Constance Hillger, 74, of Port Townsend, Washington, passed away on April 5, 2022, after a four-year long battle with cancer.
Connie was born on March 13, 1948, to Maurice Robert and Jean Hott McCoy in Decatur, Illinois. After graduating from Santa Ana High School in 1966, she went on to study neuroscience and education at California State University, Fullerton. Connie pursued her master’s degree and became an elementary school teacher. While in California, Connie’s focus was on special education for the hearing impaired and communicatively challenged; in Washington, she privately taught gifted and talented children in the Port Townsend community.
That all sounds so stuffy. That isn’t how Mom would want her obituary to read.
Mom was a firecracker. She was smart as a whip, had a quick wit, and a sharp tongue. She embraced every opportunity with gusto and positivity.
She had three of us in her first marriage to Richard Dale Briggs: Dee Stafford (the smart one), Erin Tyler (mid-kid/funny one), and Anne Courtney (the favorite — yep, I’m writing this). Out of this brood came four grandchildren: David Michael Kovacs, Savannah Hope Briggs, Andrew Charles Neudorfer, and Caleb Robert Neudorfer. Mom married Tyrone Page Hillger in 1992 and gained a bonus family (Laurie, Dell, and Karin) along with 16 grandchildren and five great-grandchildren. Family is everything to Mom. So much so, that she actually has that embroidered on a pillow.
Constance, Connie, Con, Mom, Grandma Ducky… Mom had many names and wore many hats throughout her 74 years. With each hat came a lesson.
A professional musician, Mom taught us the beauty of music through instruments (including flute, and bass) and song. She taught us to harmonize with others. She taught us to keep time, maintaining a solid and consistent rhythm, no matter the circumstances.
As an educator, Mom taught us to speak intelligently and with confidence (even if we don’t know what we’re talking about). She taught us the value of communication: listening to others to learn and understand different perspectives. She taught us to collaborate — working together yields better results. Unless you’re with her in her kitchen.
Mom was a masterful cook and baker. Her recipe cabinet contains hundreds of recipes, and she could tell you the exact location of each (except the mulligatawny soup, for which we looked for hours, only to find it as the sole recipe stuck to the fridge). But the “Those Chicken Things” recipe is wedged somewhere between the “Biscuits and Stuff” and “Earthquake Cake,” among several other family favorites. We just can’t find the brownie recipe.
Mom taught us about patience. As a lifelong Cubs fan, she trained us to wait and push through disappointment.
Mom’s faith was strong and she was a giver. If you compliment her, be prepared to own whatever you’re complimenting. She’ll either give it to you or buy you one just like it. She tithed to her church faithfully, even when she had nothing extra to give (check out the Bible’s Mark 12:41-44, The Widow’s Mite).
Mom was a woman of extremes. She loved fiercely (stellar jays, Snoqualmie Falls oats, a clean house, her prized squeegee, proper grammar, Trader Joe’s, Starbucks coffee) or she abhorred things with every bone in her body (avocados). Mom was quirky (have you ever heard her sing “Take Me Out to the Ball Game”?) and taught us to embrace our uniqueness with pride. She had a superhuman sense of smell, always started her day with a shower and fresh lipstick, and, most recently, had a love-hate relationship with Wordle.
Mom loved her peace and quiet; unfortunately for her, quiet isn’t necessarily our family’s strong suit. During her final days, Mom endured the orchestra of the ice machine, coffee maker, microwave, and knife sharpener, with harmonizing parts of clanking pots and pans and dishes loaded in and out of the dishwasher, with the accompaniment of our conversations, beginning as whispers punctuated with church laughs that would crescendo into full belly laughs while we recounted memories. Despite the cacophony, Mom wouldn’t have it any other way. Surrounded by family, stories, music, and laughter, she was at peace, comforted by the presence of joy, and proud of the family she raised.
