Sandra Jean Taylor's Obituary
"It pains me to admit it, but apparently, I have passed away. Everyone told me it would happen one day, but that’s simply not something I wanted to hear, much less experience. Once again, I didn’t get things my way! That’s been the story of my life. And while on that subject—the story of my life—on May 16, 1943, my parents celebrated my birth and I was introduced to all as Sandra Jean Etheridge, the daughter of Ernest and Jacqueline Etheridge of Blythe, California.
I can’t believe that happened in the first half of the last century, but there are records on file in the courthouse which can corroborate this claim. Just three years later, when another baby girl was born, I became known as the older sister (same mother but different father) of the infamous “cookoo sisters,” and the world was changed forever. I spent my childhood in many places, living with aunts, uncles, and Grandma Etheridge—from San Diego, Santa Monica, Culver City, and Bakersfield.
So many things in my life seemed of little significance at the time they happened but then took on a greater importance as I got older. The memories I’m taking with me now are so precious and have more value than all the gold and silver in my jewelry box. Memories… where do I begin? I remember Grandma E wearing an apron and cooking up the best mess of collard greens and dumplings to be had. I remember my younger sister sleepwalking out of the house. I remember my Daddy taking me on the best rides in my wagon, building kites, and making me eat liver—still a super yuck to this day. I remember Aunt Opal, who sewed and crocheted exquisite dresses for me when I was little. I remember Grandma E wringing a chicken’s neck so we could have Sunday dinner—unfortunately, the chicken was my pet. I watched Chester be born at school, and Mrs. Peterson, my third-grade teacher, let me take him home as a pet. I remember marching at six years old in the Los Angeles Christmas Parade, twirling my baton as a mascot for the Santa Monica High School Majorettes. I remember visiting the original Bozo the Clown at his home, shaking hands with President John F. Kennedy in Honolulu, and singing at twelve years old for Estes Kefauver and Adlai Stevenson when they were running against President Eisenhower. I remember giving Elvis a bottle of Gatorade and him giving me a scarf, and attending an after-show party in Chicago where he was there. I remember my first piano recital—Sentimental Journey—after six months of lessons. I took both classical and jazz lessons and practiced many hours. I remember the thrill of leading our high school band down Chester Avenue, from one end of town to the other, as part of the drill team for the Christmas Parade in 1957.
I remember my first marriage in 1961 to Kenneth O’Rand (deceased). We were blessed with two sons, Jeffrey and Darin, and two daughters, Kelly and Stacy. Seeing these four grow into what they were supposed to be has brought a wonderful sense of meaning to my life. I remember moving to Harrogate, England, and that brought a new son, Robert Ringley, with red hair and bright blue eyes, and an abundance of musical and artsy talent. In 1991, I married the true love of my life, Timothy Taylor.
We have weathered many storms, traveled the globe, and had some amazing times together. This might be a good time to mend fences. I apologize for making sweet Jeff wear what he declares embarrassing pajamas, and for Kelly having to go to school with crooked bangs. Apparently, each of these things was humiliating to them, but both were able to rise above their shame and become very successful adults. I’d also like to apologize to Sharon for being so jealous of her—she had the most lenient parents a teenager could have—and to Shirley for dating a guy she had a crush on. Just when I thought I was too old to fall in love again, I became a grandmother, and my seven grand-angels stole not only my heart but also spent most of my money: Thomas II, Daniel, Cody, Hailey, Carter, Reaghan, and Austin. Then came along a great-grand, Aspynne. They’re treasures that are irreplaceable and will go with me wherever my journey takes me.
Speaking of titles, I’ve held a few in my day. I’ve been a devoted daughter, an energetic teenager, a loving wife, a comforting mother, a true and loyal friend, and a spoiling grandmother. And if you don’t believe it, just ask me. Oh wait—I’m afraid it’s too late for questions. Sorry. So…I was born, I blinked, and it was over. No buildings named after me, no monuments erected in my honor. But I did have the chance to know and love each and every friend as well as all my family members. How much more blessed can a person be?
So, in the end, remember do your best, follow your arrow, and make something amazing out of your life. Oh, and never stop smiling. If you want to, you can look for me in the evening sunset, or with the earliest spring daffodils, or amongst the flitting and fluttering butterflies. You know I’ll be there in one form or another. Of course, that will probably comfort some while antagonizing others—but you know me, it’s what I do.
I’ll leave you with this: please don’t cry because I’m gone; instead, be happy that I was here. Or maybe you can cry a little bit—after all, I have passed away. Today I am happy, and I am dancing. Probably naked. Love you forever. If you’d like, I can also format this for a memorial program, obituary, or keepsake booklet, or preserve every original spelling exactly as-is.
What’s your fondest memory of Sandra?
What’s a lesson you learned from Sandra?
Share a story where Sandra's kindness touched your heart.
Describe a day with Sandra you’ll never forget.
How did Sandra make you smile?