. (My lips are not particularly red.) I wouldn’t say that I was the favorite grandchild or the closest to my grandma, but I was loved and doted on nonetheless. And I worshiped her.

I feel particularly blessed to have grown up so close to my grandparents’ home on Grove Street, it was just a bike ride away. Grove was a second home for me as it was for many grandchildren.
My favorite memories are impromptu sleepovers when I would don one of Mary’s oversized t- shirts, carefully selected and gently pulled from one of her overstuffed dresser drawers. I had no problem sleeping on the living room floor. There has never been a more comforting night sleep with my grandma resting above me in her rocking recliner, all the lights off, David Letterman on, and the rhythmic ticking of the coo-coo clock.

As I reflect on my time at Grove Street and grandma, it is difficult to separate the two. “Grove” embodied my grandma, and my grandma embodied “Grove.” Upon entering the side door, grandma would ritualistically holler, “wipe your feet!” It was not uncommon for her to crack open the bathroom door while she was sitting “on the pot” to holler out random instructions.
Only the “blessed” were allowed in her kitchen. It was an honor to be seated in a high-backed farm chair at the cloth-covered round table. Nobody will forget the container of spoons and having to drink every last drop of your juice or milk. I have to admit successfully sneaking a cookie or two from the drawer with the tin lid. I barely had to step into the kitchen to reach it.
Somehow I managed to escape this, but I know my sister and probably many others spent hours cleaning and dusting with scrupulous directions from grandma, which was quite the task given how packed “Grove” was with furniture and TJMaxx tchotchkes.

When grandma entered our house on Bridge Street or the house on the farm or later my dad’s home in Milton, she filled the room with a presence that could not be ignored. All stopped what they were doing to turn their attention to her. You could not escape a huge hug that would continue into a long hold while she looked into your eyes and took you all in. Grandma had the softest (over-rouged) cheeks. She loved to have her hair brushed.

She slept in until noon and stayed up late. If you were fortunate enough for her to answer the door, she was usually in a bra and pants. Yet she loved to dress fashionably with showy accessories.

She loved to sing. Many will remember her heart-felt “You are my sunshine.” She dreamed of standing on stage, at least at church, belting out hymns. I recall many Sundays starting at Hope Free Evangelical where we would be the last to leave until we took our places at the diner next door for three hours. Breakfast...or lunch...would then be followed by afternoon-long shopping trips, which I would beg my parents to let me go on. They often resisted (unsuccessfully), knowing that grandma had no sense of time and would likely not return me home until after 10pm despite it being a school night.

When I left Rockton for Fort Worth, TX, I remember standing outside “Grove,” saying good-bye to dad, grandma, and grandpa. I started to cry. And grandma replied, matter-of-factly, “Why are you crying? You’ll be back.” I came back but never enough. And she and grandpa even visited me and my family in my Chicago townhouse that was “on I-90.” (It was actually 3 miles off of I-90.)
I always miss her; yet she is always with me. Still, to this day, I carefully pick out my fruit, thinking this is how grandma would do it. I have a hat, maybe not one of the many she has knitted, that I will never wash because it smells like her...or “Grove.” I crave her Christmas fudge.

And I long for her to embrace me again and look deep into my soul and remind me of who I am. Oldest grand-daughter. Ruby lips. She is my advocate and defender. I can do no wrong in her eyes. We all need someone like that in our lives.”

From her granddaughter, Katie:

"Grandma Vy was and is one of the most influential people in my life, and she shaped who I became in many ways. She is unlike anyone else, a truly unique, larger than life, magnetic soul who always saw the very best in everyone. To be with her was to be loved unconditionally and listened to attentively, always with a curiosity tinted with a sort of naivete that was *mostly* endearing, prompting the game of “explain to Grandma something she insists on not comprehending”. To be with her was to feel valued, important, interesting, special, fully accepted, and there was never anyone left outside the inner circle of her heart. I felt at home with her, and I know I’m most definitely not alone in that. Everyone could be completely themselves always with Grandma, a safe haven and soft place to land for all…unless you were crumbs on the plaid kitchen tablecloth, of course. Crumbs bad. People good. I was very okay with that arrangement.

I love the twinkle in her eye, her totally manufactured “dream” of being a professional golfer that was torn from her by marriage and children, her teasing sense of humor, her long hands and overly pink, round cheeks and tip of her nose, the way her makeup always slid off her face, her declarations of drawing nigh to death since I was born 38 years ago, how she said “Lord willing!” and “Ohhhhh noooo/yeess” or “Whhhyy,____” in a deeper, more guttural way, the way she took 19 years to separate each paper plate.

There are so many special memories that flood into my mind when I think of her. I’ll try to choose a few that stand out.

