My mother passed away in August of this year. Last Saturday, on her 79th birthday, we celebrated her life. This post collects the obituary, the eulogy and a few notes about the celebration. I wrote an obituary with the intent of running it in a newspaper but found that to be an expensive proposition. It was north of a thousand dollars to appear for three days in the East Bay Times.
Obituary
Rhonda Ann (Peterson) Atkinson passed away August 11, 2025 at the age of 78 in Ephraim, Utah.
Rhonda was born October 25, 1946 to Eugene and June Peterson in San Diego, California. She spent part of her childhood in Italy and Germany before completing high school in Layton, Utah, a 1964 graduate of Davis High. In 1968, she graduated from Weber State University with a bachelor’s of science degree in English. That same year she married Leonard Atkinson. Their first son, Leon, arrived in 1970 after they moved to Leonard’s home town, Martinez, California. The following year, they adopted their second son, Gene.
Rhonda and Leonard moved to Oregon in 2000 after his retirement. When Leonard passed away in 2002, Rhonda returned to Martinez for a few years before moving once again to Oregon in 2006. There she met Bill Lively with whom she lived until his death in 2018. In 2022, Rhonda moved to Ephraim, Utah to live with her sister, Peg. Later that year, she was diagnosed with myleodisplastic syndrome. Her sister provided diligent care during her final years and was by her side when she passed peacefully.
Many of Rhonda’s interests were related to her love for animals. For many years she bred and showed Norwegian Elkhounds and Australian Shepherds. Her home was often filled with puppies. She raised guinea pigs with a variety of coat colors and lengths. She raised enough zebra finches and cockatiels to supply local pet stores. She kept koi in ponds at her Martinez and Oregon homes. In Oregon, she kept chickens, horses and even a donkey. She also became a minister in the Universal Life Church, which allowed her to perform marriage ceremonies, including one for her sister. In many ways, Rhonda was dedicated to creating and nurturing new life.
Rhonda is remembered for having a loving heart, being quick to make friends and being generous in giving attention and support to others. Many visitors to her home found themselves engaged in heart to heart talks over the kitchen table, including the young friends of her children. But she reserved a fierce loyalty for her sister and her children.
Rhonda was preceded in death by her parents, Eugene and June Peterson; her brother, Dennis Peterson; her husband, Leonard Atkinson; and her longtime companion, Bill Lively.
Rhonda is survived by her two sons, Leon Atkinson (Vicky) and Gene Atkinson; her two grandsons, Tre Atkinson and Henry Atkinson; and her sister, Peggy McCosh (Steve).
Celebration of Life
The event began about 11:30 am at William Welch Wines in downtown Martinez. My brother, Gene, made all arrangements for the location, the food and the decorations. I was in charge of the program itself, including delivering the eulogy. Guests started arriving around 11:00 am and soon the room with filled with chatter. By the time we started, all chairs were occupied and a few people stood.
The presentation consisted of
- an invocation,
- the eulogy,
- words of remembrance from Peggy,
- stories from Henry, Sarah, and Dennis,
- everyone singing Will the Circle Be Unbroken.
Henry and I played our guitars and lead the group in singing the Carter Family version of Will the Circle Be Unbroken, with the crowd singing along with the chorus. That was a joyous moment for me, and a suitable send-off for my mother.
Invocation
Hello everyone. Thanks for coming today. We’re gathered to celebrate the life of Rhonda Atkinson. I am her son, Leon. I’m going to recount the significant events of her life, but first, I want to acknowledge what we’re doing here.
Let us come to the understanding that a treasured life has come to an end. She was a daughter, a sister, a mother, a grandmother, an aunt, a friend. Those relationships now recede into the past, severed. And it hurts. So, in part, we come together to share our grief, to comfort each other, and to remind ourselves that for a time, she was here.
In 40 AD, the great Stoic philosopher, Seneca, wrote a letter to his friend, who had mourned the death of her son for three years. He offered the following advice.
I am not soothing you or making light of your misfortune: if fate can be overcome by tears, let us bring tears to bear upon it: let every day be passed in mourning, every night be spent in sorrow instead of sleep: let your breast be torn by your own hands, your very face attacked by them, and every kind of cruelty be practiced by your grief, if it will profit you. But if the dead cannot be brought back to life, however much we may beat our breasts, if destiny remains fixed and immovable forever, not to be changed by any sorrow, however great, and death does not loose his hold of anything that he once has taken away, then let our futile grief be brought to an end. Let us, then, steer our own course, and no longer allow ourselves to be driven to leeward by the force of our misfortune. He is a sorry pilot who lets the waves wring his rudder from his grasp, who leaves the sails to fly loose, and abandons the ship to the storm: but he who boldly grasps the helm and clings to it until the sea closes over him, deserves praise even though he be shipwrecked.
