Frances Perotti

Family and friends are invited to gather as we remember Frances on Saturday, August 22, 2026. She will be laid to rest on Monday, August 24, 2026.

If you would like gathering or burial information, please contact us at RememberFrances505@gmail.com. If you have a favorite memory or photograph of Mom, we would be honored if you shared it with us.

I don't know how to write an obituary for my mother.

I keep coming back to the same question: How do you capture a lifetime? How do you describe someone who was part of every chapter of your life, yet had a whole life of her own before you ever knew her as "Mom"?

When I close my eyes, I don't think about dates or accomplishments. I see Mom sitting at her kitchen table surrounded by books, newspapers, and papers, working on whatever had captured her curiosity that day. Later, she'd settle into her recliner with another book in her hands. There was always something she wanted to learn, something she wanted to understand, or a question she wanted to chase down.

Mom never stopped learning.

She grew up in Belen, New Mexico, where, as a little girl, she loved the freedom of riding horses across her father's ranch. Looking back, I think that little girl never really disappeared. She simply traded horses for airplanes and history books.

Mom was endlessly curious. She loved New Mexico history, genealogy, and the stories that often went untold. One of the projects she was most proud of was The First Thanksgiving and Gifts from the Spanish. She spent years researching it because she believed history should make us curious enough to ask questions and discover the story for ourselves.

That same curiosity carried her far beyond New Mexico. What began as visits to her sister and family during State Department assignments grew into a lifetime of adventure. She traveled to India, Chile, Spain, Israel, Costa Rica, throughout Europe, and many places in between. Looking through her photographs now, I notice the same thing in almost every one: Mom standing proudly in front of somewhere she'd dreamed of seeing, happy simply to be there.

Mom had strong opinions. Anyone who knew her would probably smile reading that. She wasn't afraid to speak her mind, write a letter to the editor, or stand up for something she believed in. Once she'd done her research, changing her mind was no easy task.

She also had a wonderful way of making ordinary days memorable.

For more than twenty-four years, Mom lived close enough to be part of our everyday lives. Sometimes she'd call over the backyard wall just to visit. Sometimes she'd stop by for no particular reason. Those little interruptions, the kind you hardly notice at the time, have become some of the memories I treasure most.

She absolutely loved being Grandma.

She encouraged her grandchildren's interests, proudly shared what she knew, and every now and then let her mischievous side take over. One Halloween she answered the door dressed as La Llorona. She committed to the role so completely that I think we're all still just a little traumatized. Thankfully, enough time has passed that now we laugh far more than we shiver.

The greatest gift Mom gave me came at the very end of her life, though she never knew it.

When she moved from her home and later into assisted living, my daughter and I spent many evenings going through her apartment. We expected to sort through belongings. Instead, we found her life.

Photographs.

Letters.

Books with notes tucked inside.

The speech she'd carefully researched.

Little glimpses of the young woman who loved horses, the traveler, the historian, the friend, my mom, and, eventually, a grandmother.

Somewhere in those quiet evenings, my daughter helped me see things differently. She found humor where I might have found sadness. She helped me look at Mom not just through the eyes of a daughter, but through the eyes of another woman trying her best through every season of life.

I didn't discover a different mother.

I discovered a deeper understanding of the one I'd always had.

Even after all these years, to Mom I was still "Alliberta." I think I'll always treasure hearing that name in her voice.

Mom was curious, determined, independent, funny, and unforgettable. She loved to learn. She loved to travel. She loved her family and friends. She left this world with countless stories behind her—and, I suspect, a few spirited conversations waiting for her in Heaven.

She was, always and completely, Frances.

Frances was preceded in death by her parents and her sisters, Carmen and Lorraine.

She is survived by her daughter and son-in-law; her sisters and extended family; her beloved grandchildren; many cherished friends; and everyone fortunate enough to have been part of her story.

Mom never stopped exploring.

She never stopped learning.

She never stopped being Frances.