Gay Strader

With deep love and sorrow, we announce the passing of our beloved Mother, Gay Lynette Campbell Strader, who died peacefully in her sleep at the age of 85 early in the morning of July 7, 2025.

Born in Danville, Virginia, on September 1, 1939, Gay lived an extraordinary life, one shaped by her husband Cleo's 20-year career in the United States Army. As a military wife, she lived in many parts of the U.S. and abroad-from the Southwest to Florida, and across Europe to Bavaria. Yet wherever life took her, she created a warm, loving home, always putting her family first.

After military life, the family settled in Atlanta, where Gay worked on the General Motors assembly line for 15 years. Her hard work helped provide stability and opportunity for her children, giving them the chance to attend college and pursue their dreams

Gay was a devoted wife to her husband of 57 years, James Cleo Strader, who preceded her in death on January 15, 2014. The daughter of Carrie P. Huffstickler, Gay grew up in Danville, Virginia, and attended high school there. She was also preceded in death by her beloved sister Frances C. Clark and her brothers Leon Livingston Campbell ("Sonny") and Timothy E. Huffstickler. She is survived by her sisters, Barbara C. Hudgins and Karen H. Kuchinski, and her brother Charles E. Campbell.

Gay's greatest joy was being a mother and grandmother to her three sons-Howard M. Strader (Howie), James C. Strader Jr. (Jim), and Thomas E. Strader-as well as to her eight grandchildren and many great-grandchildren, each of whom brought her immeasurable joy and pride.

Among those Gay held especially dear was her daughter-in-law, Kely Strader, wife of Thomas. Gay treasured Kely and embraced her not just as family, but as the daughter she never had. Their bond was a source of great joy, and Gay found in Kely a kindred spirit-someone she admired, trusted, and loved.

Gay's life was defined by selfless devotion and deep love for her family. She'll be remembered not only for the sacrifices she made and the home she built, but for the warmth she gave to all who knew her. Her presence was a gift-steady, loving, and true-and her memory will be cherished forever by her family and all whose lives she touched. There will never be a day we don't miss her.

Gay Lynette Campbell Strader Eulogy

Early in the morning on July 7th, 2025, we lost our mother to the ravages of a terrible disease--Alzheimer's. They call it "the long goodbye," and that name rings true for anyone who has lived through it. Thomas and I call it something closer to "the disease from the bowels of hell."

Our family had never really come face-to-face with the inevitable losses and momentous challenges that accompany this terrible disease. Yes, from afar, we had watched Alzheimer's slowly take away one of Mother's most treasured people--her beloved older sister, Frances Clark--but sooner than we expected, the journey for all of us began--and it was brutal.

Frances was beloved to me too. Heck, she spent a fair amount of her time helping Mother raise me, and all the other nieces, cousins, and nephews, especially in those years when our Dad was overseas serving in the Vietnam War and stationed in South Korea. (Have you ever heard of the "Tet Offensive"? Dad was stationed in Saigon when that happened on January 30, 1968. He told me about it only once; it was bad. Really bad.) During that time, Aunt Frances often had her hands full with us kids, and I remember her whipping my rear-end more than a few times. Truth is, Aunt Frances whipped a good bit harder than Mother did.

Fondly, I still remember how much I loved the way Mother and Aunt Frances made their macaroni and cheese--noodles with lots and lots of cheese floating in a sea of butter. But when they made all us kids eat our spinach--something we tried to moderate by cramming that green, slimy goo between the folds of a delicious homemade biscuit--we'd still gag and choke our way through it. Even after going through a couple dozen of those soft white saviors, we couldn't quite mask the taste. To this day, I don't eat a lot of cooked spinach...

Near the end, I'm sure that Aunt Frances didn't recognize me on the phone--and there may have been a time when she didn't even recognize Mother. That I don't know for sure. What I do know is that for months after Aunt Frances left this earth, Mother would tell us how sad she was that her sister was gone. But eventually, Mother never mentioned that again. She either forgot--or simply accepted--that sad memory.

Something that I will never forget is the day that I fully realized what was about to happen-- no, what was happening. I flew from Denver to Atlanta, as I often did, to check on Mother, help her with a few things, and I remember that one particular sunny afternoon I walked into her bedroom. She was sitting at a little table that she sometimes used to make puzzles (Mother loved putting puzzles together!), but recently she had moved it in front of one of her bedroom windows so that her cat, Zeus--who she loved about as much as her sons-- could jump up and look out at the birds fluttering by and playing in the bushes. Mother was sitting there--rigid, stiff as a board--as the bright sunlight filtered through the windowpane and rested upon her face, and she gazed straight out that window. Her eyes didn't seem to blink. They were fixed. And she just sat there for what seemed an eternity, never recognizing that I had walked into her room and called her name. And then I knew. I knew, in that instant, that our mother was losing her mind. It was then--right then--that I realized the Mother that I had loved and cherished for over sixty years was leaving all of us. I almost cried.

Mother had many wonderful qualities, but her greatest gift was her unwavering devotion to her children and family. She sacrificed much so that her children could build a better life than she and Cleo were ever able to attain. When I say sacrificed, I mean exactly that. Our Mother was the hardest working person I've ever known--that rare kind of woman who simply refused to quit--no matter how hard the day or how heavy the burden. And Dad was just like that too. They both wanted us to have the opportunity to go further and higher than what had been possible for them.

In addition to showing her children by living example the importance of genuine hard work, she also taught us an important code for life: honesty, integrity, and compassion are important cornerstones of a happy and successful life. Dad summed it up brilliantly like this: "Do what you say and say what you do." It don't get much more simple and clearer than that. How many times in the last 38 years have I repeated that mantra to my own children?