Eulogy
I have a great memory that goes way back, but I can’t remember the first time my mother sang to me. I expect it started before I was born. But I can remember innumerable times when she’d put on a favorite record and dance with my brother and me, or maybe with my dad. And if I have any sensation of the divine, it’s in the presence of music. So, I’m going to call forth those spirits as I go along here. Later, I’m going to ask you sing along with me, but right now I want to quote one of my favorite songs because it explains the situation.
This is Just Look At Me by Jonathan Richman.
She herself might never come back
But she’s with me here because
A heart that’s once known love
Is never the way it was.
She herself might never come back
But she’s with me all my days.
Her certain way of talkin’,
her certain silent ways.
Every time she held my hand, you still can see
She herself might never come back
But just look at me.
Just Look At Me, Jonathan Richman
Indeed. Go ahead and look at each other. Do you see her? Your heart was changed. I know it. Before my mother passed, I asked some of my friends to reflect on whether she made a difference to their lives. She had doubts. Without exception, they shared how my mother always made them feel welcome and seen when they visited my house. After I shared these stories with her, I told her how her welcoming spirit rippled out beyond my friends to how they care for their own children. That’s a generational difference, and that’s how one person changes the world.
This is something I appreciate most about my mother, that she took nurturing as an absolute. Of course, she provided comfort to her family, but she also cared a lot about others. She was quick to make new friends and almost instantly considered them extended family. Where others might hesitate or feel insecure, she enthusiastically set about treating everyone with loving kindness.
And knowing she was right, she had the grit to follow her convictions. There were times when she made unusual decisions, undaunted by convention. There were hard times when a lesser person would buckle under the strain, but she always chose to take care of those around her.
Where did this attitude come from? Maybe part of it was the circumstances of history. Mom was born October 25th, 1946, to Gene and June Peterson in San Diego. It was only a year after her father returned from World War II a hero and a liberated prisoner of war. The tragedies of a global conflict gave way to the optimism of the baby boomer generation. She was always a patriot who believed in progress.
Mom spent her childhood in San Diego where returning veterans were driving an increasing integration of cultures. This may have influenced her life-long interest in traditions, particularly spiritual wisdom. No doubt this was bolstered when her family, which included older brother Dennis and younger sister Peggy, moved to Italy. Those years in Torino were formative. Despite a family tree filled with English and Swedish surnames, she always considered herself Italian.
When the family returned to the United States, they settled in Layton, Utah. Mom attended Davis High, graduating in 1964. One of her best friends was Penny Yamane (later Sato), who came from one of the few families of Japanese descent in Utah. 30 years later, I rented a room from Penny and Alan during my first quarter at Weber State University.
I ended up in college in Ogden, because of mom’s friendship with Penny and because she’d graduated from Weber State herself in 1968 with a Bachelor’s of Science in English. She always found it funny to have a BS in English.
Earlier that year, she’d gone on a date with a high school teacher, introduced by friends. They lost track of each other for several months, but when they got back together in the Summer, they both realized they were in love and married on the third of July. I guess it was like the Johnny Cash song, Jackson. “We got married in a fever, hotter than a pepper sprout.” My parents often retold the story of how my father drove my mom’s VW bug over a beaver dam on their honeymoon.
Another funny thing my dad did during this time was to present a frog he’d caught. They brought this frog home with them and it lived under their trailer in Layton. From then on, my mom’s spirit animal was the frog. She was given many frog figurines over the years, but the one she loved the most was the little brown frog that looked so much like that first frog.
My mother had a strong intuition, especially about me. More than once, she told me about my own origin story, how she insisted to my father that she was pregnant before having any proof. So, I was conceived in Utah, but by the time I was born, my parents had moved to Martinez. And after a short time here, they moved to Isleton in the nearby delta.
The next year, when my age was still measured in months, my parents decided the family was incomplete and that they didn’t want to wait. They told the adoption agency that they were ready for the very next baby that arrived. They placed no conditions, and were soon notified about my brother, Gene. My mother was grateful for this opportunity for the rest of her life.
