Connie Abbey Obituary

In Loving Memory of Connie (Emmons) Abbey
Connie passed peacefully in her sleep after a long, courageous battle with various health challenges. Though we knew her body was tired, her passing still came too soon at just 64. Her spirit, her laughter, her wisdom, her love-each a light now painfully absent from our daily lives. She will be deeply missed. She was an incredible human. A friend. A mother. A grandmother. A steadfast, synborn soul-firm and powerful, deeply insightful. A mentor. A coach. A lighthouse. A fierce, unwavering mom.
Connie was born the middle child in a family of seven to Earl and Gertrude Emmons in rural Vermont. She came from humble beginnings, growing up close to the earth and steeped in the values of tradition, grit, family, and community. In her early teens, she met Ronald Abbey who became her husband and the father to her two sons, soon after his family relocated from California following the death of his mother. Just a quarter mile up the road from her childhood home, Ronald's family bought a farm that would go on to become named the "Happy Hollow Riding Stable" on the Hinesburg Hollow Road.
A few years later, they welcomed their first son, Jason, into the world in the spring of 1981. Just 14 months later, their second son, James, followed. Together, they created a life, nail by nail they built a home on the Hollow Road, and a life together that spanned over 50 years.
Connie spent her life in rural Vermont, surrounded by beauty, family, and purpose. She was a complicated, yet simple woman who loved her sunsets, her flowers, rock gardens, summer bonfires, and her birds. She found peace in quiet things. And she radiated a love that was often fierce, sometimes stormy, always real.
She was steadfast in her convictions, unwavering in her loyalty, and devoted to her friends, her husband, her sons, and her grandchildren. She was a true matriarch-the very definition of a grandmother. The kind whose arms wrapped around you with the strength of a storm and the gentleness of a lullaby. The kind whose wisdom flowed like spring water, clear and true.
But she was more than just a mother to her own- following in the footsteps of her mother who opened her home and heart to all, she she became a mother to many. To those who needed a coach, a mentor, a place to land, a hot meal, or one of her famous bear hugs. She opened her home and heart to those in need. She was short in stature, but larger than life in love, strength, and presence.
Connie carried with her a deep knowledge of tradition. She found joy in making jellies and jams, in preserving her father's infamous Christmas pickles, and in the quiet, sacred art of candle-making. Whether or not she realized it, every candle she crafted and gave away was a piece of her light-passed on, warming hands and hearts.
She worked tirelessly to pass her father's knowledge of traditionally preserving food, her mother's love of flower gardening, and her own deep reverence for simple country living on to her sons and grandchildren. Through them-and all of us who knew her-that knowledge lives on.
She often said she was born in the wrong era. Her love of long, flowing skirts and Victorian fashion made her feel most herself. She found joy in the quiet things: the bloom of a spring flower, the masterful hover of a hummingbird, the golden blaze of a sunset framed by the two mountains that cradled her home-the one with the red tin roof perched up on the hill on the Hollow Road.
She was a tolerant and strong woman, one who proudly called herself the black sheep of her family. She often held polarizing views on tradition and family values, pushing against the current of her family's Catholic beliefs. Her faith was her own. She spoke of white light and the universe more often than Jesus and God, but carried herself with deep integrity and a profound respect for others. Her connection to the divine was lived, not preached.
When her eldest son came out as gay at age 13, she didn't flinch. "Just don't expect any special attention," she said dryly. What mattered to her was that he was kind, that he focused on school, and that he lived a good life. At a time when being queer was dangerous-when the U.S. government was actively attacking the LGBTQ+ community and AIDS was devastating the world-her love stood solid. Unshaken. Matter-of-fact. Fierce in its protection, even as it defied the norms of the era and her own upbringing. Her commitment to calling out injustice was unrelenting. She saw through hypocrisy with laser clarity, and she did not back down.
The iconic Dolly Parton song "Family" captures the soul of Connie, and her mother, and the legacy of strong women they carried forward-especially the line:
"No one is turned away-not addicts, drunks, or strays-they are still family."
That was her living legacy. That was her table. Wide open, fiercely defended, and deeply human.
One of her favorite poems-and the words she lived by-were simple but profound:
"Little drops of water, tiny grains of sand, make a mighty ocean and a pretty land."
That phrase was her life's philosophy. She reminded us that even small acts mattered. That we are all part of something bigger. She kept us humble, and made us proud. She taught us to walk tall, with our chest out and our eyes forward-but with compassion, respect, and love always at the center.
She was well-known throughout the Hinesburg village. After nearly fifteen years of managing the Hinesburg Laundromat, she quite literally knew the town's dirty laundry. Renowned for her tireless work ethic and legendary wash/dry/fold service, she served the community without ever being subservient. To anyone. Not to her bosses, her family, the Hinesburg school district, or even the occasional battle with the town selectboard. She held her own-with every police officer, every councilor, every authority figure-and she often emerged victorious. Stern, but just. The medicine may have been bitter-but it always worked.
Even now, she calls us into the present moment, ever painful as it is. She insists we grow. She challenges us to love more deeply, to share more openly, to grieve fully. To say the things we rarely make time for. She reminds us that the truth was her constant companion-and that love, no matter how difficult, was always her compass.
She always told her sons and grandchildren that she loved you, she was proud of you, and she appreciated you-and even when she didn't say it, you could still feel it in her way. Beneath her great strength was a deep well of vulnerability and sensitivity.
And yet, in the midst of her challenges, she still found ways to shine. She inspired others with her creativity, her fierce honesty, and her unshakable love for those closest to her. Her presence made people feel seen, her laughter could light up a room, and her resilience was nothing short of heroic. She gave so much of herself to others, even when she had so little left to give. Her life was not easy, but it was full of meaning-and her legacy lives on in the lives she touched with her fierce spirit, her tenderness, and her unwavering love.
