Susan Regina Gresge, 78

Susan Regina Gresge (neé Gibbs) lived and died writing, as she called them, her memoirs. Shrouded in mystery in her lifetime, the memoirs were finally revealed when she peacefully passed on December 10, 2022 (age 78) surrounded by family in St. Charles, Illinois.

Those who loved her knew her as Gigi (short for Grandma Gresge, her favorite title): among many, these included her former husband Thomas Gresge; her sons Matthew (who has lived in La Grange and Western Springs for more than two decades) , Mark and Timothy; her siblings Richard and Laurie; and her nine grandchildren Gabrielle (27), Jonah (26), Danielle (26), Alexandra (24), Olivia (22), Griffin (21), Gibbs (20), Thomas and Reagan (17). She was preceded in death by her parents Emily and Morgan, as well as her menagerie of pets who doubtlessly awaited her entrance to heaven with tails wagging, wings flapping and paws thumping.

Like the memoirs themselves, Gigi carefully balanced the obvious with the mysterious.

Whether you met her at her birth in Ludington, Michigan in 1944, at her beloved Old Towne Pub or a road-side gas station in St. Charles (as she famously claimed Walter Payton’s son did), there are things that you would have immediately known about Gigi: she was independent. She hated technology. She loved animals. And she had nine perfect grandchildren.

This self-assuredness truly began at birth. Certain that his second child would be a “brown-eyed Susan,” Morgan bet the doctor double-or-nothing on it. When his ‘free’ baby girl arrived, she had, undoubtedly, been born two things: confident – and willing to take on a bet.

Her independence was borne of life circumstances and, likely, from one of her favorite jokes: “Did you ever hear about the lady who was pulled over for having a gun and a hunting dog in the backseat of her car? When the cop asked what she was so afraid of, she cackled and said, ‘not a damn thing.’” While tangibly afraid of thunderstorms, Gigi was fearless in a pioneer woman sort of way: she idolized Annie Oakley and often drew on that brand of resourcefulness as a successful realtor, nursery school teacher and substitute teacher. Her aptitude for negotiation began and ended with her belief that “if you get 80 percent of what you want, you got a good deal.”

Her hatred of technology was rooted in her sense that she might have been born in the wrong era: her distinct and beautiful penmanship (always, always with blue ballpoint pen and always, always on lined yellow paper) blessed pen-pals near and far (as she much preferred writing letters), and her sole use of 21st-century tech included (very) periodic use of a flip-phone. This flip phone functioned as a pen of its own: used mostly for voicemails, she’d address you first with your full name, then regale you with her recent political leanings (how did we make it this far and not mention that she was a lifelong Catholic and Republican?) and finally with tales of pets and times past.

Gigi’s love of her grandchildren stemmed from her raw and real love for them as people, her belief in matriarchy and comfort in carrying a legacy – just as she did for her mother and grandmothers. It was, perhaps, loyalty to this matriarchal legacy that generated one of the greatest ironies of Gigi: despite happily raising her family in a male-dominated home, she relished the company of her “girlfriends,” as she referred to her sorority of childhood friends, dog breeders, horse trainers, and female family members.

Her love of animals was more nuanced, but no less secret. If summers in Ludington, Michigan were the flint, then joining the American Cavy Breeders Association might have been the flame that lit a lifelong devotion to God’s four-legged (and beaked) creatures. In this way, Gigi reflected the very state she grew up in: like Michigan itself, she cherished the outdoors and felt a oneness with nature. From dogs to parrots to skunks to horses to chinchillas to long-haired Peruvian guinea pigs, Gigi viewed the world as the ark to her Noah: it was her spiritual delight and earthly duty to care for as many animals as she could. And she did.

These are the epitaphs known about Gigi, even in life. In death, more of her mysteries were revealed – though ever-so cunningly, there are still a few left between her and God.

The epitome of the enigmas occurred, as she might have had it, on the occasion of her death. In equal parts devotion to her parents and, maybe, premonition of her final act of mystery, she was fixated on time – what time it was, as well as time itself – in the days leading up to her passing. Specifically, she paid close attention to her father’s clock, which sat beside her bed. She and her family checked it regularly – including the morning after her passing, which revealed that the clock, which had been in perfect working condition the entire week prior, was stuck at 3:15am – the exact time she transitioned from this life to her new life in heaven.

There are things we always knew to be true about Gigi. There are things she has told us in passing. And there are things that will be revealed to us in time.

As we await that day, we invite you to join us in honoring her life through a donation to the Lazarus House St. Charles, where she devoted so much of her time and herself.