She was a light at the very core of my childhood, and often a hinge between two worlds. When my dad would pull away to head back to his home, I would cry and cry, already missing him. She would stand in the driveway with me, waving until he was out of sight (a family rule) and say, “Before you know it, he’ll be coming back down the road. Before you know it.” She was so good at holding space. When she and Grandpa (and Shirley, often) picked me up, or when I was dropped off at Grove, there she was to welcome me into her arms and heart, and gosh did we LAUGH and play and be foolish together! I think I’ll be holding space until I can see her again… “Before you know it…”

We would often go to Barnes and Noble and get coffees and huge stacks of books we were interested in. We would spend hours and hours looking through the books, chatting, and agonizing over what to buy. TJ Maxx was also a huge favorite haunt. “Clarance” items were poured over with a painstaking thoroughness, but I always felt so comforted by her unhurried slowness. I’ve come to realize that I am a lot like her in many ways, but specifically that she needed a lot of time for everything. There was never any “popping in real quick” with her.
Grandma and Grandpa would sometimes pick me up and take me to church at Hope Free, where we would sit in the far back on the farthest set of pews to the right. She would sing so loudly and confidently and beautifully that I would be simultaneously embarrassed and proud. I would scribble notes on the tiny notepad in her always overly small church purse, which also contained a tiny tin of mints, lip gloss, and kleenex. I’d sometimes lay in her lap and look up at the vaulted wooden church ceiling and, again, feel at home there with her. When I look up at the vaulted (painted) wooden ceiling of our church, I think of being with her at Hope Free every time.

I have believed in and loved Jesus since I was four years old, and Grandma was a large reason why. I loved how she loved Jesus, and I loved how she loved people. This has shaped my entire life, many of my biggest life choices, and been the compass from which I’ve navigated the tragedies and brokenness, mental illnesses and doubts. And she was always, always there to talk about these things in the light of our shared faith in and love for Jesus, even if that meant that we had to walk together into the space of faith where things don’t make sense rationally on a human level, but she helped me often to trust in who God says He is, what Jesus did, and to turn our eyes together toward Him. She taught me to trust and also to allow room for mystery and space where answers could not be had. I remember calling her many times after my son was stillborn, and she held room for the shock, grief, sorrow, doubts, and heartbreak. She also gently reminded me of the truths about Jesus and encouraged me in the way only she could. She prayed for me and never tried to give trite answers to why this happened or anything of the sort. She died on the 11th anniversary of my son, Levi’s death. Somehow, when I heard that she was declining, I deep down expected it to happen that day and I don’t think it was a coincidence. I wish I could ask Grandma now what she saw when she came into the presence of Jesus, but I bet it included a boy no one has ever met that calls her “Grandma” too."

From her granddaughter, Abigail:

“From the time we were old enough to understand the words, Vy has been frightening her grandchildren with the thought that she may die at any moment.

She had a cavalier, winking attitude about it. We'd make plans for the weekend, and she'd only confirm by adding, "...If I'm still alive." She'd laugh, as though it were her big joke on all of us. That we would foolishly be sad, but she would rejoice. She would get her chance to walk with Jesus and ask all her big questions. During our long nights at the kitchen table, she’d wonder, “Why would God allow all of this? The pain and the suffering?” She promised that would be the first question she asked, and that she’d do her best to come back and tell us the answers, if she could.

Even Grandpa Jack, on the eve of some big surgery, or in the hardships of his old age, would admit to me (out of Grandma’s earshot) that he was not necessarily looking forward to dying. Not so with Vy. She relished the thought. She looked at the sky during a beautiful sunset and hoped beyond a hope that the living Christ would appear before her, reach out His hand, and bring her home. As children, we were terrified.

But as I’ve grown older with her, I’ve come to admire this about our grandma. She’d get agitated or worked up now and then, but truly, she was fearless. She walked in the valley of the shadow of death, and feared no evil.

Growing up next door, we spent a lot of time with Grandma at Grove. She gave me baths in the pink tub, and combed through my “rat nest” of fine, tangled hair. Grandpa kept farmer’s hours, but we stayed up late into the night together. I remember laying in the big bed with her, wearing one of her giant t-shirts for a nightgown. We slept in, I’d try on her perfumes from the dresser, and she'd pour us each a bowl of cereal around 1pm. She brought me down to the Dairy Haus on warm summer evenings, and squeezed my hand real tight across Union St.

I’ve stayed close by since then, feeling too homesick whenever I’ve moved far away. As the years passed, our roles shifted, but the rituals stayed much the same. I knew I had entered womanhood the first time she allowed me to pour her a bowl of cereal late in the afternoon. Before they moved into the nursing home, I gave her a bath in the pink tub. We sang songs, told secrets, and wondered at the meaning of life. When she couldn’t walk well anymore, I brought her to the Dairy Haus, and squeezed her hand in the passenger seat. After so many years as a caregiver, she adored being waited on and doted over.

