Birth date: Mar 19, 1930 Death date: Mar 1, 2026
Betty A Courtney, 95 years of Waterloo, IL, passed away on March 1, 2026 at Cedarhurst, Waterloo, IL. She was born March 19, 1930, in East St. Louis, IL. Betty was a member of the First Baptist Church, Columbia, IL, where she sta Read Obituary
We were truly blessed to have Betty for an inlaw, but also as our dear finland, We had a wonderful time going to Branson with the family. We had to not plan anything on a Tuesday because that would interfere with her quilting. So wonderful tha she taught Taylor to quilt and sew. She would always like to tell us a joke on Thanksgiving. We will truly miss her love and kindness.
The first time I met her was inside the doors of Columbia Baptist when her daughter were greeters at the front door inside the church.
A beautiful smile was there beaming from her beautiful face and it made me smile also. In a few Sundays we begin to exchange some conversation and before we knew it by the next few Sundays we were hugging buddies. Now viewing all her accomplishments in life I am truly amazed at all she did in this short time she had on this earth as her Father from Heaven watched His daughter spread her love and devotion to her family, those whom she met along the way and me whom I didn't know until her late years was so full of love to pass around to all of us. I have missed you Betty, but look forward to your loving hug when I entered the gates of Heaven for surely only God would send one of his best greeters from Columbia Baptist to welcome note fellow greeter. Love Grows, Ruby
Jennifer, I am so sorry to hear of the passing of your mom. I am heartbroken for you. Your mom’s love will always be a part of you. I will pray for peace and comfort for you and your family during this very difficult time. She is safely home in Heaven now.
SAFELY HOME
“I am home in Heaven, dear ones;
Oh, so happy and so bright!
There is perfect joy and beauty In this everlasting light.
All the pain and grief is over, Every restless tossing passed;
lam now at peace forever,
Safely home in Heaven at last.
Did you wonder I so calmly
Trod the valley of the shade?
Oh! but Jesus' love illumined
Every dark and fearful glade.
And He came Himself to meet me In that way so hard to tread;
And with Jesus' arm to lean on, Could I have one doubt or dread?
Then you must not grieve so soreiy, For I love you dearly still:
Try to look beyond earth's shadows, Pray to trust our Father's Will.
There is work still waiting for you, So you must not idly stand;
Do it now, while life remaineth - You shall rest in Jesus' land.
When that work is all completed, He will gently call you Home;
Oh, the rapture of that meeting, Oh, the joy to see you come!”
My grandma had a way of turning the smallest moments into magic. One of my favorite memories is how she would go to McDonald’s just to buy Happy Meals—not for the food, but for the toys. She kept them tucked away in a special prize box, waiting for the next time we played bingo. Whenever I won, she’d open that box like it was a treasure chest, and I’d get to choose a prize. It made me feel like the luckiest kid in the world, not because of the toy, but because she had thought of me long before the game even began.
Some of my most cherished time with her was spent quilting. She didn’t just show me how to sew pieces together—she taught me the ways of quilting. How to choose fabrics that spoke to each other, how to line up seams with patience, how every stitch carried a bit of the maker’s heart. Sitting beside her, listening to the hum of the sewing machine or the quiet rhythm of hand‑stitching, felt like being wrapped in warmth. She passed down more than a skill; she passed down a tradition, a craft, and a piece of herself.
New Year’s Eve with her was its own kind of tradition. We’d spend the night doing little fun things—snacks, games, silly conversations—and then, right at midnight, we’d bundle up and run outside to bang pots and pans and yell into the night. It didn’t matter how cold it was or who might hear us. It was our ritual, loud and joyful and completely ours. Those moments felt like pure freedom, wrapped in her laughter.
When I think of her now, I think of those simple traditions that made me feel seen, celebrated, and loved. She had a gift for turning ordinary days into memories that still glow.
Going to arcades for her birthday well into her 80s
Eating expired milk at her house