At that time, the United States remained deeply conflicted about race, but 1971 represented the peak of interracial adoptions. There was an optimism then that would face a growing regression back towards segregation the next year, at least when it came to adoption. Whatever the negative attitudes of the culture were, my parents did not acknowledge them. Gene was their son, named after his two grandfathers. My mother courageously chose what she knew was right and disregarded what anyone else thought.
So, we were a happy family of four living in Isleton on a walnut farm. In June of 1972, my father quit his teaching job before we took a trip to Utah. We returned to find a breach in the levee that flooded Andrus Island. My parents waded into the rapidly rising waters to rescue some of their belongings, including some our toys. My mother grabbed clothes for the rest of us but not for herself.
The property was a loss, and my parents were forced to start over again, returning to Martinez. It was a decade before they were compensated via a lawsuit won against the government. My father got a job as an accountant with Standard Oil in Concord. We lived on Monterey Avenue, outside the city limits where my parents could raise chickens. Gene and I attended Mountain View Elementary. My mother was involved in school activities and made friends with many of the other parents.
Around this time, mom became interested in showing and breeding Norwegian Elkhounds. There were many litters of puppies in those days, and many trips to dog shows. My mom made dear friends in this hobby, and in her way, my mom seemed to adopt them into our extended family. There were weddings, holiday parties and simple get-togethers with Joan & Ted, Tom & Lois, Dennis & Lark.
In later years, mom moved on from Elkhounds to Corgies and then Australian Shepherds. She took up raising different animals, too. She raised guinea pigs with a variety of coats of different colors and lengths. She raised parakeets, cockatiels and zebra finches. My father built her two outdoor aviaries for the birds. He and I also built her a cement koi pond that included a waterfall. Naturally, those fish had babies that first Spring. She wasn’t even trying.
Aside from animals, mom was always interested in spiritual topics. In the 70s, she learned a lot about Astrology, both western and eastern. It was not a casual interest. She put a lot of effort into building these complex charts. I think she’d say that as a Scorpio/Dog, she was passionate and loyal, but woe to anyone who got on her bad side.
One way to raise her ire was to wake her up at night after she’d been asleep. Growing up, I’d stay up late watching TV in the dark family room after my parents had gone to bed. I might get away with letting out a chuckle once, but I could be sure any subsequent laughter or loud talk would summon thunderous footsteps. In the doorway, looking down into the room would be a monster that somewhat resembled my mother. “Leon! Be! Quiet!” The words exploded like a fireball, then the dragon returned to her lair.
Of course, I had this experience many times growing up, probably because laughter is a stronger force even than a mother’s momentary wrath. Years later, we’d bought my parents’ house after my dad retired. Once again, I’d be in that same family room late at night. Every time I’d make any kind of noise, I’d get that momentary feeling of doom again, expecting her to come in and scold me.
One of my most cherished memories are the times when mom would put on a record to which we’d all dance and sing along. That would usually be Jesus Christ Superstar, Hair or maybe Joy to the World by Three Dog Night. Singing along to the car radio was standard for us. Some of her favorite artists were Jimmie Buffet, The Everly Brothers, Freddie Fender and Lou Rawls. I recall she really loved the movies Michael, the one with Travolta playing an angel, and Leap of Faith, where Steve Martin plays an evangelist. Generally, she enjoyed mysteries, and was an avid reader of Agatha Christie.
Over the years, she studied religion and psychology. She became a certified hypnotherapist and a minister in the Universal Life Church, which allowed her to perform marriages. One of her friends was a psychic. She had many friends in a guru-led group called “the teaching”. She and my father read books about Christianity, including the gnostic gospels. When I was a teenager, she regularly attended a baptist church, and when she lived in Oregon she went to a cowboy church. In her final days, a catholic priest administered last rites. I guess you could say she had her bases covered, but she was always trying to figure out the mystery of life, and she was open to a diversity of viewpoints.
This openness and curiosity made her an unusual parent in the eyes of my friends. “Your parents are cool,” I would be told. My mom treated children with a rare respect, never taking an authoritarian stance. As we grew into teenagers, it was common to find one my friends sitting down, having a heart-to-heart chat with my mom at the kitchen table. She had a genuine interest and sense of goodwill for them.
One her greatest gifts of kindness was in 1996. We were out to dinner to celebrate my mom’s birthday. I brought along two friends. One was Jesse, my best friend from college. The other was a new friend from Utah who’d just got a job out here. Mom later said she’d leaned over to my dad and whispered confidently, “that’s your new daughter in law”. I had just met Vicky, so this was some combination of intuition and divine inspiration. But she was right. When we later announced our engagement, she had a little sparkle in her eye.