Most of all, I’ve loved brushing her hair and braiding it. Picking through the barrettes and headbands, styling it, then undoing it all and restyling it because she didn’t want it to be over. “You can do this for about three hours,” she’d say, only half joking. I’d drag the brush through her long, gray hair five hundred times. She’d tell me not to worry, that it didn’t hurt to pull right through the snarls. I’ll always cherish the memory, even of the very last brushes and braids when she couldn’t quite lift her head from the pillow anymore.

I helped pick out her outfit, her makeup, and her hairstyle for the last time this week. As she lay still in her bed, I put a bit of her perfume on her. On Friday, I’ll squeeze her hand once more, and we’ll go for our last ride. I’ll play Willie’s “On the Road Again,” the song she always thought of in the car. “We’re the best of friends, insisting that the world keep turning our way…”

We really were the best of friends. She treated just about everyone that way.

I don’t know yet what I’ll do without our little drives, without her sharp sense of humor and foolish jokes, without her singing along to the hymns at her own funeral. But I know for sure that being close to her has been one of the greatest joys and blessings of my life. I looked down last night and realized that I was wearing one of her giant t-shirts to bed.

She made up a tradition with one of the grandkids, I think it was Leo. She’d say, “I miss you when you gone,” and he’d reply, “Me too.” We started saying it to each other years ago, both as a greeting and a farewell. Anyway, if you’re reading this somehow Grandma… I miss you when you gone. Very much. Please come see me in a dream sometime soon and let me know what you found out.”

From her granddaughter, Lydia:

“When will it be my my turn? My turn to see grandma?” I’d ask myself as a child.

Early memories of simple pleasures like digging through her purse at church, the smell of her perfume, sitting on her lap, listening to her distinct animated voice reading story book after book to me as a small child. These things felt novel and exciting, because being in her presence was special and grounded.

I’d do anything to be over at her place growing up, she liked to keep her place real tidy. I’d make plans to come over after school to vacuum her steps and dust her tables filled with framed family photos. When I clean my place, to this day, I think, how would grandma keep her place? With the crispiest clean sheets and a billowy tuck-in, where she would wave the blankets completely over my body and then say, “okay now flop your arms over.” Every night so cozy and refreshing.

Grandpa would start quizzing me on multiplication, and grandma would swiftly interject to make sure I was always comfortable and having fun. I noticed she was quick to read emotion and had deep empathy and understanding for all people. She was witty, blunt, hilarious, and always had the perfect amount of sass. I looked up to grandma, she never seemed to be self conscious or worried about what others thought of her. She was truly a caring and loving woman, took such good care of her family and ours.

I grew up next door to grandma. At night, before walking diagonally through our interconnected back yards, every time I’d leave her place, I’d yell, “okay, see you tomorrow!” I truly intended to make sure to see her every day. I’d get off the bus, barging in her place without knocking, yet always greeted warmly, grabbing a soda, for a daily check in. She was a second maternal woman in my life, a safe haven, always. I could count on her.

I had a short window of time when she got to spend with my son, her great grandchild, before I moved to Madison. She loved being around babies and children. That always made her light up and become that same animated woman she was when I was a child. I aspire to be like grandma in many ways as an adult. She brought people together and was a socialite filled with grace and love. I always hope and aspire to make people feel the way I felt in her presence, loved and accepted, and “when will I get to see you next?”

CHILDREN: Gary (Shelley) Wright, Daniel Wright, Brian (Cindy) Wright, Mary Wright.

GRANDCHILDREN: Amy (Trey) Devey, Sarah (Cory) Hanson, Katie (Oliver) Thompson, Chaz (Kimberlee) VanHorn, Jaxon Wright, Benjamin Boyce, Megan (Jacob) Boyce, Abigail Swanson, Lydia Bren, Sophia Wright, Cosmo Wright, Miles (“Haze”) Lund, Leo Lund.

GREAT GRANDCHILDREN: Elsie Devey, Clara Devey, Ava Hanson, Leah Hanson, Tyler Hanson, Ezra Bren, Lucy Schwans, Theodore Tianen, Eian Davenport, Rowan Davenport, Clayton Boyce, Mason Boyce, Griffin Thompson, Nora Thompson, Lily Thompson, Stella VanHorn, Eden VanHorn.

Vyonne's visitation & funeral service will be held on Friday, March 10th at McCorkle Funeral Home at 767 N Blackhawk Blvd in Rockton, IL 61072. Visitation begins at 10:30am, and the funeral service will begin at 12:00pm. If you would like to send something for the funeral, the family requests live plants or red flowers, as red was Vy's favorite color.

Thank you for reading, and God bless.