Patricia Joan Montone

Pat was born in Chicago on March 11, 1942, to John Hughes and Pauline née Perchez, and raised there with her beloved older sister Barbara, who looked after her.

When her parents divorced, Pat grew up with a single mom, which made her resourceful and appreciative of what she had. After her mother was remarried to Alfred Klapperich, who adopted Pat when she was a teenager, her younger sisters Karen and Dawn were born, and Pat often looked after them.

She never took family for granted, and she extended the idea of family to include the people around her, inviting them into her own. That pretty much stayed with her for the rest of her life.

Pat studied fine art and painting at Rosary College and the University of Illinois, where she met our dad, Ken, who was also an artist. She made art an important part of our family. Some of our earliest memories are of sitting around the table after dinner drawing together. Our parents introduced us to art and music not as anything precious or intimidating. It was simply part of life. While she did not pursue a career in fine arts, she practiced in ways that expressed her faith. Together, she and Ken designed and created impressive, large-scale altar banners for Holy Trinity. She frequented the Portland Art Museum as often as she could, with her last visit coinciding with the closing of the David Hockney exhibition, which she saw more than once.

Pat and Ken married February 1, 1964, and were inseparable. They were married partners in every sense of the word, and each was the other’s person. To our dad, she was his beloved wife. She looked after him, and he looked after her. They moved through life together, sharing their home, their work, their travels, their family, and their daily routines. Even when they were doing different things, they were somehow still doing them together.

Pat was adventurous. One month after our oldest brother Jay was born, she and our dad boarded a passenger ship -- because it was the cheapest way they could figure out how to get there -- and moved to Australia. They spent almost two years living in Bondi Beach before eventually returning on a six-month adventure to Chicago and then settling in Portland, Oregon, where they raised the four of us: Jay, Ian, Paul and Annie. Portland became home in 1970, and Pat loved it.

She had a way of figuring out what mattered to each of us and joining in. Sometimes that meant catching frogs in the marshy areas around Beaverton. It meant many visits to OMSI and the zoo, taking her boys to see Elton John or Kiss, being a Camp Fire troop leader, or going to gymnastics classes and competitions with Annie. Years later, it meant sitting on the floor with her grandchildren and teaching them how to paint and draw. She didn’t need you to be interested in what she was interested in. She wanted to know what interested you.

Service was a constant in Pat’s life. She taught English as a second language in the 1980s; walked door to door for UNICEF; volunteered with numerous organizations such as Habitat for Humanity and its Interfaith committee, Saint Vincent de Paul food pantry, Peace and Justice Group, St. Pius X Women's Club, Baby Corner and Rose Haven, MACG (Metropolitan Alliance for Common Good), and Walking with Purpose; and served as a Eucharistic Minister at St. Pius X and as Lenten Soup Supper coordinator. Her volunteerism brought her to the Philippines and New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina. She was a regular volunteer at St. Francis Dining Hall and visited many families at the various migrant communities.

She served for 30 years as the Director of Religious Education at St. Pius X, which prepared hundreds of young people for First Communion and Reconciliation. Over those 30 years, she worked with thousands of kids and families. Her Catholic faith was deeply important to her, but St. Pius X also gave her a way to do what came naturally: help people. She didn’t talk much about service. She just showed up and did the work.

Pat approached relationships the same way. She remained friends with former boyfriends and girlfriends of her children long after those relationships had come to an end. Once Pat decided you were part of the family, it was surprisingly difficult to get yourself removed.

In our family home was a collage made from luggage tags, train tickets, and other memorabilia representing Pat and Ken’s journey around the world. It documented the travels and the life she and our dad had shared. But travel was also one of the ways Pat kept our family together. She was constantly getting on airplanes to see her children, grandchildren, relatives and friends, whether they lived across the country or across the world. She made endless trips to California and Germany to visit her children and grandchildren. Distance never seemed like a particularly good reason not to go.

She loved every child and every grandchild in the family. We probably didn’t completely understand it while she was alive, but she was the nonstop glue connecting all of us. As a grandmother, she was incredible. New parents can make the simplest things seem impossibly complicated. Pat could walk into the room, make one small adjustment, solve the problem and walk away. No lecture. You’d just think, “Oh. That’s how you do it.”

She loved music. She and Ken frequented Chicago’s 1960s jazz clubs to see legendary acts like Nancy Wilson, Dave Brubeck, George Shearing, and Gerry Mulligan. Her music collection spanned the decades, from Harry Belafonte, Paul Simon, and James Taylor, to Jack White and The Shins. And she loved all the music her children made too.

She remained curious about new music and new experiences throughout her life and was a constant fixture, side of stage in a chair, at many Portland rock concerts. Catholic hymns and songs also played an important role, especially during Advent, when she would lead the kids in singing “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel” with everyone gathered to light Advent candles.

She was an avid walker and enjoyed walking early in the day. For Pat, walking was both exercise and a form of meditation and prayer.

Pat loved soccer and was a Timbers supporter to the end. This passion started in 1975, when the original team arrived in Portland as part of the NASL. Before the term “soccer mom” existed, Pat was already one. Pat’s sons all played soccer, and going to Timbers’ games became a family ritual, as did trips to GI Joes to meet various players as part of whatever promotion was running at the time. She brought her children to see Pelé play with the NY Cosmos against the Timbers in 1976. When the Timbers returned years later and eventually joined MLS, she was a dedicated season ticket holder -- rain or shine -- up to the day she passed.

Pat had a wonderfully dry sense of humor herself, although she didn’t always reveal it. Our dad was the more obvious comedian in the family, and we used to joke that Pat was secretly writing all of his material. She hated attention and was much more comfortable when the attention was on somebody else. For her 80th birthday, we gathered as a family, told stories about her and tried to explain what she meant to all of us. Pat seemed genuinely confused as to why we were throwing a party for her. But that was Pat. She had spent her life celebrating everybody else.

Pat spent her life showing up for other people. We’re only now beginning to understand all the little spaces in our lives she occupied and how empty those spaces will feel without her. She will be greatly missed by both family and those in her community.

Pat was diagnosed with Parkinson’s, which ultimately contributed to her passing. Yet her final moments were extraordinary. Family and loved ones gathered together with her, playing music she loved, sharing messages, and praying by her bedside. Just before she passed, Ken, her husband of sixty-two years, gave her one last kiss. Pat took a deep breath, leaned forward, and kissed him back. She then died peacefully.

She was a beloved wife, a mother and grandmother, a sister, an artist and adventurer, a teacher and volunteer, a woman of faith, a soccer fanatic, a loyal friend, and the person an extraordinary number of people called when they needed calm, sensible advice. She was all of these things at once, and each relationship revealed a different part of her.

Pat Montone is survived by her husband, Ken; children Jay, Ian, Paul and Anne; grandchildren Selina, Lili, Béla, Sophie, Nicolas and Luka; step-grandchildren Alex, Brooklyn, Julia, Simon and David; and sisters Barbara, Karen and Dawn.

Her memorial service will be held at St. Pius X on October 24 at 11am, beginning with a rosary followed by a mass at 11:30am and reception at 12:30pm.

In lieu of flowers, we ask that you consider a donation to the St. Vincent de Paul food pantry in her name: https://www.stpius.org/svdp