Susan Rosetta Ayers Gingell (Sissy or Aunt Sissy to many; Rosetta to a few; Goggi or Grandma to an unruly mob of grandchildren and great grandchildren and just plain Mama or Mom to 4) was born in Alexandria, Virginia, to Charles Joseph "Buck" Ayers and Caroline Medley Wenk Ayers, on December 1, 1916. She grew up in Alexandria and Springfield, Virginia, when Springfield was very rural. She told stories of picking up coal on the railroad tracks to use for fuel during the depression and hunting rabbits and possums and snapping turtles and squirrels for food. She delivered mail on a rural route through Burke and Lorton, Virginia, driving a Model A Ford. Susan was predeceased by her brother Frederick, her sisters Inez and Caroline, her parents, her "adopted" brother Al, three unnamed siblings who died at birth and, given her age, just about everybody else she ever knew including her two husbands, Ray by 74 years and Jimmy by 41.
She married Raymond Dean, a high school sweetheart, in 1939. Ray was a machinist at the Naval Gun Factory in Washington, DC, during World War II. Ray fell from a horse and died in her arms a few days later, on New Year's Day 1946, of a suspected cerebral hemorrhage.
She said that she wandered around in a daze for some time after Ray's untimely death but she did get a job working at a Hot Shoppes snack bar and news stand in Washington's National Airport. There she met James Maurice Gingell Jr. Jimmy was a baggage handler for United Airlines and a former US Navy sailor recently home from the war. Jimmy said that he liked her legs and would sneak up behind the snack bar/news stand for a better look. On their first date they went to see the musical play Carousel.
Susan was the original cougar. She and Jimmy were married on May 31, 1948. He was nine years her junior. They enjoyed seven blissful childless years but Susan longed to have children of her own, having doted on her nieces Jane, Anne, and Carla, and her nephews John and Tommy, for years. Then in 1955, at the age of 38, with the help of early fertility drugs, she gave birth to her first child, Mary Therese Gingell. Mary was followed in 1958 by Terry Martin Gingell, in 1961 by Thomas Anthony Gingell, and in 1962 by Jane Louise Gingell.
In 1960 Susan and Jimmy followed his dream of moving to California and settled in San Jose. They spent five idyllic years there with eternal warmth, apricot trees in the front yard and two new babies, Tom and Jane but Susan pined for her family back east something awful. So in 1965 they loaded four young children into a gigantic Chrysler station wagon and drove back home to Virginia with many, many stops along the way.
They arrived at the Springfield home of Susan's sister Caroline in July of 1965. They camped there for a month or so until they found and purchased a home on Ives Place in North Springfield. There they raised their family until moving to Annandale in 1970, where she lived until 2007. In 2007 she moved in with her son Tom and his family in Fairfax, where she lived the rest of her life.
In the late sixties Susan went to work as a bookkeeper for the Southland Corporation, the company that owned and operated all of the area 7-11 stores at that time. She worked there until she retired in 1981.
In 1974 Jimmy was diagnosed with thyroid cancer. Together they battled through five difficult years of chemo and radiation and all the assorted unpleasant aspects of a desperate struggle with cancer. Jimmy passed away in May of 1979.
In those days Susan could be heard to complain that she would never have any grandchildren. She could not have been more wrong. She went on to see her children marry and ultimately she had 13 grandchildren: David, Josh, Daniel, Pamela, Jamie, Caroline, Ian, Kyle, Stephanie, Brandon, Krissie, Annie, and Alex; and 4 great grandchildren: Hunter, Willow, Jack, and Raylan. She met her most recently arrived great grandchild, 2 month old Raylan, in person, for the first time during her very last few hours. It is not hard to imagine that she had held on so tenaciously those last few weeks and days in anticipation of that meeting and once that was accomplished she could simply, very peacefully, slip away.
Two words best describe Susan: generous and selfless. She was generous to an absolute fault, if there actually is such a thing, and selfless to the point that a common refrain around a holiday dinner table was "Mom, will you please sit down!" Taking care of people was a biological imperative for her. She simply could not do otherwise. Was she perfect? No, but what imperfections she had aren't worth the trouble to write about. In addition to raising her immediate family, she was like a second mother to niece Jane; she welcomed her mother-in-law, Louise, into her home for the last few years of Louise's life; and she provided assistance and support to countless other relatives and friends at difficult moments in their lives.
