Christine Marie Rednour

Several off-duty RNs and LPNs crowded around an oblong wooden table, fighting for elbow room. “Chest your cards!” she would call out. Christine never wanted the advantage of you showing her your hand.

Stories of work, ex-husbands, and former lovers filled the spaces between laughter and declarations of victory.

Growing up, I feared her laugh. A raucous laugh so genuine it would shake the wood paneling in our house. At 5′6″, she stood ten feet tall with wild black hair, refreshing blue eyes, and a smile to match. She was galvanized and unbreakable, as if born of steel. The very steel from the Cuyahoga Valley in her hometown of Cleveland, Ohio.

Christine moved from Ohio to Jackson, Tennessee, in 1977 with her now ex-husband, Bob, and their two children, Trisha and Bryan. Benjamin — the Souvenir, as they called me — would be born a few years later at Jackson-Madison County General Hospital.

Christine had been working there as a nurse when her Souvenir arrived. That place provided a seemingly never-ending supply of mothers who had “known each of us since we were this big.” They helped raise me and my siblings when Christine was on call. A true sisterhood bonded by their calling, all living by the mantra, “Pay it forward.”

True mantras don’t end when you clock out. Giving and volunteering were the norm. Relay For Life events, Angel Tree gifts, food pantry drives, blood drives, community cleanups, and countless 5Ks were all off-duty staples. Christine gave as much as she could to her community.

Later in her career, Christine was promoted to Director of Oncology of Nine West. It was the second-highest button on the elevator. Off-white walls and hairpin turns, tattooed and scarred from runaway hospital beds. Long hallways lined with half-eaten Jell-O cups, abandoned nursing carts, and grief-stricken family members. This wasn’t healthcare; this was a war zone.

Endless battles took a toll on Christine. Not only did she fight cancer at work, but she fought it at home as well. Her father, Howard Creter, a veteran of WWII, passed away from lung cancer in 1993. With slicked-back hair and an Ace comb in his pocket, he would say to me, “Come here, son.” He’d rinse his comb and style my hair like his. With my new hairdo on display, he’d tell Rose he needed to check on his office. He would take me for a car ride to steal a cigarette. A quick swish of mint Scope mouthwash hidden in his glove box gave Howard hope Rose wouldn’t notice.

Christine’s mother, Rose Creter, passed away from cancer in 2007. There is no larger personality than the grandmother who ties a family together. Even Christine’s younger siblings, Bill, Jim, Jeff, Bob, and Tom Creter, adhered to Rose’s instructions. Rose was a wonder. I can still hear her singing as she moved through the house. My siblings and I would snicker at her colorful banter with the TV when the game was on. An Irishwoman from New York City, she lived and died with every Cleveland Indians at-bat.

Forever homesick, Christine traveled us back to Cleveland as much as she could afford. Southwest Airlines and salted peanuts were staples growing up. Our summers weren’t camping trips or slumber parties; they were front porches flanked with hydrangeas and lightning bugs dancing in the trees, all wrapped in a calm breeze from Lake Erie.

Christine’s final battle ended on October 6, 2026. We’re not sure how long she fought dementia, but in true Christine fashion, she chested her cards and gave it hell.

For the last time, a group of women gather around Christine’s dining room table. This time it’s my sister, Trisha; home health aides Hope, Theresa, and Kim; my sister-in-law, Julie; and my nieces, Kayla and Hailey. The silence is heavy but often broken by laughter and tears. Stories of Christine fill the air.

Christine’s sisterhood didn’t stop at Jackson-Madison County General Hospital; Christine stood alongside those at Bolivar General Hospital too.

Christine is survived by her daughter, Trisha, and Trisha’s husband, Shane, and son, Reagan; her son Bryan, his wife, Julie, and their daughters, Kayla and Hailey; her son Benjamin; and her brothers, Bill, Jim, Jeff, Bob, and Tom.

To Hope, Theresa, Kim, and the hospice nurses who stopped by to sit with Christine, even on your off hours: thank you. You carried the sisterhood to the very end.

I ask God for all things

that I might enjoy life;

He gave me life

that I might enjoy all things