Page created by: Sarah Marsh

DAWN P. WILLIAMS
April 19, 1937 ~ January 11, 2020 (age 82)

Dawn Powell Williams, 82, formerly of Charlottesville passed away peacefully on Saturday, January 11, 2020 at her home in Fredericksburg after a long battle with Parkinson’s disease.

Dawn was a devoted wife, mother and grandmother. She retired from UVA Hospital Communications Department with over 40 years of service.

Survivors include her husband of 61 years, David McClellan Williams; children Cathy Williams Peters and her husband Michael of Charlottesville and David McClellan Williams, Jr. and his wife Cathy of Fredericksburg; grandchildren Sarah Glenn Marsh and her husband Christopher, Lindsey McClellan Peters, Caroline Elizabeth Williams, and David McClellan Williams, III. She was preceded in death by her mother, Maxie Powell and father, John Powell.

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From her oldest granddaughter, Sarah Glenn Marsh:

"Sarah, this is Nana. I just wanted to tell you I finished your book yesterday, and I meant to call you earlier. Thoroughly enjoyed it; Papa's going to start it next. So sometime when you get time, give me a call. Bye."

I can't tell you why exactly I saved that voicemail from Nana- my grandmother- four years ago. I can tell you that now, those 17 seconds are priceless to me. I keep replaying the message long after the tears begin. In it, she sounds casual. Happy. She sounds like she did before Parkinson's reduced her voice to a trembling whisper--steady, unhurried, strong. She sounds like she knows she'll talk to me in a few minutes, or hours, or the next time I walk over to her house, only one neighborhood away from my parents. She sounds like we had forever. And the more I play that last message, the oldest one on my phone, I realize she also sounds a little like my mom.

That makes sense, of course, but it's also fitting; growing up a few houses down the street from my grandparents, they were so much more involved in my life (and my sister, Lindsey's) than the grandparents I read about in books, ones who you'd see maybe a couple times a year on special occasions, showering their grandchildren with gifts and sweets and affection. Don't get me wrong--Nana did all of those things, just on a much more regular basis (how lucky we were, and we didn't even realize it!). But the greatest gift of all was her time.

Being the oldest grandchild, I had the privilege of going on many road trips with my grandparents (the "precious cargo" in the back seat, where I was likely to be sneaking one too many Krispy Kreme donuts). We went to Florida, South Carolina, Tennessee. Family vacations changed when we got older--we started cruising in the Caribbean--but one thing remained the same: while my younger sister would stay in a cabin with my parents, I always bunked with my grandparents. Even though I never failed to pack too many dresses, swimsuits, books, you name it--somehow there was always more than enough room for me in their space. Nana admired my makeup skills, and I loved that she let me apply hers before we'd set off to our cruise ship dinners. Afterwards, much too full, I liked to curl up back in the cabin and read; I remember one night, while I was deep into a fantasy adventure story, Nana and Papa came in, and she stood there for a minute just looking up at me. When I asked her what was going on, she smiled and said, "You just look so cozy." That was what she lived for; seeing her family, especially her grandchildren, happy.

Being "Nana" was her world; her family was her world, and still is, because I still see bits of her in all of us and our rituals--in my mother's elegance, in my insatiable sweet tooth, in my sister's thoughtfulness. If I close my eyes and take a deep breath, I can smell hairspray and perfume and ivory soap. I can taste banana pudding and the stuffing at Thanksgiving that I always ate because she made it, even though I was totally unsure about some of the ingredients (chicken parts, I'm looking at you).

My grandmother was a great many things to all sorts of people; she touched a lot of lives in her years. But to me, she'll always be Nana. She's strands of pearls and gold necklaces; sleepovers with grilled cheese for dinner and snuggling in bed; delicate blue and white porcelain bunnies; cocktails on the back porch when it's warm out, probably a few minutes before 5pm because hey, who's watching the clock?; Harry Potter movie marathons; my double first name "Hey Sarah Glenn!"; paperback romance novels; extravagant Christmases, complete with picture-perfect snowy scenes of Dickens Village proudly displayed on a table; drawers overflowing with family photographs never sorted; too many memories to list here.

It's impossible to sum up a lifetime of love.

Some people are in your life only briefly, but Nana was in mine for a generous time, long enough for me to know that there's always room for dessert, that I should wash my hands after petting dogs, and that there's nothing better than family. I'm glad she was, and is, always, forever, mine.