Paula Marie Gagnier

1952-2019

“Beauty, Brains and Love were having a race: When they got to Paula, they called it a tie.”

image of Paula Marie Gagnier

Paula Marie Gagnier

10 Responses to “Paula Marie Gagnier”

  • Kevin Gagner says:

    Our big sister. Loving, loyal, ferociously protective of us.
    Skinny, beautiful, outlandishly funny; a wonderful cook who shared that gift with all of us (also known as “Aint Bea” by her nephews for her pie-making abilities.)
    There just isn’t enough room here.

  • Russell Kimurs says:

    Heaven has accepted another angel to watch over us. Always remember and celebrate her life.

  • Marilyn says:

    The layman’s guide to honoring Paula: Be a ridiculously great relative, brush your teeth, clean up after yourself, stay in shape, look like a hottie, stick to your guns, have a piece of pie and excel at baking, go to the library, have some quiet time, avoid drama, go to a museum, have a picnic lunch, get on a kayak, ride a bike, collect some antiques or do some online shopping, take an awesome vacation, be whimsical and kind but don’t forget to add sarcasm and wit.

  • Deborah Daunhauer says:

    I am so sorry you had to leave so soon. It is very selfish but I can’t believe you’re really gone.

    You are one of my favorite people.

    When I feel sad I will remember all of out laughing and giggles.

    Please a place for me, beside you in heaven.

    Love,
    Debbie

  • Deborah Daunhauer says:

    Paula,

    There are too many wonderful things about you that I can’t list them all.

    I think of you daily when I’m alone I shed a tear or more. Please save me a seat next to you in heaven.

    I love you so much,
    Debbie

  • Phil Baechler says:

    We had a nice quiet ride to Tucson in the Volvo and her ashes now rest in a warm spot under her favorite saguaro.

  • Travis Baechler says:

    The Shortness of Life Forbids Us Long Hopes
    Ernest Dowson (1867-1900)

    They are not long, the weeping and the laughter,
    Love and desire and hate:
    I think they have no portion in us after
    We pass the gate.

    They are not long, the days of wine and roses:
    Out of a misty dream
    Our path emerges for a while, then closes
    Within a dream.

  • Angie Tatarek says:

    Oh my beloved cousin Paula, how can it be? I just found out and am trying to wrap my mind around it.
    The person who selflessly cared for others time and time again should not be gone so soon.
    You were simply amazing :an awesome pie Baker (thanks for always rocking my favorite cherry) with an equally awesome and “blue” wit .Loved to laugh to the point of snorting with you and enjoying birthdays of pizza and cake with my brothers and your buddy my cat Fred.
    I smile thru the tears of those memories as I’m oh so glad we all reconnected (albeit when Barney passed).
    Have always thought of you like my big sister and will miss our chats and many texts. I hope I will make you proud and you’ll never ever be far from my thoughts.
    Guess what? You get to hang out with your buddy Barney again; this time in heaven.
    I love you now, always and forever Chicka….save me a seat and we’ll have a piece of pie.
    P.s. if my cousins read this, I dont have a current phone number for any of you;I wanted to call you!Phil has my cellphone number. Love you all and know that Joe,Dave and I have you in our thoughts and prayers.

  • Julie Harris says:

    Paula was a beautiful, loyal, intelligent friend and confidante since we met in dental hygiene school in 1977. I have such wonderful memories of our friendship and I miss her more than words can express. She promised to go forth and scout what lays ahead on the “other side.” I’ll wait patiently for her to give me a sign and I look forward to being in her presence again.
    Rest in peace dear Paula.

  • Phil Baechler says:

    I first met Paula at a fun run 25 years ago….she was with my dental hygienist and they had gone to school together. I called her the next day and we met halfway (she lived in Seattle and I lived in Yakima). We walked around in the woods near Roslyn and had a great time.

    I called her the next night and told her “That was my best first date ever!” She agreed, so I said “Do you want to quit while you’re ahead?” “Nah,” she said, “why don’t you call me again tomorrow night.”

    It has been 25 years and the best first date turned into the best marriage, including a Tucson house, four cute grandkids and she always told everyone “I married the right guy!”

    Cancer is not lucky, but she worked through like a champ. After the first couple of people she told backfired on her, she decided to keep a low profile. There were two tumors, lung and brain, which made it Stage 4, but the new genetic drug shrank the lung by 85% the first month and she had “gamma knife” radiation to the brain tumor and it looked like she was winning all the way through 2018.

    Then in early 2019 she started getting dizzy/nauseous and they found some little cells in her spinal column. The choice was do nothing and have a possible seizure in a month or two, or else do full brain radiation for a month. Her oncologist said “The cancer probably won’t kill you, but the treatment will.”

    She lost her hair (that’s the picture on the right) but kept plugging through 2019. She decided to do hospice at her sister Connie’s cottage in the country so we did the last few months there. She liked cream of mushroom soup, baby rice cereal and Fanta. She laughed and rolled her eyes at her friends’ jokes right up to the end.

    One blessing: She never had any pain, ever. She got weak at the end but I was able to take time off from work and spend the last month with her: “I’ll be the guy holding your hand when you open your eyes….”

    Her family, friends and our kids/grandkids all got by to see her and she didn’t have to endure another “family Thanksgiving.” She was puffing a little her last night, so I gave her a morphine drop and went over to write it down in the medication log. A minute later I was back and she was Poof, gone quietly. Connie and I put on her favorite jammies, a little makeup and she was very pretty.

    Over Christmas I drove with her in the Volvo all the way to Tucson where her ashes now rest under a nice, warm saguaro.

    When I get sad I still hear her: “Don’t be sad, Pippo, go for a bike ride!”

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