Margaret Jane Holmes

Our beloved mother and grandmother, Margaret Jane Holmes, passed away peacefully October 13, 2025, at the age of 89. She was born September 1, 1936, and lived a full and generous life rooted in family, service, and kindness.

Throughout her life—as a nurse, a neighbor, a mother, and a grandmother—she offered comfort, strength, and laughter to everyone around her. Her presence shaped the hearts of those she loved, and her legacy continues through the stories, lessons, and love she gave so freely.

From Her Daughter’s Heart ~ Kathy

My mom lived a life defined by kindness, laughter, and quiet strength. Before she became everyone’s favorite nurse, she was a proud graduate of Independence High School in Independence, Kansas, and later earned her nursing degree from St. John’s Nursing School in Tulsa, Oklahoma. She met and married Leslie Holmes in 1959, and together they built a life rooted in love and family, first in Pittsburg, Kansas, where they welcomed their daughter Kathy (that’s me) and, four years later, “the boy,” Bobby.

In 1965, Dad accepted a new job and we packed up for Chattanooga, Tennessee. It was a big move, but it led us to a wonderful neighborhood where we instantly connected with three other families—transplants just like us. The moms became fast friends, and in the spirit of the times, each carved out their role: Mom was the neighborhood medical advisor, Cathy the gardener and driver, Ann the chef and party planner, and Claire the travel expert. These women formed a lifelong bond that couldn’t be touched by time or distance. They could go 20 years without speaking and pick up the phone like no time had passed.

Mom loved a good family trip, but her favorite vacations were the ones where we visited her sister Loretta in Parkersburg, West Virginia. The kitchen table there held a thousand stories and even more laughs—some that carried late into the night. That sense of humor ran deep on her side of the family, and it was one of the many gifts she passed down to us.

She never liked to drive. Never wanted to. Which meant that when I turned 16, I got a car—but with a deal: I’d be her chauffeur. It worked out just fine. Gas was cheap, and she always paid for it. We went everywhere together, and looking back, I wouldn’t trade those rides for anything.

When Bobby was in high school, Mom, Dad, and Bobby moved to Florida in 1979, and I visited on holidays. Just a couple years later, they relocated to Texas in 1981, where Mom went back to work as an ICU nurse at Richardson Medical Center. I joined them in Texas a year later—with my cat and my horse in tow. And even though Mom was never really a cat person, she welcomed that cat right into her home without hesitation. That’s just who she was.

Being closer to her hometown meant we could visit Independence each October for Neewollah, a fall festival that brought her so much joy. She loved reconnecting with her brother Tommy and sister-in-law Jackie—those trips were among her favorites. And of course, every visit came with the usual tour of town, courtesy of my dad. Now, Mom had lived in just one house her whole life in Independence. Dad, on the other hand, seemed to have lived in half the town. As we’d drive up and down the streets, he’d point out house after house— “We lived there for six months,” “That was our place for a year”—until Mom would just sigh, roll her eyes, and shoot him that classic “you’ve got to be kidding me” look. She never truly got mad—just that light, fake mad that made everyone laugh. It became part of the tradition, part of the charm of those visits.

Mom was kind. She was compassionate. She understood people in a way that made you feel known and loved. I will miss her dearly, but I carry her in every part of who I am.

From Her Son’s Heart ~ Bobby

We celebrate the life of my mom, a retired nurse with a heart full of humor and a knack for making everyone feel a little braver. It was just me and my sister growing up, and as the youngest—and the only boy—I had a particularly easygoing relationship with her that carried through from childhood into adulthood. She had a calm, steady presence, the kind that didn’t hover but was always there when you needed her. We shared a quiet understanding, and I always knew I could count on her whether I needed advice or just someone to listen.

Growing up in the 70’s in Chattanooga, all the neighborhood kids knew that if you knocked on my mom’s door with a scrape or a bruise, you’d either get a wave and a laugh if you were fine, or a serious look if you needed a bandage. She had a no-nonsense way of caring that made everyone feel safe, and a sense of humor that she definitely passed on to me.

From those Chattanooga days to a brief stint in Florida, and finally settling in Plano, Texas for my senior year of high school, my mom continued to share her warmth with everyone around her. Even when she traded in nursing for a role at an insurance company, her natural instinct to care for others never left her.

She always had this twinkle in her eye when I shared my career adventures—but that didn’t stop her from raising an eyebrow whenever I told her I was leaving one job for another. Every single time I called to say, “I’m changing companies,” she’d immediately ask, “Are you sure that’s the right move?” or “Didn’t the last job sound like a good one too?” I think she never quite understood why I felt the need to keep moving, and to be honest, I didn’t always understand it myself. But what mattered most is that she always supported me, even if she didn’t quite get it. And without fail, not long after I’d settle into the new role, she’d say something like, “You know, I think this was a great decision.” It became a running pattern—gentle skepticism, unwavering support, and then full-on approval. It meant the world to me that even when she questioned, it was out of care, and she always stood behind me.

One of my favorite things about her was how easily she laughed, especially when we were playing little pranks or telling tall tales. She had an older sister, Loretta, who lived in West Virginia, and both of them were just gullible enough to make it fun. My cousin Jimmy and I would invent silly stories just to see how far we could take them before one of them caught on. Even as adults, I’d say something completely outrageous just to see her pause, raise an eyebrow, and then crack up once she realized she’d been had—again.

We’ll always remember my mom not just for her care, but for the laughter and the playful moments she brought into our lives. She made being around her feel easy, light, and safe. And that’s a gift we’ll carry with us forever.

From Her Granddaughter’s Heart ~ Jennifer

My grandma was a wonderful woman. She was always there for me through it all. She taught me everything I know. She raised me and never gave up on me. She was my best friend. She was always there for me for school events, and she took me out of town a lot. She always made sure that I had everything I needed and most of what I wanted. She always made me feel like I was important. I can remember a long time ago when I was having difficulties and I didn't think that my life mattered. I suddenly thought about how she rearranged her entire life for me, and so I needed to, at the very least, try a little harder. Thanks to her, I know that my life DOES matter. I miss her so much.

A Lasting Legacy of Love

As shared in the words of her children and granddaughter, she was the heart of our family—equal parts caretaker, cheerleader, advisor, and friend. She made people feel safe without needing to say much, and she carried her humor with quiet charm and perfect timing. Whether through school events, kitchen-table conversations, or even rolling her eyes on neighborhood drives, she brought warmth and connection to the everyday. She wasn’t just present in our lives; she was the calm center that helped each of us feel grounded, believed in, and deeply loved. We’ll miss her voice, her laughter, her wisdom—but we’ll carry her spirit with us in everything we do. She gave us a lasting example of how to live with compassion, humor, and heart—and that will never fade.

Margaret is survived by her husband of 66 years, Leslie Holmes; daughter Kathy Holmes; her son Bobby Holmes and wife Kim; granddaughters Jennifer Holmes and Christina Rogers, and her great-grandson, Ethan Boatman and his father Johnny Boatman; sisters in law Jackie Strayhorn and Carmen Holmes.

There will be an Afternoon of Remembrance to celebrate Margaret’s life from 12:00~2:00 p.m., Saturday, November 22, 2025, at Allen Family Funeral Options.