In 2007 Susan sold her house in Annandale and moved in with her son Tom and his family, where she was surrounded by four of her grandchildren on a daily basis. Tom's youngest, Alex, was born a month after she moved in. She held him in her arms at nap time every day for his first two years.
Throughout her declining years Tom, supported by his wife, Sharon, was her primary caretaker. No one, living or dead, could have taken better care of her. Tom exercised consummate kindness, consummate gentleness, consummate attentiveness, and consummate patience every day in every aspect of her care. He also teased her from time to time, which she loved -- she said it kept her going! But the patience part must have been trying at times. The cry of "Tommy!" could be heard at all hours. Tom is sure to hear that cry in his sleep and jump out of bed for years to come.
She once described her life as having been composed of joys and sorrows, well balanced. She always said that she wanted no tears at her funeral. Once, not too long ago, when her son Terry came to visit her she mistakenly called him Papa. Tom said "Mom, that's Terry. Papa's been gone for a long time." Her response was an almost angry "Then why am I still here?" She lived a very long, very blessed life. 103 years, 8 months, 27 days. 37,891 sunrises and sunsets, give or take. She was a blessing to everyone she ever met.
This account must necessarily leave out the names of many who touched her life and whose life she touched. To try to list them all is to surely omit many for they would number in the hundreds if not thousands. 103 years, 8 months and 27 days is indeed a long, long time.
She married Raymond Dean, a high school sweetheart, in 1939. Ray was a machinist at the Naval Gun Factory in Washington, DC, during World War II. Ray fell from a horse and died in her arms a few days later, on New Year's Day 1946, of a suspected cerebral hemorrhage.
She said that she wandered around in a daze for some time after Ray's untimely death but she did get a job working at a Hot Shoppes snack bar and news stand in Washington's National Airport. There she met James Maurice Gingell Jr. Jimmy was a baggage handler for United Airlines and a former US Navy sailor recently home from the war. Jimmy said that he liked her legs and would sneak up behind the snack bar/news stand for a better look. On their first date they went to see the musical play Carousel.
Susan was the original cougar. She and Jimmy were married on May 31, 1948. He was nine years her junior. They enjoyed seven blissful childless years but Susan longed to have children of her own, having doted on her nieces Jane, Anne, and Carla, and her nephews John and Tommy, for years. Then in 1955, at the age of 38, with the help of early fertility drugs, she gave birth to her first child, Mary Therese Gingell. Mary was followed in 1958 by Terry Martin Gingell, in 1961 by Thomas Anthony Gingell, and in 1962 by Jane Louise Gingell.
In 1960 Susan and Jimmy followed his dream of moving to California and settled in San Jose. They spent five idyllic years there with eternal warmth, apricot trees in the front yard and two new babies, Tom and Jane but Susan pined for her family back east something awful. So in 1965 they loaded four young children into a gigantic Chrysler station wagon and drove back home to Virginia with many, many stops along the way.
They arrived at the Springfield home of Susan's sister Caroline in July of 1965. They camped there for a month or so until they found and purchased a home on Ives Place in North Springfield. There they raised their family until moving to Annandale in 1970, where she lived until 2007. In 2007 she moved in with her son Tom and his family in Fairfax, where she lived the rest of her life.
In the late sixties Susan went to work as a bookkeeper for the Southland Corporation, the company that owned and operated all of the area 7-11 stores at that time. She worked there until she retired in 1981.
In 1974 Jimmy was diagnosed with thyroid cancer. Together they battled through five difficult years of chemo and radiation and all the assorted unpleasant aspects of a desperate struggle with cancer. Jimmy passed away in May of 1979.
In those days Susan could be heard to complain that she would never have any grandchildren. She could not have been more wrong. She went on to see her children marry and ultimately she had 13 grandchildren: David, Josh, Daniel, Pamela, Jamie, Caroline, Ian, Kyle, Stephanie, Brandon, Krissie, Annie, and Alex; and 4 great grandchildren: Hunter, Willow, Jack, and Raylan. She met her most recently arrived great grandchild, 2 month old Raylan, in person, for the first time during her very last few hours. It is not hard to imagine that she had held on so tenaciously those last few weeks and days in anticipation of that meeting and once that was accomplished she could simply, very peacefully, slip away.
