The
Pat Kenneth Steve Serna
Memorial Webpage
Pat Serna, aged 75, of Anderson, CA, died of natural causes on Monday, July 1, 2024.
Pat is survived by his beloved and loving family — his wife, Lesa Donnelly, of Anderson;
daughters Amanda (Jayson) Young, of Redding, and Stephanie (Louie) Cossa, of Cottonwood;
grandchildren Jaycee Young and Luke Young, of Redding, and Sally (Eric) Cossa, of Chico;
great grandchildren Jaxon Young and Arthur Grayson; brothers George (Janice) Serna and Clarence
(Barb) Serna of Redding; brothers-in-law William Donnelly, of Anderson, and Daniel (Jeannie)
Donnelly, of Chico; and many nieces, nephews, cousins, and other family.
Pat is predeceased by his Father Alex Serna, Mother Sally (née Montoya), brothers Alex
Serna, Jr. and Chris Serna, ex-wife Linda Serna York (née Arrasmith – mother of
Stephanie and Amanda), and brother-in-law Robert Donnelly.
Pat also loved his cats Biggie Smalls, Wolfie, Freddie, Bridie, Kalle, Medina, and Mookie, who
miss him very much.
A life-long resident of the state of California, he was born November 27, 1948 in Westwood, CA,
moved to Anderson, CA at the age of 4 years old, and lived most of his life in Shasta County.
Pat was a proud Veteran, having served as a Helicopter Crew Chief in Vietnam in the 170th Assault
Helicopter Company "Bikinis" in the late 1960s.
Pat attended Anderson High School and Shasta College. He worked in forestry most of his life and
retired after 30 years as a Forester for the United States Forest Service, Plumas National
Forest and Shasta-Trinity National Forest. Pat was attached to a Federal Incident Management
Team for many years and undertook assignments such as fires in Alaska and the Columbia Space
Shuttle Recovery in Texas and Louisiana.
His primary interests were playing golf, spending time in the outdoors, attending San Francisco
Giants games, and watching sports. He was an avid fan of concerts and the cinema. Pat was a
member in good standing at Club Tucker Golf Course (formerly Tucker Oaks) and a past member of
the Board of Directors. He supported California teams, and followed his beloved San Francisco
Giants, San Francisco 49s, and Golden State Warriors.
A memorial service will be held on Monday, August 12, 2024 starting at 1:45 p.m. at the
Northern California Veterans Cemetery,
11800 Gas Point Road, Igo, CA. Following the service, family and friends are welcome to gather at
Club Tucker Golf Course, 6241 Churn Creek Rd., Redding, CA, for refreshments and shared
memories. In lieu of flowers or other considerations, donations in Pat's name may be made to
Anderson VFW.
Condolences, or a Personal Message for consideration to post on his Memorial web page, may be
e-mailed via the online website at
www.DonnellyHouse.net/pkss.
Let Me Go (modified)
Miss Me — But Let Me Go.
When I come to the end of the road
And the sun has set for me,
I want no rites in a gloom-filled room.
Why cry for a soul set free.
Miss me a little — but not for long
And not with your head bowed low.
Remember the love that once we shared.
Miss me — but let me go.
For this is a journey we all must take
And each must go alone.
It's all part of the Master's plan,
A step on the road to Home.
When you are lonely and sick at heart,
Go to the friends we know
And bury your sorrows in doing good deeds.
Miss me — but let me go.
— [Victorian poet Christina Rossetti]
Psalm 23
The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou
art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head
with oil; my cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the
house of the Lord for ever.
— King James Version of the Holy Bible
Prayer for Peace
Lord, make me an instrument of your peace:
where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
where there is sadness, joy.
O divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek
to be consoled as to console,
to be understood as to understand,
to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive,
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.
— Prayer of St. Francis of Assisi
High Flight
Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
of sun-split clouds, — and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of — wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air ....
Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace.
Where never lark, or ever eagle, flew —
And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.
— John Gillespie Magee, Jr.
Stop All The Clocks —— Funeral Blues
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone.
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling in the sky the message He is Dead,
Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever, I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun.
