Conna Jeanne Graham, 88

(This obituary is told in Conna’s own voice, with the humor and honesty she admired in Erma Bombeck.)

Well, I finally did it. After 88 years of keeping everyone else on schedule, I slipped away on November 13, 2025—peacefully, at home, and surrounded by family. It was the first time in my life I wasn’t the one reminding everyone else to hurry up.

My name is Conna Jeanne McGivern Graham, born in Marengo, Iowa, raised on a farm, and trained early to work hard, pray often, and distrust any recipe that said “season to taste.” As the youngest of the five surviving McGivern children, I learned quickly that if you don’t do something yourself, someone else will—and they’ll do it wrong. This prepared me well for marriage and motherhood.

I graduated salutatorian of Marengo High School (I maintain the valedictorian cheated) and earned my Teacher’s Certificate from the University of Iowa. I taught in a one-room schoolhouse, handling grades one through eight at once—excellent training for raising my three children, all valedictorians at Appleton (WI) West High School: Kim, Amy, and John Jr.

In June of 1957, I married John B. Graham, the love of my life, at St. Patrick’s Church. We spent 68 years together, moving from Wisconsin to Tennessee and back again, then across the Atlantic to the UK and Germany. We retired early and landed in Peachtree City, Georgia. Wherever we lived, I mastered the grocery stores, joined the church, passed the driving test on the first try, and pretended not to notice when John got us lost. I adored Europe—except for one infamous “pants incident” on church steps in Berlin, which my son and husband still enjoy retelling.

I served as Chief Family Officer, Scheduler, Chauffeur, Editor, Listener-in-Chief, Creative Collaborator, and Finder of Lost Shoes. I cooked (eventually well), becoming known for banana pudding, tuna casserole, shepherd’s pie, Jell-O, Congo Bars (one row always missing for quality control), and a Thanksgiving dressing that deserved its own national observance. I once confused red pepper with cinnamon in a Bundt cake. Relax—John survived, ate it anyway, and even said, “It doesn’t taste that bad.”

My joys included Downton Abbey, Lifetime movies, crime documentaries, Bridge, and the Chex Mix–plus–card-table social circuit. I cherished family traditions, especially my annual July 4th backyard “pool swim” from ladder to ladder—an Olympic event with exactly one undefeated competitor. I also maintained unquestioned dominance over the family dog, Jacques Darcel De Bon Graham, who adored me, acknowledged my authority, and proudly paraded my clothing through the house to build his nests in front of guests.

My Catholic faith guided me always—I served as a lay minister, volunteered, delivered Meals on Wheels, and believed kindness and good manners were never wasted.

I am preceded in death by my parents, Carrie and Frank, and my sisters Kathleen, Rita, and Rose. I am survived by my husband John; my brother Kevin; my children Kim, Amy, and John Jr.; my grandchildren Brent, Brittany, Amanda, Ashley, and Autumn; and my great-grandchildren Griffin, Adrienne, Gabe, Huntleigh, Aurora, Ruby, and Amelia. They called me Grandma, G-Maw, or Gigi—a title earned through decades of love, patience, and pretending not to see who tracked mud inside.

To my family: thank you for the laughter, the stories, and for eating my casseroles even when they were “experimental.” I am gone from sight, but not from your hearts. Carry on the traditions: be kind, be curious, be interested in others, laugh at yourself, make the dressing from scratch, and remember—if you lost something, it is exactly where you left it.

My ashes will rest in Marengo, Iowa, alongside my parents and siblings, with a portion shared in Brooklyn, Iowa—because a heart can belong to more than one hometown.

A Memorial Celebration will be held in Marengo, Iowa, in the spring. Someone will forget the potato salad. Someone will blame my husband John. And I will be smiling. (Yes, I edited that last line myself.)

P.S.“Our Senior Moments”—my 30-year collection of overheard gems, quips, and wisdom from older adults—is still being written. Son John is helping finish it. I like to think I’m contributing from heaven.