"Grief," as Jamie Anderson wrote, "is really just love. It's all the love you want to give, but cannot. All of that unspent love gathers in the corners of your eyes, the lump in your throat, and in the hollow part of your chest. Grief is just love with no place to go."
She is survived by her husband Ronald; her sons, Jason and James; James' fiancé and Connie's tireless caregiver in her final days, Jenn; and her three precious grandchildren-Jenna, Kayleigh, and Cameron.
She is also survived by her sister Lydia, who gave her every ounce of compassion and care during Connie's darkest most painful days. For your sacrifices, your presence, and your love-we are deeply grateful. You showed love, compassion, strength, and devotion to your sister. Sleepless nights, phone call after phone call, and ride after ride. May you both rest now, you both fraught strong and hard, sleepless nights and great sacrifice.
She was predeceased by her mother and father, brothers Morey and Kenrick, and her eldest sister, Cynthia Emmons.
And to Jenn, thank you! Though the work you did was difficult at times arduous and thankless. We thank you for doing all that you could do to make Connie's days more organized, consistent, and comfortable. She cared for you deeply and took you under her wing, your contribution was great and it will not be forgotten.
We offer our heartfelt thanks to her lifelong girlfriend Peggy (Tucker) and her husband, Phil Phelps. Peggy was more than a friend-she was family. A sister in spirit, a true and loyal companion. You have touched our hearts, and we thank you endlessly for your love and dedication.
A special thanks also to all the first responders, the Hinesburg Fire Department, and to the skilled and compassionate members of her medical team, especially her primary care provider at Thomas Chittenden health Center, Rick Dooley and Julia Mellish. Thank you for honoring her with respect and dignity, and for giving us the gift of more time with her.
Saying a perfect goodbye is both hard and impossible. There is never enough time to remember all the things we need to say.
We sit with a seemingly never-ending catalog of the things left unsaid. For all the things spoken and unspoken-Mom, thank you. Thank you for your dedication, your unconditional love, your wisdom, and your courage. Thank you for the thankless years of sacrifice that defines motherhood, countless days you lived with tired feet and an aching back. You and Dad gave us life-a true gift.
We're sorry for the times we broke your heart or left you feeling forgotten. Please know you weren't. Not ever. And you never will be.
Your love and wisdom are woven into the fabric of our souls. You will live on in our hearts, in the choices we make, in our acts of love, and the smiles we inspire. You will live on in every bloom, every laugh, every tear. Your passing reminds us of how fragile and sacred our time is-and your final gift is this: a call to come together, to remember, and to live boldly and lovingly, just as you did. In the hurriedness of life, we often realize too late how beautiful and sacred someone truly is...until we lose them.
This harsh and enduring truth echoes through our shattered hearts and grief-stricken minds, ringing never more true than in this moment in time.
Though her passing was neither sudden nor surprise, it came swiftly and without compromise. She left us as she lived- on her own terms, at home, with family nearby, quietly slipping away.
In this moment of loss, we feel the weight of the silence she leaves, and yet we are comforted by the knowledge that she passed with peace, surrounded by love. And as we mourn, we also remember the grace in her journey, the quiet strength she embodied, and the sacredness of her life.
Though she is gone from our sight, and her body is no longer ours to embrace, we must remember that it was always a borrowed vessel- a gift entrusted to us for a brief moment in time.
Now, as it returns to the earth from which it came, we are reminded that her spirit remains, strong and unyielding, woven into the very fabric of who we are.
Goodbye, Mom, grandma, wife, sister, aunt, and friend.
You will be deeply missed by all those you loved, nurtured, and protected. Your bear hugs will be felt on the gentle spring breeze as Vermont wakes from its long winter slumber. You will be remembered in the scent of lilacs bursting into bloom. In the hum of hummingbird wings darting toward the feeders you filled. In every blazing sunset over the Hollow Road. Your light will shine through in the full spectrum of rainbows that stretch across the sky after epic summer thunderstorms. You will dance in the silver lining that shine bright at the edges of dark storm clouds.
You are everywhere now-woven into the breath of the land, the rhythm of the seasons, the stars above. No doubt now dancing barefoot, you've joined your beloved parents in the eternal garden of Eden that your mother always spoke of so fondly.
Rest in peace, Mom. You've left an indelible mark on us all. We love you. Always.
Memorial services will be held at United Church of Hinesburg, in Hinesburg Vermont on May 18th from 2pm until 5pm.
In Memory of Connie (Emmons) Abbey Inspired by the beloved poem "Little Drops of Water" written by her son, Jason Abbey
Little drops of water, Tiny grains of sand, Make a mighty ocean, and a pretty land.
So too your life, dear Mother, Was built of humble grace- A million quiet moments No time could dare erase.
Not shouted in the spotlight, Nor carved in stone or fame, But whispered through the aching years Where love still speaks your name.
A sigh beside the window, A hand held through the night, The way you bore your burdens Still fills our hearts with light.
Oh, how the sorrow lingers, Like dusk before the dawn- The stillness where your laughter lived, The breath that now is gone.
For every tear that trembles Is a drop you once would catch, And every act of gentleness Still walks in your sweet path.
The seeds you gently scattered Still bloom within us all- A garden full of memories That time cannot forestall.
You taught us that the smallest acts Could heal, could lift, could bind- And now your life, like ocean tides, Still moves within our minds.
So though we walk with sorrow, We rise with love anew- For the tiny things you left behind Were infinite and true.
Little drops of water, Tiny grains of sand- Now build the bridge between our hearts And your eternal land. To plant a beautiful memorial tree in memory of Connie, please visit our Tree Store.