Birth date: Jun 7, 1937 Death date: May 8, 2026
Rachel Cecile Meldrem, age 88 of Gainesville, Florida passed peacefully in her sleep on May 8, 2026. Rachel, affectionately called Grandma Rae Rae or Gram, or GG was born June 7, 1937, to Fernando T. Landry and wife, Cecile Pelli Read Obituary
This is one of my favorite pictures of Gram that I came across while going through all of her old photos. It reminds me of how beautiful and bold and adventurous she always was. I grew up with gram around and she was always there to play games with me, teach me how to crochet, tell me stories, go on adventures with. She was always so involved with the community, and going fun places. I love her spirit & love for life. I will forever miss her but her memory will live on with all of us. Miss you & love you as big as the sky gram 🤍✨
What I like to call Grammy’s Hollywood photo. Always loved to take in her beauty in this one. ✨
Surprising Grammy throughout the years was always my favorite. I knew I’d be receiving the biggest hugs and love. Her love for us was always undeniable. 🤟🏼
My Mom raised me to be a Mom, she showed me how to cook and sew. To clean and to keep house. But my mom also taught me all the little bits and pieces of words and feelings and hugs. Knowing when to just listen. I miss my mom, but I know she is home. I look at Sarah, I watch her as a Mom. My Mom did her job so I could do my job so Sarah can do hers. I'm proud of Sarah. I'm proud of my mom. Thank you Mom!
Mom loved porches. That was always a gather place for our family. That is where we learned to play cards and then learned to play cribbage. Mom would sing, all sorts of songs. She loved to sing. Musicals! We grew up watching all the classics. Sound of music, to sir with love, Heidi, dundi, the king and I. Those were my favorites. We would watch them every year. Sitting on the couch or floor, curled up in blankets. I miss my Mom.
My first memory of my mother returns me to my early childhood. When I was still a toddler, I was frequently hospitalized with childhood asthma. The hospital staff called me "The Boy in the Bubble" as my crib was curtained with sheets of plastic. Alone and frightened, I cried until I heard my mother singing and felt her hand gently holding mine. At my bedside, she taught me to calm myself singing, "I love you, a bushel and a peck ..."
Through the years, I heard my mother sing. She sang to her children, and then to her grandchildren, and then to her great-grandchildren. She sang to co-workers in the company choir. She sang to her patients when she was a Nurse's Aid. She sang at her children's weddings. My mother and I sang for decades in our church choirs. While in rehab, she sang to the staff as I wheeled her through the long hallways where they would stop to listen and smile.
My mother prayed for her children so hard that she would often ask me to repair her rosary beads. When a "Hail Mary" bead went missing, she said, "That's okay, Billy, you say this one for me." And I do.
In our last days together, I found myself sitting by my mother's bedside. When she was confused, I gently held her hand to calm her as the sun went down. I helped her sing, "I love you, a bushel and a peck ..."
Mom, until we are singing together again,
I love You.
