She was the daughter of George and Ellen Davis.
Marlene Esther Giesecke was born February 20, 1937, and entered into her eternal rest on December 10, 2024, age 87.
She is survived by her three children: daughter Cynthia McAninch, son, Ron Giesecke, and daughter Denise Bethany. She is also survived by one remaining sister Kathleen Lund of Omak Washington.
She is also survived by seven Grandchildren, Seven great grandchildren, and one great, great grandchild of recent days.
Marlene was born in Iowa, but ultimately made it to California where she attended junior high and high school, ultimately graduating from Garfield High School in Los Angeles in 1955. Her daughter, Cynthia would arrive in the midst of her first marriage— to a one Hugh Isaacs, which would ultimately end in divorce.
In 1966 she married Fred William Giesecke, who was 18 1/2 years her senior. from that union would proceed Ron and Denise Giesecke—17 months apart.
After seven years in the Los Angeles area, the family moved to Anderson, California—particularly the Happy Valley area —where she would ultimately become a teacher’s aid, sometimes working in the classrooms of her own children at Happy Valley, primary and elementary schools.
This would proceed for a number of years with many civic involvements, primarily Ron’s Cub Scout activities, and parent teacher organizations. She would be involved in medical first aid classes, auto extrication drills and CPR.
In 1980 she would come to put her children in a private school: Shasta Christian Academy, and would later become preschool and kindergarten supervisor there. She would also become a charter member of the home church, Bible Temple until its very last day.
Her soaring Soprano voice would carry on way into her 70’s until the onset of respiratory limitations would limit her vocal parameters. Not being able to sing bothered her greatly, but was only really detectable in the subtext of her voice when discussing it. She didn’t want to taint the joy of others. She never did. And she never would. She carried her burdens quietly—an act of ultimate love.
And no one will ever sing Via Dolorosa as amazingly as her. Ever.
Her influence on every child that came into her life was immense, and meteoric, insofar as many of those little children remember her to this day and recall her gigantic influence on their life during their developing years. There was no job on planet Earth as she loved more than working with those little souls. And they remember her fondly.
Her own children—whom she taught to read, will say “amen” to this.
The other love of her life, besides her family was crocheting. The last 50 years will testify to nearly thousands of crocheted projects that flowed out from her creative handiwork, nearly incessantly and without creative limitation– – health issues notwithstanding. In recent days, her son, Ron has had conversations with people who have testified to still owning the blankets that she made for them 41 years ago, when they first had children. And it was the love of newborns and the love of life that drove her motivation—to always want to underscore the beauty of childbirth—with artwork that was made in love. She continued to make these for graduations, and for other significant life events as they arose. And they arose all the time because, Marlene never met a stranger. If she managed to get your name, address and birthdate, you would inevitably find a card in your mailbox from her at some point… And she never forgot you.
Her life was one selfless act after another, with no thought for her own well-being beyond essentials. She selflessly worried about her children into their 50s without regard for their own expected . . . well, you know how moms are.
In 2020 during the appalling Covid lockdowns, Marlene fell and broke her femur, resulting in the need for surgical remedy. This process, happening at 83 years of age would forever alter the course of her life. She would never drive again, although she held out the protracted hope for doing so. She would never really again walk independently without the use of a walker. And this was significant, because up until that moment, her mobility, despite her age—was her ace up her sleeve– – she would literally care for elderly people younger than her that were less mobile, and take them to their appointments, obligations and make sure they got home safely to and from the doctor. The moment she was unable to carry out that mission was really Ground Zero For a section of life that would usher in the most unpleasant of days—and most likely fostered a desire to shed the wicked chains of infirmity once and for all.
Yet, she carried on; making blankets, passing them out to birth centers, to be handed out to single moms that had no sense of compass—up-or-down about what it was like to raise a child. She donated blood up until the moment she no longer could; she held records at North State Blood Center for the amount of plasma that she managed to donate over a period of many years —decades even—and it would probably fill up a Midwestern grain silo if it was ever calculated.
Attempting to galvanize everything she was into a few simple paragraphs is simply impossible, and really not the product of this writer’s laziness. Had she not possessed the level of humility she did, it would be easy to write, but it is her humility that is now posthumously revealing to her family so many things about her—as her effects, photos and papers are just now bringing more of her amazing life into relief. She accomplished very much, and never bragged about it. She affected the lives of countless people and never reminded anyone of it –-It was in fact, they who came back to remind the family exactly how important she was to them.
Her final years were supplemented with frequent visits from her granddaughters, Emma and Clara, whom grandma was always calling “on the sly” (in other words, something cool she had going with just them), and having them bring her things like watermelon, applesauce and of course—yarn. And having them deliver those crocheted masterpieces wherever she directed them to go as well.
At the time of her death, three of those blankets were yet undelivered—reverberating in the back of her granddaughter’s car. A reminder that these moments will never be forgotten—and yet will never be repeated. The saved voicemails on their phones will have to do. At least “until that day.”
To the world, she was old. To those closest to her, she was ageless and vital.
In fact, the death of an 87-year-old woman in this day and age can result in the most unheard drop in life‘s pond, with no one paying attention. Generational distractions can see even much younger souls than hers easily forgotten by the time death comes to the door.
Such as not the case with Marlene Giesecke. And it was the underlying joy she carried at that level that made her unforgettable. Her abject selflessness, humility, devotion to God and desire to see her Savior on the other shore was who she truly was.
And as a matter of fact, is who she remains at this very moment –-young again, free of the inhibitions of physical infirmity, and yes, sitting in a recliner with a bag of brand new yarn, crocheting the ultimate Afghan.
And singing Via Dolorosa one more time.
Box Number Seven 