Two words best describe Susan: generous and selfless. She was generous to an absolute fault, if there actually is such a thing, and selfless to the point that a common refrain around a holiday dinner table was "Mom, will you please sit down!" Taking care of people was a biological imperative for her. She simply could not do otherwise. Was she perfect? No, but what imperfections she had aren't worth the trouble to write about. In addition to raising her immediate family, she was like a second mother to niece Jane; she welcomed her mother-in-law, Louise, into her home for the last few years of Louise's life; and she provided assistance and support to countless other relatives and friends at difficult moments in their lives.
In 2007 Susan sold her house in Annandale and moved in with her son Tom and his family, where she was surrounded by four of her grandchildren on a daily basis. Tom's youngest, Alex, was born a month after she moved in. She held him in her arms at nap time every day for his first two years.
Throughout her declining years Tom, supported by his wife, Sharon, was her primary caretaker. No one, living or dead, could have taken better care of her. Tom exercised consummate kindness, consummate gentleness, consummate attentiveness, and consummate patience every day in every aspect of her care. He also teased her from time to time, which she loved -- she said it kept her going! But the patience part must have been trying at times. The cry of "Tommy!" could be heard at all hours. Tom is sure to hear that cry in his sleep and jump out of bed for years to come.
She once described her life as having been composed of joys and sorrows, well balanced. She always said that she wanted no tears at her funeral. Once, not too long ago, when her son Terry came to visit her she mistakenly called him Papa. Tom said "Mom, that's Terry. Papa's been gone for a long time." Her response was an almost angry "Then why am I still here?" She lived a very long, very blessed life. 103 years, 8 months, 27 days. 37,891 sunrises and sunsets, give or take. She was a blessing to everyone she ever met.
This account must necessarily leave out the names of many who touched her life and whose life she touched. To try to list them all is to surely omit many for they would number in the hundreds if not thousands. 103 years, 8 months and 27 days is indeed a long, long time.
Susan Rosetta Ayers Gingell (Sissy or Aunt Sissy to many; Rosetta to a few; Goggi or Grandma to an unruly mob of grandchildren and great grandchildren and just plain Mama or Mom to 4) was born in Alexandria, Virginia, to Charles Joseph "Buck" Ayers and Caroline Medley Wenk Ayers, on December 1, 1916. She grew up in Alexandria and Springfield, Virginia, when Springfield was very rural. She told stories of picking up coal on the railroad tracks to use for fuel during the depression and hunting rabbits and possums and snapping turtles and squirrels for food. She delivered mail on a rural route through Burke and Lorton, Virginia, driving a Model A Ford. Susan was predeceased by her brother Frederick, her sisters Inez and Caroline, her parents, her "adopted" brother Al, three unnamed siblings who died at birth and, given her age, just about everybody else she ever knew including her two husbands, Ray by 74 years and Jimmy by 41.
She married Raymond Dean, a high school sweetheart, in 1939. Ray was a machinist at the Naval Gun Factory in Washington, DC, during World War II. Ray fell from a horse and died in her arms a few days later, on New Year's Day 1946, of a suspected cerebral hemorrhage.
She said that she wandered around in a daze for some time after Ray's untimely death but she did get a job working at a Hot Shoppes snack bar and news stand in Washington's National Airport. There she met James Maurice Gingell Jr. Jimmy was a baggage handler for United Airlines and a former US Navy sailor recently home from the war. Jimmy said that he liked her legs and would sneak up behind the snack bar/news stand for a better look. On their first date they went to see the musical play Carousel.
Susan was the original cougar. She and Jimmy were married on May 31, 1948. He was nine years her junior. They enjoyed seven blissful childless years but Susan longed to have children of her own, having doted on her nieces Jane, Anne, and Carla, and her nephews John and Tommy, for years. Then in 1955, at the age of 38, with the help of early fertility drugs, she gave birth to her first child, Mary Therese Gingell. Mary was followed in 1958 by Terry Martin Gingell, in 1961 by Thomas Anthony Gingell, and in 1962 by Jane Louise Gingell.
