Pamela: March 28, 1951-August 15, 2025

KELSO- Pamela, age 74, is dead to begin with. Called into The Lords Service August 16th, 2025. Rumor has it that there was a lineup at St. Peter’s desk that day as they had to go track Pam over in the kitchen. Such was the life of Pam. Always busy. Always looking for that next thing—for excitement, for knowledge, for whatever trouble she could stir up next.

Whether you knew Pam as Pama Bama, Witchypoo, Mom, Grandma, Aunt, or just “hey lady,” you knew exactly who you were talking to. Quick with the criticism and a compliment, usually in the same sentence if you deserved it. That was just her way of saying she saw you.

Pam was always ready for the next adventure. Usually they’d start with “I have an idea,” and somewhere along the line, you knew you were coming along whether you’d planned on it or not. Some of those ideas were grand. Some flopped spectacularly. Every single one of them was met head-on with passion and enthusiasm to the bitter end. Reluctant to let go of anything—except maybe common sense now and then.

She was an Executive Chef to the governor’s house in Washington. Ran the Half Moon Bay Lodge in Oregon. Traveled the States for something to do with her kid,managed a silly Thrift Store in Spokane and then settled and started a small corner cafe called The Wooden NIckel which later became her own sons The Laughing Hyena cafe. Involved in the local volunteer scenes from CAP, CHoB,Jumbo’s Toy Run, and holiday dinner giveaways at her restaurants for decades, Pam always believed in compassion over profit.

Her kitchen management style? Strict rules, safety protocols, everything by the book. But if there was time for curiosity—and maybe a little chaos—she might let you satisfy that. Her greatest achievement was allowing people to succeed or fail on their own. Both happened. She was there either way. She supported anyone who was honest with her, gave you the benefit of the doubt for as long as needed, and smacked you upside the head if you really, truly deserved it.

Then something shifted. At Community House on Broadway, her personality went from “I’m the best, leave me alone, get out of my way” to “what can I do to help?” Through her work with people who needed it most she learned a different kind of love. Mom changed. Became a better person. Kept working right up until the end because she was dedicated to the people she was trying to help.

If you knew Pam, it’s because she wanted you to. She was private for most of her life.

She showed her love by helping others over herself. Even at the end, Pam did things her way—hid the cancer from everyone, even her son. Not because she didn’t love us. Because she did. She wouldn’t be fussed over. Wouldn’t let anyone carry her burden. That was Pam protecting the people she loved, right to the end. Stubborn until the last breath. We wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

Pam was preceded in death by both her parents and a stepparent, her oldest sister, her youngest brother, and her loving spouses.

She is survived by her son, her daughter-in-law and best friend, three grandsons, one granddaughter-in-law, one great-grandson, and one great-granddaughter—all of whom she was fiercely, impossibly proud of.

In lieu of flowers, Pam would ask that you donate what resources you can, when you can, however you can, to the following organizations she worked with: Community House on Broadway,   Jumbo’s Toy Run, and AmeriCorps. 

A small memorial get together on Nov. 15th, 3pm at 411 South Pacific on Kelso is scheduled.