Phyllis R. Nelsen

I once saw our mother, Phyllis Nelsen, walk across a river for no particular reason, struggling against the waist-high current with her every step. The spectacle aside, the point is she was strong willed, unusually so. She endured a litany of illnesses, often in tremendous pain, which she mostly kept to herself. Her perseverance inspired admiration from her doctors if she hadn’t already won them over with her charm. Even at the end, when all those around her were a sobbing mess, Phyllis, who died in early January at the age of seventy-six, was the strongest person in the room.

She was born Phyllis Rudin in Springfield, Illinois, the second of three children, and raised in Griswold, Iowa, near family farms at the state’s western edge. She had a mischievous streak as a child that could not be wrung out of her despite her parents’ best efforts. Disassembling the television, for example, might be understood as healthy curiosity, pouring sand in the gas tank of the family car, however, is harder to explain. In high school, she was a cheerleader – Go Tigers! – and a homecoming queen who performed in the high school musical, but most of all she loved to swim, and the family’s backyard swimming pool was her sanctuary. She was also smart as a whip, could water-ski barefoot, so she said, and out-arm wrestle most guys. She was the whole package.

To have heard her tell it, she had the good fortune to attend college, even if her father, Bob, decided on the school. At the University of Nebraska-Lincoln she studied sociology, or as she jokingly referred to it, “finding a husband.” She was in the Kappa Kappa Gamma sorority, where it just so happened that her future husband, Stephen, worked as a dishwasher. They officially met on a blind date, though Stephen insists his dishwashing skills must have caught her eye. Whatever the case, they hit it off and married several years later on December 27, 1970 at Phyllis’ childhood home in Griswold.

The young couple lived in Manhattan, Kansas, while Stephen was in the army stationed at Ft. Riley, and in Omaha while he was in law school, and then eventually settled in Lincoln. They had two children, first a daughter, Jennifer, and then a son, Aaron. In those early years of familial bliss, Phyllis read literal stacks of romance novels, and in a bit of a Rain-manesque manner, called out the answers to Jeopardy! Before the contestants. She drank Tab soda and might be found sweatin’ to Jane Fonda’s Workout in the early 80s and later Sweatin’ to the Oldies with Richard Simmons to close the decade. More importantly, she raised their kids, shuffling them between piano lessons and sporting events, and lifting their spirits through the awkwardness of youth.

She went on epic adventures with her sister, Marianne, some are rumored to have occurred south of the border. But they didn’t need an exotic destination to vanish into a world of their own. When they were together their voices and laughter became indistinguishable from one another.

She adored her grandchildren, and though she feigned betrayal when one of them hit her with a draw 4 card in Uno, she happily let them win. Baking oatmeal cookies or banana bread, or sharing a quiet moment on a summer morning with grape-flavored popsicles, were some of the many ways she expressed her love for them.

She had a great sense of humor, with a quick wit that was often self-deprecating – she could laugh at herself. She was effervescent and could speak to anyone. She made friends effortlessly, no matter the person or the place. She won over doctors, neighbors, the young and old, and any retail worker  she ever met. Her personality was infectious. Because of this openness to others, friends and family turned to Phyllis with their problems. A former neighbor quipped that her role was not unlike that of the communal puking post. But it wasn’t for convenience that everyone brought their problems to Phyllis, it was because she listened, and cared.

Phyllis was quite expressive, a talent that, later in life, she poured into her poetry. She had a beautiful singing voice, an appreciation for show tunes, and a particular affinity for John Denver, whose music sung in her clear alto soothed her children to sleep. Her autoimmune condition robbed her of many things; it was particularly cruel  when it took her ability to sing. In her final days, she struggled to make her voice heard except for one word: Home.  She made it there, passing away in the early hours of January 3 in her Lincoln home. She loved deeply, and she was loved beyond measure.

Phyllis is preceded in death by her parents, Bob and Win Rudin, and her younger brother, Rob. She is survived by her husband, Stephen; her children, Jennifer (Brian) Dowling and Aaron (Carla) Nelsen; her grandchildren, Finnegan, Margaret, Ana, and Matilda; her sister, Marianne; nieces and nephews; and her beloved goldendoodle, Gus.

A Celebration of Life Service will be held on June 25, 2025 at 11:00 a.m. at First-Plymouth Church, 2000 D Street, Lincoln.

Memorials to St. Monica’s, 120 Wedgewood Drive, Lincoln, Nebraska 68510 or HopeSpoke, 2444 O Street, Lincoln, Nebraska 68510.

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