In 1960 Susan and Jimmy followed his dream of moving to California and settled in San Jose. They spent five idyllic years there with eternal warmth, apricot trees in the front yard and two new babies, Tom and Jane but Susan pined for her family back east something awful. So in 1965 they loaded four young children into a gigantic Chrysler station wagon and drove back home to Virginia with many, many stops along the way.
They arrived at the Springfield home of Susan's sister Caroline in July of 1965. They camped there for a month or so until they found and purchased a home on Ives Place in North Springfield. There they raised their family until moving to Annandale in 1970, where she lived until 2007. In 2007 she moved in with her son Tom and his family in Fairfax, where she lived the rest of her life.
In the late sixties Susan went to work as a bookkeeper for the Southland Corporation, the company that owned and operated all of the area 7-11 stores at that time. She worked there until she retired in 1981.
In 1974 Jimmy was diagnosed with thyroid cancer. Together they battled through five difficult years of chemo and radiation and all the assorted unpleasant aspects of a desperate struggle with cancer. Jimmy passed away in May of 1979.
In those days Susan could be heard to complain that she would never have any grandchildren. She could not have been more wrong. She went on to see her children marry and ultimately she had 13 grandchildren: David, Josh, Daniel, Pamela, Jamie, Caroline, Ian, Kyle, Stephanie, Brandon, Krissie, Annie, and Alex; and 4 great grandchildren: Hunter, Willow, Jack, and Raylan. She met her most recently arrived great grandchild, 2 month old Raylan, in person, for the first time during her very last few hours. It is not hard to imagine that she had held on so tenaciously those last few weeks and days in anticipation of that meeting and once that was accomplished she could simply, very peacefully, slip away.
Two words best describe Susan: generous and selfless. She was generous to an absolute fault, if there actually is such a thing, and selfless to the point that a common refrain around a holiday dinner table was "Mom, will you please sit down!" Taking care of people was a biological imperative for her. She simply could not do otherwise. Was she perfect? No, but what imperfections she had aren't worth the trouble to write about. In addition to raising her immediate family, she was like a second mother to niece Jane; she welcomed her mother-in-law, Louise, into her home for the last few years of Louise's life; and she provided assistance and support to countless other relatives and friends at difficult moments in their lives.
In 2007 Susan sold her house in Annandale and moved in with her son Tom and his family, where she was surrounded by four of her grandchildren on a daily basis. Tom's youngest, Alex, was born a month after she moved in. She held him in her arms at nap time every day for his first two years.
Throughout her declining years Tom, supported by his wife, Sharon, was her primary caretaker. No one, living or dead, could have taken better care of her. Tom exercised consummate kindness, consummate gentleness, consummate attentiveness, and consummate patience every day in every aspect of her care. He also teased her from time to time, which she loved -- she said it kept her going! But the patience part must have been trying at times. The cry of "Tommy!" could be heard at all hours. Tom is sure to hear that cry in his sleep and jump out of bed for years to come.
She once described her life as having been composed of joys and sorrows, well balanced. She always said that she wanted no tears at her funeral. Once, not too long ago, when her son Terry came to visit her she mistakenly called him Papa. Tom said "Mom, that's Terry. Papa's been gone for a long time." Her response was an almost angry "Then why am I still here?" She lived a very long, very blessed life. 103 years, 8 months, 27 days. 37,891 sunrises and sunsets, give or take. She was a blessing to everyone she ever met.
This account must necessarily leave out the names of many who touched her life and whose life she touched. To try to list them all is to surely omit many for they would number in the hundreds if not thousands. 103 years, 8 months and 27 days is indeed a long, long time.
She married Raymond Dean, a high school sweetheart, in 1939. Ray was a machinist at the Naval Gun Factory in Washington, DC, during World War II. Ray fell from a horse and died in her arms a few days later, on New Year's Day 1946, of a suspected cerebral hemorrhage.
She said that she wandered around in a daze for some time after Ray's untimely death but she did get a job working at a Hot Shoppes snack bar and news stand in Washington's National Airport. There she met James Maurice Gingell Jr. Jimmy was a baggage handler for United Airlines and a former US Navy sailor recently home from the war. Jimmy said that he liked her legs and would sneak up behind the snack bar/news stand for a better look. On their first date they went to see the musical play Carousel.