Mother and Dad provided a comfortable and safe home. They gave us just enough free rein to make decisions on our own when appropriate, and when those choices proved fruitful, we were given a great big pat on the back for our success. The flip side of that, of course, is that being young and stupid sometimes led to choices that weren't so keen after all--and ultimately ended in failure, or in a few cases, near disaster. I mean really--Mother had three sons--and all of us were hard-headed and head-strong. There were a few bumps in the road. In the end though, those lessons proved invaluable to me, and I wouldn't trade them for anything.

About those life lessons above--one other thing worth mentioning is how Mother and Dad stood behind their children. They didn't just ignore right from wrong, or good from bad, as I've seen so many parents do. You know the kind--the ones who stand behind their kids no matter what, no matter the wrong. Mother and Dad weren't like that. They had our backs when we were unjustly persecuted, and they supported their sons with everything they had. But if we were clearly in the wrong, Mother and Dad would absolutely call us out. They reminded us of that mantra: "Say what you do and do what you say." Be man enough to admit your errors--and, if called for, make amends for them. I grew to respect both of them more and more for that as I got older, and especially after I had my own kids.

As some of you know, I'm a bona fide, card-carrying audio freak--I love music. (Regrettably, unlike Thomas who can play lots of instruments, I can't play anything! Mother sent me to piano lessons for a few years; I was terrible, and my instructor breathed a great sigh of relief that I gave up.) Some of my earliest and fondest memories are of playing records on Mother and Dad's old console stereo. They bought it while stationed in Germany during our first tour there--a beautiful piece of equipment that I still have and intend to restore to its original condition.

By age twelve, I had already lived half my life in Germany. Back in those days, there was no English-speaking TV in Europe, so I spent a great deal of time spinning records, listening to Armed Forces Radio, and exploring the hills above Oberammergau. Music and the mountains became a part of me--and still are.

Here are a few other interesting things about our Mother:

- Mother was left-handed--so am I.

- Mother was quite the basketball player. I'll post a picture of her and her Dan River High School basketball team.

- Most family and friends called her Mom, and of course Gay. I always called her Mother. Not sure why--it just felt right to me.

- Mother was the slowest eater I have ever known--it was a close tie with Aunt Frances. They could sit and eat and talk for a couple of hours... I'd finish my meal and look over, and Mother may have taken two, maybe three bites.

- Mother was quite the writer. She once took a writing class at our local community college and, during that quarter, wrote several short stories that truly impressed her professor. In fact, he encouraged her to pursue writing more seriously. I read those stories—they were excellent. Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to locate them since. Once the class ended, Mother returned to work at General Motors, and writing once again became just a quiet talent she kept to herself.

- Mother loved to read. Sadly, Alzheimer's takes that away from you. It's tough to read a novel if you've forgotten chapter one by the time you begin chapter two.

- Mother loved music and could tell you all about The Beatles. She also enjoyed listening to Brenda Lee and Patsy Cline. I love all three. The Kingston Trio was a family favorite.

- Mother lost her father when she was just 12 years old. She never forgot the day the school principal came to her and told her the news. - Mother and Aunt Frances were as close as you can be, but she also loved her brother Sonny a great deal. Sonny died in a construction accident when he was very young. Every time Mother would tell me about that terrible day, you could see the pain in her eyes. It was devastating. I wish I could have known Sonny--Mother told me I would have liked him a great deal.

- Mother broke her left arm one time.

- Mother rode in a helicopter one time. Yeah, she really did.

Mother liked her business kept private, and she wanted things done right. In particular, Mother had strong feelings on how life should be toward the end of her days--especially after Dad left us in January of 2014. When Dad's end was near, he had me sit down with him and review all their finances. He asked me to consolidate several things, and we discussed how he wanted his portion of their Estate managed. After Dad left us, Mother and I repeated that process and went to work probating Dad's Last Will and Testament. Mother re-did her own Last Will and Testament (required by Georgia law when your spouse dies).

Mother made two things perfectly clear at that time--which, by the way, weren't new, because she had been telling everyone the exact same thing for probably at least twenty years. When the time came, Mother wanted Thomas and Kely to care for her. Mother treated Kely just like a daughter, and Thomas had done the lion's share of caring for Dad in his last days.

And she asked me to manage her finances. Mother trusted me without question, and she knew that I would maintain a keen eye on her financial independence and protect her estate--ensuring that she could pay her own way and never have to ask her children for money. That was important to Mother--there was no way she ever wanted to rely on others to pay her way. Mother was proud and had worked hard all her life for this independence. Mother knew as I did, that Alzheimer’s has a way of taking your independence away, and so she entrusted her independence to me. Despite my very best efforts to handle things respectfully and properly, some family members interfered in ways that were damaging. I did what was necessary to protect what Mother had entrusted to me.

And there you have it; just a small portion of our Mother's life--who she was, what she accomplished, what she valued and loved, what she asked and expected of her sons, what she wanted at the end, and a few lesser-known facts that I am sure some of you didn't know. Did I say enough? Can anyone ever truly say enough about the Mother they loved? Mother gave a lot, and she certainly deserved a lot. So no, I probably didn't say enough--but I did try to provide a glimpse into her life.

I will miss Mother a great deal--most of all, I'll miss our long conversations about all kinds of things. But I won't forget her. Those memories are mine to keep, and I will carry them with me until my own end. Rest in gentle peace, Mother--your work is done. We will all miss you.

Cochran|McDaniel Funeral Home is honored to serve the family of Gay Strader. You may sign the guest register and send condolences to the family at www.cochranmcdaniel.com.