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
— W. H. Auden
Death Is Nothing At All
Death is nothing at all.
It does not count.
I have only slipped away into the next room.
Nothing has happened.
Everything remains exactly as it was.
I am I, and you are you,
and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged.
Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.
Call me by the old familiar name.
Speak of me in the easy way which you always used.
Put no difference into your tone.
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.
Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word that it always was.
Let it be spoken without an effort, without the ghost of a shadow upon it.
Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same as it ever was.
There is absolute and unbroken continuity.
What is this death but a negligible accident?
Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?
I am but waiting for you, for an interval,
somewhere very near,
just round the corner.
All is well.
Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost.
One brief moment and all will be as it was before.
How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again!
— Henry Scott-Holland
Personal Memories, Remembrances, and Condolences
Bill Donnelly
16 Aug 2024
I'll try to keep this Short and Sweet, but I have trouble with that, so 'sorry' about that in
advance... It is what it is.
I've known Pat for about a few decades now. And I've always thought of him as 'Just Pat' —
my sister's boyfriend, and then her husband, and my brother-in-law. We had become closer these
last several years, and I didn't think of it until he passed, and I started writing his obituary
and creating this memorial page. And then it hit me that he wasn't Just Pat.
He was my friend.
I don't bandy about the words Friend and Friendship like most people do. I've always been able to
count my true friends on less than two hands, and most of those were my brothers and sister. And
I don't freak out too much when people close to me die. Prior to this, my Dad, and Mom, and
Brother. But this friend-realization with Pat caused his passing to hit me harder than I
expected. A guy-thing, we never verbalized our relationship, but I'm pretty sure he felt the
same way or thereabouts, now that I think about it.
When writing obituaries and memorials and such, there is always the 'rule' of "Never Speak Ill
Of The Dead", which is a good rule. Pat was one of the too-rare people who you don't have to
worry about that, though. He was human, and so had the foibles, and frailties, and traits, and
characteristics we all do when we aren't being our best selves. But I didn't have to be careful,
or not mention this, or that, or skew, or slant, or distort, or misrepresent, or tell White Lies
about Pat.
Pretty much everyone he knew, and he knew many, many people — we would rarely go anywhere
around town without him meeting or seeing someone he knew — they would almost to a one say
things like — "Pat's a nice guy"; "Pat's a good guy"; "Pat's a great guy"; "Pat's a
friendly guy"; "Pat's a good man"; — and other similar comments. Because they were true.
In that sense, Pat was a good Role Model, and we could all do better to act more like he acted
throughout his life.
I'm a better person for having known Pat, and a better man.
(when I went to our local Starbuck's a couple of weeks after Pat passed, one of the servers
there who knew Pat as a customer, and would often see me with him, and with whom he would always
do his usual friendly banter with and such, asked about him, because she hadn't seen him in a
while. I informed her that Pat had passed away, and she started crying. That was the effect Pat
had on people.)
Pat had a good sense of humor, and we enjoyed making each other laugh, and messing with each
other. He loved sports, and watched them on TV every chance he got. I'm not so big on sports,
but I do enjoy occasionally watching golf, which was probably Pat's favorite. And then he was a
strong supporter of California teams, his beloved San Francisco 49's football, San Francisco
Giants baseball, and Sacramento Kings basketball. I would sit and watch those with him on
occasion, in retrospect, in part so he wasn't alone and had some company. And I know most of the
rules and such, but would ask him to clarify this and that, which he could always do. And while
doing so, sometimes I would mess with him.
"So, the 49's are wearing Maroon and Gold, right?"
"Yeah."
"Go 49's!"
"Go 49's!"
Pregnant pause.
"But you know, the other team's costumes have pretty colors."
At which he would roll his eyes, or scowl, or frown, or shake his head, often in mock
exasperation – sometimes smile, because he knew what I was doing – and I would break
out in a big shit-eating grin. We passed a lot of time that way. Which I will always remember
fondly.
.....
Condolences to everyone, and #RIP Pat. You will be missed and fondly remembered by many, my friend.
E-mail contact:
whd1802
Donnelly-House.net
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