Katherine Stewart Wood

Our mother has died. Our pretty, talented, gracious, spiritual, clever, brilliant—and a thousand other adjectives that would wear out your patience—mother, Katherine Stewart Wood, has died. And now we are four middle-aged orphans who hardly know what to do with ourselves. But tradition dictates that we tell a short story that will do little justice to the woman we love. And so we begin.

Back on July 8, 1945, Kathy was given to Boyd Helaman and Sybil Shumway Stewart—their first-born daughter. They liked her so much, they kept going, having ten Stewart children in all. Together they worked and lived from ocean to ocean, ate orchards full of little green apples, shared petticoats and farm chores, and learned to love God, Family and Country even more than themselves.

Her beloved family raised her up in the way she should go, and when she was old, she did not depart from it.

She went to Utah State University to find fame and fortune but instead fell in love with the great Bob Wood. And even though her daddy offered them a worn-out, used-up couch if they’d postpone getting married, Bob refused the bribe, put a ring on her finger, and carried her away to live in the balmy isles of outer Mongolia. Or maybe it was Canada. Same thing.

For a while they didn’t mind removing their car battery every night so the engine would start in the morning. But before long the shine wore off the freezer burn, and they moved back home to Utah to warm up, this time with baby Nicki in tow.

They built three more homes while building three more children in Syracuse—Lisa, Chris and Kara—each more fun than the last. And for many years Kathy was a stay-at-home mother. The world would have you believe that was nothing, but as her children we know it was the most intentional gift we were ever given. We would come crashing into the house and yell out, “MOM!” and almost without fail, there was a holler back that she was, “down in the sewing room.”

We’d shove a wadded up piece of homemade bread into our mouths, then run down the stairs to sit on the washing machine and tell her all about our day. And she would listen. Always she would listen. And sometimes while she listened she’d figure out a way to make you think breaking up with your boyfriend was your own idea.

Our mom regularly saved us from ourselves, made sure our entitlement was low and our standards were high, and told us she’d yank us out of cheerleading so fast our heads would spin if we didn’t keep Jesus in our sights. And so we did.

She loved pearls and gingham and eyelet and geraniums. She could look at an outfit or a room in a magazine, and duplicate every detail for a fraction of the cost, which is why nobody knew we were poor. Including us.

And in an hysterical world, she was emotionally composed. Which is to say she didn’t put up with any guff, called, “Hog-wash and pig-guts” when her kids turned nonsensical, and could bring maturity and truth to every subject without weeping, wailing, or gnashing her teeth.

In the prime of her life, and even before it was trending, she was struck down with debilitating anxiety, which ended mortality as she knew it. And we were mad. Mostly because she couldn’t drive us to the mall anymore. And she was mad. Mostly because she’d have to find a way to live with panic attacks and an overwhelming fear of practically everything that she once did with confidence.

But she did it. She turned to Jesus and Bob Wood and together they triumphed. And by triumphed, we mean struggled until the very last day and breath of her life. But in the interim she became a strength and empathetic ear to her posterity who suffered from the same malady. She helped us bear our burdens with faith, service, loin girding, and a smidge of dark humor as the cherry on top.

And heavens, she was such a good teacher! She taught us we were born with Believing Blood. That you can’t get by with a lick and a promise. And how to eat without grossing people out.

She gathered us for family prayer, served in unpaid and unappreciated positions, and taught the cynical truth that no good deed goes unpunished, but we do it anyway.

She knew that no success in life can compensate for failure in the home. Fortunately she was able to succeed at both, blessing and dressing thousands of brides and hosting hundreds of weddings at The Victorian. So if you wore her designs or ate cake in the carriage house or sipped lemon water while your unsupervised children threw rocks in the stream, well, you were the lucky ones. And our dad is still mad about those rocks.

As she grew older, we liked her even more, if that’s possible. She was integral to every occasion, made blessing outfits and held tea parties for great grandchildren, and continued making 14 layer Jello until the very last holiday she spent on this earth. She never gave up—never said she was done—until she really was. But wondered why our dad had to go on without her.

And speaking of our dad, Mom was the wind beneath his wings. He gave out the gum, but she bought it. He left a trail of debris in his wake, and she cleaned it up. He used her as fodder for Mother’s Day talks, and she laughed with him. His success was her joy and his failure was her sorrow and together they removed stones and cut back briar patches so all of their posterity had a clear shot at Heaven. And the only thing she ever called him was “dear.” Sometimes with irritation, but that’s about it. And when he left her behind, everything started to disintegrate.

Which brings us to the end of our story.

And hers.

And without them both, we feel like we might wander in mists of darkness until Jesus comes again.

But we won’t.

Because our mother has died.

But still she lives.

With Him.

This we know.

Because of our angel mother.

She leaves behind her favorite children Nicole (Brad) Holt, Lisa (Sterling) Bingham, Christian (Natalie) Wood, Kara (Nate) Elmore and bonus kids Rick, Katie and Parker Tennant.

Her grandchildren, not an ugly one in the bunch: Blake Holt, Brinn (Michael) Moss, Carly (Brian) Doll, Ashton (Madelyn) Bingham, Christian (Lauren) Bingham, Seth (Val) Bingham, Julia (Brady) Fairbourn, Lillian (Ethan) DeRoussel, Emma, Ethan, Luke and Claire Wood, Wesley (Peyton), Ava, Mabel, Mary, Jane and Ila Elmore and great-grandchildren; Lydia, Rose, Violet, Steven, Daisy, William, Poppy, Ledger, Brian, Margot, Tommy, Sterling and Lily.

Her dear siblings and their family text thread: Bill Stewart, Julie Wood, Ted (Lora) Stewart, Rich (Sue) Stewart, Mary (Brian) Tarbet, Mike (Bonnie) Stewart, Chris (Evie) Stewart, Heather (Dale) Lyman and Tim (Marcia) Stewart.

And her husband’s family that she liked and loved: Thomas Wood, William Sput (Rose), David (Janet) Wood, Deborah Wood (Dave Nielsen) and Myra (Ken)Peterson.

She ran into the arms of the great Bob Wood, as well as her parents: Boyd and Sybil Stewart, father and mother in-law: Jack and Verna Jane Wood, brother-in-law: Don Wood, and sisters-in-law: Stana Wood and Tina Stewart.

Heartfelt gratitude to Macady Julander and Eric Moyes. We handed her to you and you held her as your own.

Her funeral will be held on Monday, June 1st at Syracuse South Stake Center, 3065 South Bluff Road, Syracuse Utah. Viewing from 9:30—11:30 a.m. followed by the funeral at 12:00. Interment right after at Syracuse City Cemetery 1250 South 1000 West Syracuse Utah.