Beatrice ‘Bea’ Stadheim, 93, Albert Lea

Published 12:00 am Thursday, September 18, 2003

Graveside services for Beatrice “Bea” Stadheim of Thorne Crest Retirement Center, Albert Lea, will be held at 10 a.m. Friday, Sept. 19, 2003, at Hillcrest Cemetery, Albert Lea.

Tribute to Beatrice Stadheim by Wayne Ensrud (her nephew and godson)

My Aunt Bea

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Beatrice Ovedia Bridley Stadheim was one of 14 children born to Botolf and Minnie Knutson Bridley in Oakland Township on July 24, 1910. She grew up with the advent of the car and airplane but always cherished the simple wonder-filled life of that earlier time.

Her father donated the property where he and his neighbors built and carved the altar and pews for that handsome house of God in Oakland which was sadly dismantled a few years ago.

Every visit to Aunt Bea, we walked through the cemetery where she remembered the burial markers of each of our long-lived ancestors. She was proud to recall that in Norway there are five brothers and sisters, all living. Our relatives averaged a life span of 100 years each. I truly believed Aunt Bea would join that hearty list.

The whole family of 14 children moved to Albert Lea, where they lived on the shore of Fountain Lake. Although I was born in Albert Lea, I grew up in Luverne but my mother, Blanche, who was Aunt Bea’s twin sister, always longed to see her siblings. My early memories are of an overflowing house of joy and laughter and horseback riding at my cousin Duane Bridley’s house in Gordonsville.

Aunt Bea was headstrong and determined in all of her endeavors. In a time when women were not so independent, she saved her money and with help from her friend Kenneth Stadheim, who became her beloved husband, she attended beauty school in Minneapolis and returned to Albert Lea where she beautified the local ladies. When she and Kenneth moved to 1435 South Shore Drive in 1959, he built for her a beauty salon where she continued her skills into her later life. On every visit, all my life, Aunt Bea strongly scrubbed my head and gave me the best haircuts I ever had.

Aunt Bea and Kenny were not blessed with children of their own, but Aunt Bea was godmother to the many offspring of her 14 brothers and sisters, of which I am lucky to be counted.

Aunt Bea was justly proud of her Norwegian heritage and delighted in dressing in her Norwegian finery when she sang with the Sons of Norway chorus. She dearly loved to sing and dance. She always reminded me that the whole family was musical and that Grandpa Bridley’s fiddle, which he played at the county fair at the age of 92, is on view at the Historical Society.

Aunt Bea was a familiar face in the nursing homes of Albert Lea, where she tirelessly visited friends and family, bringing her delicious homemade cookies and lefse and her warm smile and infectious laughter to lift their spirits.

Aunt Bea was one of God’s rare and special messengers. Her motto for living was, “Count your blessings not your losses.”

Aunt Bea believed in “tough love.” She saved me countless times from wallowing in self-pity, melancholy and doubt.

Up every morning at 6 a.m., her days were never spent idly. She busied herself with the chores of the house and mowing, raking and working in her cherished vegetable and flower garden. I know I owe my own health to being nourished by her homemade breads, jams and pickles.

Aunt Bea knew that “nature was medicine for the soul” and she deeply and passionately loved nature in all its forms.

Never asking, demanding or expecting others to do for her, she was a living model of giving, sacrificing and loving. I believed she would be with us for more years to come but when the body vessel wearies, the divine spirit must depart.

The final week of her life, she had been checked by two doctors and declared in good health. On the next day, Sept. 13, Aunt Bea was found sitting in her favorite chair apparently looking outside at her much loved nature where she peacefully passed on to join her beloved Kenny and proud Norwegian family that were waiting with open arms.

With Aunt Bea’s passing one of our ships is missing! A bright light has gone out. But if we keep her alive in our memory, she will continue to illuminate our souls with her special brand of tough love and selfless motherly love.

As my father always said: &uot;Never say good-bye … just o’er the hill.”