Susan was the original cougar. She and Jimmy were married on May 31, 1948. He was nine years her junior. They enjoyed seven blissful childless years but Susan longed to have children of her own, having doted on her nieces Jane, Anne, and Carla, and her nephews John and Tommy, for years. Then in 1955, at the age of 38, with the help of early fertility drugs, she gave birth to her first child, Mary Therese Gingell. Mary was followed in 1958 by Terry Martin Gingell, in 1961 by Thomas Anthony Gingell, and in 1962 by Jane Louise Gingell.
In 1960 Susan and Jimmy followed his dream of moving to California and settled in San Jose. They spent five idyllic years there with eternal warmth, apricot trees in the front yard and two new babies, Tom and Jane but Susan pined for her family back east something awful. So in 1965 they loaded four young children into a gigantic Chrysler station wagon and drove back home to Virginia with many, many stops along the way.
They arrived at the Springfield home of Susan's sister Caroline in July of 1965. They camped there for a month or so until they found and purchased a home on Ives Place in North Springfield. There they raised their family until moving to Annandale in 1970, where she lived until 2007. In 2007 she moved in with her son Tom and his family in Fairfax, where she lived the rest of her life.
In the late sixties Susan went to work as a bookkeeper for the Southland Corporation, the company that owned and operated all of the area 7-11 stores at that time. She worked there until she retired in 1981.
In 1974 Jimmy was diagnosed with thyroid cancer. Together they battled through five difficult years of chemo and radiation and all the assorted unpleasant aspects of a desperate struggle with cancer. Jimmy passed away in May of 1979.
In those days Susan could be heard to complain that she would never have any grandchildren. She could not have been more wrong. She went on to see her children marry and ultimately she had 13 grandchildren: David, Josh, Daniel, Pamela, Jamie, Caroline, Ian, Kyle, Stephanie, Brandon, Krissie, Annie, and Alex; and 4 great grandchildren: Hunter, Willow, Jack, and Raylan. She met her most recently arrived great grandchild, 2 month old Raylan, in person, for the first time during her very last few hours. It is not hard to imagine that she had held on so tenaciously those last few weeks and days in anticipation of that meeting and once that was accomplished she could simply, very peacefully, slip away.
Two words best describe Susan: generous and selfless. She was generous to an absolute fault, if there actually is such a thing, and selfless to the point that a common refrain around a holiday dinner table was "Mom, will you please sit down!" Taking care of people was a biological imperative for her. She simply could not do otherwise. Was she perfect? No, but what imperfections she had aren't worth the trouble to write about. In addition to raising her immediate family, she was like a second mother to niece Jane; she welcomed her mother-in-law, Louise, into her home for the last few years of Louise's life; and she provided assistance and support to countless other relatives and friends at difficult moments in their lives.
In 2007 Susan sold her house in Annandale and moved in with her son Tom and his family, where she was surrounded by four of her grandchildren on a daily basis. Tom's youngest, Alex, was born a month after she moved in. She held him in her arms at nap time every day for his first two years.
Throughout her declining years Tom, supported by his wife, Sharon, was her primary caretaker. No one, living or dead, could have taken better care of her. Tom exercised consummate kindness, consummate gentleness, consummate attentiveness, and consummate patience every day in every aspect of her care. He also teased her from time to time, which she loved -- she said it kept her going! But the patience part must have been trying at times. The cry of "Tommy!" could be heard at all hours. Tom is sure to hear that cry in his sleep and jump out of bed for years to come.
She once described her life as having been composed of joys and sorrows, well balanced. She always said that she wanted no tears at her funeral. Once, not too long ago, when her son Terry came to visit her she mistakenly called him Papa. Tom said "Mom, that's Terry. Papa's been gone for a long time." Her response was an almost angry "Then why am I still here?" She lived a very long, very blessed life. 103 years, 8 months, 27 days. 37,891 sunrises and sunsets, give or take. She was a blessing to everyone she ever met.
This account must necessarily leave out the names of many who touched her life and whose life she touched. To try to list them all is to surely omit many for they would number in the hundreds if not thousands. 103 years, 8 months and 27 days is indeed a long, long time.
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