Agnes

Agnes Perrigan was a woman whose warmth could fill a room before she ever spoke a word. Born into a world that asked much of its people, she met each day with quiet grace and an unshakeable faith that those who knew her could feel. Her hands were always busy — in the kitchen, in the garden, in the gentle work of raising her family — and her door was always open.

"She had a way of making everyone feel like they were the most important person in the world to her — and somehow, I think we all were."

To her children and grandchildren, she was a constant — steady as the seasons, generous beyond measure. She remembered every birthday, knew every preference, and kept every secret told to her in confidence. Her love was the kind that didn't need words, though she had plenty of beautiful ones to give.

She is remembered not only for what she gave, but for how she gave it — without hesitation, without condition, and with a smile that her family will carry forward for generations.

Elmer Perrigan was a man of few words and great deeds. He belonged to a generation that understood hard work not as a burden but as a form of love — love for family, for the land, for the life he had built with his own two hands. Those who worked beside him knew quickly that his word was bond, and his handshake meant more than any contract.

"Dad didn't say 'I love you' in so many words — he said it by showing up. Every single time."

Whether he was tending to something that needed fixing, sitting quietly at the head of the table, or telling a story that had grown just a little taller with each telling, Elmer filled every space he occupied with a kind of steadiness that his family leaned on without always realizing it.

He leaves behind a legacy not written in ledgers or headlines, but in the character of the people who called him father, grandfather, and friend. He was, in every sense of the word, a good man.