Abby Hernandez

She was surrounded by her loving children at the time of her passing. Abby is survived by two sons, Henry Hernandez, Jess Hernandez; two daughters, Irma “Tonee” Hernandez-Thompson, and Claudia Hernandez. She has 19 grandchildren, 45 great grandchildren and nine great-great grandchildren. She is predeceased by her husband of 54 years, Luis Hernandez, and two of her sons, Robert and Gilbert Hernandez.

Memorial services for Abby will be held at 12:30pm, Friday, September 5th at St. Anthony’s Church in Novato. A Viewing will be held before the services, on Sept. 5th from 9-11am at Keaton’s Redwood Chapel of Marin, 1801 Novato Blvd., Novato.

Abby's life began in 1923 on the Western side of New Mexico in a small mining town called Magdalena. She would go on to live in Albuquerque for many years thereafter before moving to Marin County California in 1950 with her husband and children. There she would find home and live in Novato from then on after.

Her working life in Marin would revolve around some of the things she loved best. She was a cook for Lynnwood Elementary School in Novato, which, for those of us who were lucky enough to have tasted her food, makes the children of Lynnwood Elementary School perhaps some of the luckiest school-kid diners in the history of school-kid dining. She was a loving nanny for many families of the San Francisco Bay Area. And to say that she was an active member of her parish, St. Anthony’s Perish of Padua in Novato, would definitely be an understatement.

In fact, Abby’s highest priorities in life were her family and her faith in God. And her love for them knew no limits, as everyone close to her knew well. Yet with such faith and devotion, still, she had room for a personality and sense of humor that warmed the heart.

She loved to travel; she loved to cook; and she loved to host people. And she did these things for each of her 91 years. Time for her was marked best by the trips to visit family members, the passing of birthdays, anniversaries, weddings, and funerals, and you could see it plainly, just by the multitude of notes that covered her little church calendar. For any occasion, she glowed when her family filled her home. She liked it alive and vibrant, brimming with her children, grandchildren, close friends and extended family members. And more often than not, this is how it was—especially when she was cooking. She was not merely a very hospitable woman; rather, hospitality was just an extension of who she was. She welcomed whenever she could, even to those who other people would not do the same. She gave without worry, preferring to give you the last of hers rather than for you to go without.

She had that rare mixture in a person of someone who can love freely and is also good at showing it—those so lucky to be loved by her knew it immediately. It's because of this that I believe Abby's passing was so peaceful. There was never any hesitation between her intentions and her actions—between her love and her loving—and as a result, has no debt left to the world. If there's anything that could be learned from her, perhaps it is this. She has left so many people with so many good memories and so much joy I believe no one could ever see it in its entirety. Her legacy is one of love, and it's been a great experience for anyone lucky enough to be even a small part of it.

What can you say about a woman like this?

We can say that Abby will be deeply missed for many things. She will be missed for her smile, her generosity and good cheer in good times and bad. She will be missed for her homemade tortillas, chile verde, and the blessing she would bestow upon you—sometimes when you weren't even looking—when you left her home. You close the door and say goodbye. Walk across the lawn and get in your car. You begin to drive. And just before you make it out of sight down Cambridge Street, you turn to look back. She's still there. A scene so familiar to us all—a little lady standing by her door—the door built by her beloved husband decades ago—making the signs of the cross in blessing as you ride slowly away. And then you know, surely as ever. Abby loves you.