Marjorie E. (Hiller) Snyder

Born: 11/11/1921 Passed:

Marjorie E. (Hiller) Snyder age 97 of Louisville, Ohio passed away Monday, September 2, 2019 at St. Joseph Senior Living Center following a brief illness. She was born November 11, 1921 in Granada, MN to the late Eskel and Mabel Hiller. She worked at Walker’s Restaurant in Louisville as a baker and was a member of Kountze Memorial Lutheran Church. In addition to baking, Marjorie enjoyed music and spending time with her friends and family.

She is preceded in death by her husband, Clarence “Buck” Snyder; daughter, Nancy Campbell, four sisters, and one brother.

She is survived by son and daughter-in-law, Gary (Janette) Snyder; three daughters, Juanita Toth of St. Louis, Vicky Young of Colorado, and Clarena Snyder of Washington; one sister, Darlene Oliver of Florida, ten grandchildren and several great grandchildren.

In keeping with the families wishes, cremation has taken place and no public services are planned. She will be laid to rest in Sunset Hills Cemetery. Condolences can be shared with the family online at

Heritage Cremation Society


1 Tribute to Marjorie E. (Hiller) Snyder

  1. Clarena M. Snyder says:

    My dear Mum, it is not easy knowing you are gone from this earth. It took my own aging to begin recognizing the great love you held within you, a love that propelled you to negate your own dreams and desires and instead become for each of us what we needed you to be. Never seeking recognition, nor asking for thanks. I have never known anyone so selfless, who gave so much of themselves, as you did for us and Pop. You never held back, never stopped working, and never complained. I never even once heard you and Pop argue. In my whole life. You never asked for anything of your own, you just turned yourself inside out making sure we had enough. Sacrificing yourself over and over again. I learned with great sadness that you took this final journey alone, uncomplaining and stoically, as you did with all the challenges life handed you. I deeply regret that I was not able to say goodbye. But I trust in your quiet Lutheran way, that you made it Home without fear. You were not one to preach, nor to be loud about your spiritual life, or anything else, for that matter. You never even talked about religion, just let us know it’s importance by quietly living your Truth.

    You had an innate understanding and quiet acceptance of Life. I promise to remember and to honor you by continuing to strive to live up to the values you demonstrated with your actions: most of all to be kind and giving, to encourage and support others to be themselves, to respect and honor others, to recognize the mystery and connection we have to the land and Nature, to be humble and surrender oneself completely, to love non-judgmentally, even when not understanding nor agreeing with others’ actions, words, philosophy, or direction in life. You made sure that Pop was held up in an almost mythic god-like status for his gifts, talents, and contributions to the community. No one ever did that for you, and yet you bore no resentment for not getting recognition. So completely did you give yourself up. I recognize you, Mom. And I bear witness to your gentleness, your kindness, and your selfless love.

    By encouraging and allowing me to just be me without having the encumbrances and tensions of parents who try to control their children, you blessed my journey with the permission to follow my curiosity and to have experiences beyond my wildest imaginings. Never once did I hear you utter “I’m disappointed in you”, words that snap so many young hearts closed in shame and cause so many to give up without ever trying to figure out who they are and why they are here on earth. Even when I sailed off exploring Eastern spirituality and philosophy, studying yoga and sound healing, ideas that were so foreign to you, you listened to what I was learning and then blessed me with your own curiosity, acceptance, encouragement, and support. I remember a conversation with Pop acknowledging that yes, my mother did fear I had joined a cult when I went off across the ocean, and his laughing with me as I realized you had kept your reservations and fears to yourself, so as not to cause me to second guess myself, as children do when parents tamp down curiosity and try to create cookie-cutter offspring. You gave us the incredible gift of complete freedom to make our own decisions, to create our own lives. Later, the more we talked, the more curious you became about what I was learning. We had many conversations about indigenous healing and ancient understandings about death and the dying process. I am esp. glad we talked at length and in detail about what I learned and experienced with the dying.

    I realize what a blessing it was to have had a mother who allowed me that freedom of exploration, to traverse boundaries way beyond your own experiences, who stood herself aside to encourage me to find and become as much of myself as I could. Your blessing in doing that made all the difference in my finding the courage to be me. Thank you, Mum.

    I have such deep and vivid memories to hold you to me now: Sunday dinners watching you hold back on eating until everyone was finishing, convincing us that your favorite piece was the chicken neck…knowing that we had little but accepting responsibility for feeding and clothing your children. I know life was not easy for you; I know you felt alone and down sometimes; and I know you heroically continued despite the difficulties, finding ways to make our lives enriching. I will remember the smell of fresh baked bread and the delight of having snow ice-cream. Your teaching us how to bake all those yummy Minnesota recipes, how to hang laundry on the line, how to plant the garden. I remember sitting on the floor with my head in your lap as you stroked my hair. Shelling peas on the porch with you. I remember how you kept the house cool in the summer, shuttling curtains and windows until evening breezes came along. I remember your constant motion as you moved from one chore to the next, working, working, working. And laying on the floor as you struggled with our mittens, layers of pants, etc. to get all five of us into snow clothes so we could go outside, only to have one of us need to go to the bathroom and your having to start all over. And the summer evening softball games in the field with your skirt flying as you ran, all of us laughing to be together. I will remember your teaching me the proper way to iron a shirt, with my toy iron set up beside your ironing board. I will remember the way you had all of us compete for the most dandelions dug up, most blackberries picked, etc….rewarding the one who picked the most. Planting and hoeing in our gardens, three beans, two corn, until too dark to continue. Jumping in those huge piles of raked leaves each Fall. You taught, not by words so much as by example. What I learned from you was that work was part of living and to love it. You never ever complained about the immense workload on your shoulders. From that I learned not to whine. It wasn’t in my experience with you. I will remember the excitement of counting the pops of lids on the many many jars of canning. And the Sunday drives and family board and card games. So very many small moments become now so large.

    But the moments that stand out most in my mind are those where your selfless spirit soared and best defined you: Your crawling into bed with Sam Snyder, holding and rocking him while singing “Amazing Grace” to comfort him as he died. And our summer Minnesota vacations, with you sitting sentry and awake on the front seat of the car on the side of a country road in the wee hours of morning, listening to crickets and frogs, with Pop’s sleeping head in your lap as he took an hour nap before he could continue the 19 hour drive to the Hiller farm where you grew up. I remember the stories you told about your one-room schoolhouse, riding Prince and Charley with hot baked potatoes in your pockets to keep your hands from freezing, getting dumped off the horse into the stall mucking pile, Joel dunking you in the water trough, all the turkeys you raised, the 4-H projects, the way you and your family fell into each other during our summer vacations on the Minnesota farm, laughing and chatting, how Joel still teased you mercilessly. The way in which you absolutely gave yourself over to Pop, content to stay in the background as he played music with his band, following his every whim, happy and proud that Buck was so well known and loved in the community. I will remember your nostrils flaring in quiet laughter when you were amused…sometimes by yourself. And your standing in the kitchen over the heat vent Pop installed by the kitchen sink making 6 lunches on cold winter mornings while we dried our hair in the open oven door and ate our warm oatmeal. Showing us how to play Fox and Geese in the snow. All those Saturday nights down in Malvern with Pop’s band. And the summer nights racing around catching fireflies under star-lit skies waiting for the bonfire to settle so we could roast marshmallows. And you, always there, always reassuring in your presence. What a jumble of memories, and more coming. I hold you close within my heart now, Mum. May you finally Rest In Peace.

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