Her name was Winona Marie Eads.
She was a mother to six children and a grandmother to eleven. From the artifacts and objects left behind, one can imagine she led a full and interesting life. Leftover polaroids show her gallivanting around the world. An old record player was in the hallway upstairs. Tucked away in the attic were a vast collection of road maps from the Eastern United States and boxes full of stamps. In the back corner of the upstairs bathroom were cutouts from the travel section of the Chicago Tribune. Old sermons and hymnals were strewn around the living room and dusty mustard yellow curtains hung over the large windows in the parlor room. In her bedroom, the remnants of at least a dozen picture frames could be found, in all different shapes and sizes, their position clearly outlined by the contrast between the clean wall behind the frames and the dusty wall next to them.
The neighbor on our left called her the kindest woman she had ever met. The neighbor across the street told stories of how Winona had tea parties with the young girl next door.
She died in the summer of her eighty-third year, on August 4, 2011. She was the previous owner of the house we purchased on Fletcher Avenue.