Vicky had only recently moved to the area. Her family and most of her friends were back in Utah. One of the first things my mom did was throw Vicky a birthday party that December. She also spent a lot of time with Vicky planning the wedding, choosing a dress and decorations. She really made Vicky a part of the family right away. I know Vicky was grateful for the support, and I know mom was overjoyed to have a daughter.
In 2000, my father retired and the two of them moved to Oregon. They called the place Alta Martinez. My dad felt like he was permanently at summer camp. Unfortunately, in 2002, he passed away suddenly. This was devastating. So many plans and expectations were upended.
Mom moved back to Martinez, back the house on Miller Avenue that had been a rental since we’d moved out in 1979. With the help of friends, it was once again a home. And less than a year later, her first grandson, Tre, was born. It was a blessing to have her in the delivery room with us.
Having a grandson makes you a grandmother, right? But what do you do if you’re not quite ready to think of yourself that way? Remember how I said mom considered herself Italian? The nickname she chose for herself was Nona. A rose by any other name would smell as sweet, and she was a loving grandparent to Tre and Henry.
In 2005, mom was introduced to Bill Lively by a mutual friend who lived in Oregon. They hit it off and soon she moved back to Oregon to live with him in Rogue River. Back out in the country, she had horses, a donkey, ducks and chickens. It was hard for me to have her so far away again, but we made time for visits and regular phone calls. In addition, I know mom appreciated being closer to her sister in Klamath Falls.
Mom had many relaxing years of retirement up in Oregon, then, 2018 was a challenging year. Bill became ill, and Mom nursed him until he passed away that autumn. Around this same time, Vicky was coping with surgery. Once again, mom showed her grit, putting aside her grief to help us take care of the boys. When she returned to Oregon, she started a project to replace the old farmhouse in Rogue River. Just as we were getting back to normal, the world lost its collective mind. It was even harder to see each other for a couple of years.
In 2022, mom moved to Ephraim, Utah to live with her sister. It was hard to give up having her own home, but the isolation in Oregon was also a challenge. Unfortunately, later that year, mom was diagnosed with myelodysplastic syndrome, a type of blood cancer. This is a mysterious condition without any clear cause or cure. The only thing medicine seems to know is that with grueling chemotherapy, you might last three years.
My mom was tough. She faced this situation in the same way she’d faced those that came before. She disregarded the hardship and looked for the humor. In June of this year, she told me she was “past her expiration date”, and delivered the line with a trademark smirk. These past three years were tremendously hard, but when I’d ask about it, her response would be “it’s not so bad.” She could gripe about any number of political topics but never complained to me about her health, only apologizing for being so tired.
I was sure she was suffering but not willing to burden me. She was herself to the end, a nurturing mother focused on life. I could feel my father’s presence, gently saying, “it just doesn’t matter.” The pain, the suffering, was not important. When I last saw her, she was frail, and I told her I was sorry she was going through this. She put her arm around me and gave me a hug. She did the same for Gene, Tre and Henry. That’s what was important to her, that we were going to be OK.
Well, we are going to be alright. It’s going to be lonely without her, and that might have been her greatest fear, to be alone. But look around. We’re together now, and some part of her is in each us, so she’s not alone either.
I want to close with more song lyrics. This is a song I shared with my mom about being alone, and I think it gave some comfort for her in the end.
Gaze in my eyes and tell me I’ll be alright
Even if I don’t get what I need tonight
Sometimes the complexity gets a little complex
But other times it’s easy as baking a pie
Falling off a log and living till you die
What would even be the point if we knew what comes next?
The water’s warm
And no one ever told you life was long
And believed it
You’ve always known
There’s someone out there watching as you go
Just a feeling
You’re not alone
You’re not alone
You’re Not Alone, Dan Wilson, as recorded by Semisonic
Notes
Here are a few other notes about the day.
It was not particularly cold for late October, but clouds threatened rain, and made good on that threat by about the time we got started. Out on Main Street, the city was running a Halloween event, with cars forbidden on several blocks so that kids could collect candy. We thought Mom would have found the humor in the juxtaposition between the two events.
Gene went overboard on decorations and food. The latter came from Kinder’ BBQ with even more food from somewhere else. There was a tower of delicious cupcakes plus cookies. I brought along Circus Peanuts, an old fashioned candy that was my mom’s favorite.
Every table had a bouquet that included purple roses. Guests were offered small prayer cards and candles to take home. We had a table of mementos, photos and a guest registry. We had a slideshow running on a TV.
