Jean Davis

Jean W. Davis, wife of U.S. West Executive Richard L. Davis. Mother of 3, 2 sons Ken (wife Betsy), Ralph (deceased) and daughter Mary. 3 Grandaughters her Pride, Joy and Happiness and 5 Great Grandsons.

Native Born in Colorado 1924 and Passed away in Colorado 2023. Jean was preceeded by death of her 2 brothers Thomas and Robert.

Jean had a Business Degree in Personnel and met her beloved husband, WWII Vet Richard in her Business Law Class at DU. They loved Big Band music and Danced at Elitch's Tracadero. Jean cherished dancing with dad!

Jean and Richard lead busy lives over the years, with dad's career at Mountain Bell and Family life. Jean loved to be involved in her Family's lives. She selflessly was such a support to her children. We were very connected to our Grandmother's, Aunts and Uncles and cousins. Jean always showed her interest and kindness to all family members. We were very blessed.

An accomplished seamstress, she made beautiful and special outfits for so many special events! She  loved her sewing lessons and went onto enjoying that most of her life.

Jean and Richard were long time active members of St. Michael's the Archangel Parish since 1981. They founded the Blue Army prayer cell at St. Michael's and 12 other prayer cells at other Parishes such as at Queen of Peace Parish.

According to Jean the happiest years of her life were Praying to the Blessed Mother and being with her Family.

She was a loving mom and Grandmother. Always showed kindness,  lead example of faith and prayer. So many cherished memories of Jean. A loving heart who now glows in Heaven ������⚘.

In lieu of flowers:

Family requests Donations to:

Bobby Jones Chiari & Syringomyelia Foundation. - (Jean had Syringomyelia)

29 Crest Loop

Staten Island NY 10312

Or

Blue Army Shrine of our Lady of Fatima

Washington, New Jersey

www.bluearmy.com

Jean Rest in Peace

My Mother A Rose ⚘
© Sue Horley
Published by Family Friend Poems 1- 2008

A rose so rare,
one of its kind,
love and beauty a mother,
yes!
mine.
A rose without thorns,
not a petal was torn,
a perfect rose stood straight and tall,
my mother was the most precious of all.
A rose that survived the worst kind of weather and yet the most delicate ever,
a rose with a fragrance,
there could be know other,
you see this rose is my Mother.
A rose is picked and put to dry,
the beauty is still there,
it never dies.