Virginia S. “Ma” (Sick) Weed

Greece: May 22, 2026. Ma is predeceased by her parents, Gerald & Virginia Sick; husband & best friend, Robert Weed. She is survived by her children, Mary L. “Maribeth” (Gregory Cleveland) Weed, Christopher Weed, & Patrick Weed; grandchildren, Siobhan Pollock, Gabrielle (Amber) Maisonet, Jasmine (Cat Pendleton) Weed, Jenna Weed, Angelina (Brandon) Schrader, Elijah Weed; great-grandchildren, Ayden (Tori Thompson) Lemboris, Greyson Pollock, Bennett Maisonet, Parker Maisonet; many cousins & dear friends.

Ma’s life story will be shared during her visitation at the funeral home, 1411 Vintage Lane (Between 390 & Long Pond Rd.), Sunday, May 31st, 1-4 PM. Her funeral service will be celebrated, Monday, June 1st, 10 AM at the funeral home. Immediately following, she will be laid to rest alongside her husband in White Haven Memorial Park. In lieu of flowers, donations may be sent to, St. Joseph’s Indian School, 1301 N. Main St., Chamberlain, SD 57325 in her memory.

Remembering Virginia “Ginny” “Ma” ~

Virginia “Ginny” S. Weed – known simply as “Ma” to so many who loved her – spent a lifetime quietly becoming the center of countless worlds, though she probably never fully realized just how much space she occupied in the hearts of everyone around her.

Ma was beautiful in every sense of the word: physically, emotionally, spiritually. Yet despite what everyone else could see so clearly, she never quite believed it herself. What she could never deny, however, was her strength. Anyone who knew Ginny knew there was very little life could throw at her that she would not somehow endure, survive, and carry – usually while worrying more about everyone else than herself.

Born and raised in Rochester, Ma grew up as an only child, though not by choice. Before she was born, her parents experienced the heartbreaking loss of a baby girl at birth, a tragedy that shaped the family that followed. Because of this, Ginny grew up surrounded by the fierce love and devotion of two parents who absolutely adored her, and whom she adored just as deeply in return. Although Rochester was home, many of her happiest memories were made in Hammondsport, where much of her extended family lived. She loved her cousins, aunts, uncles, and the chaos and comfort that family brought. Whether in Rochester or Hammondsport, one thing was always true: she could make a room feel warmer simply by walking into it.

Long before she became “Ma,” she was the funny girl – the one biking all over Rochester with friends, swimming at Genesee Valley Park, and somehow finding adventure wherever she went. She attended School #16 before graduating from West High School in 1960, though not without occasionally testing the rules. Family members still laugh remembering the story of tenth-grade Ginny and her friend Joanne walking all the way to school only to decide they simply did not feel like attending that day. Instead, they boarded a city bus downtown, forged permission slips, got caught, and created one of the many stories she would tell for years afterward.

Her sense of humor was one of her greatest gifts. She could make people laugh effortlessly, sometimes with stories she had told a hundred times before, because somehow, they were always funny again when Ma told them.

Her path eventually led her to Rochester Business Institute, where she met the man who would become her husband. They began as friends before becoming something much deeper. Their marriage was not perfect – few marriages are – but they were undeniably perfect for each other. Those who knew them understood quickly that they functioned almost as one person. Years later, while caring for him full-time near the end of his life, Ginny would often say, “Any night I get to go to bed with your father is a good night.” It was one of those simple statements that revealed everything about the depth of her love.

Family quickly became not simply part of Ginny’s life, but the purpose of it.

When her mother died suddenly at just fifty-seven while babysitting her grandchildren, Ginny’s world shifted beneath her feet. Soon after, her father began developing what was then called dementia. Faced with impossible choices, Ginny did what she always did: she quietly did what needed to be done. She sold two homes, uprooted her family, moved everyone into the house on Mascot Drive, and devoted herself to caring for her father. She never failed to mention how much she disliked the décor of that house – a story she repeated often enough that everyone knew it by heart – but she moved anyway because that was what love required. Her father did not live long afterward, but because of her, he spent his remaining time surrounded by dignity, safety, and care.

The life Ginny and her husband built was not filled with extravagant vacations or elaborate adventures. In fact, family vacations were often met with her husband pointing toward the backyard pool and declaring, “There’s your vacation.” Perhaps Ginny would have liked to travel more and see the world, but what mattered most to her was being together. Home was where her people were.

And what a home she created.

Christmases became magical. Holidays became traditions. Ordinary days became memories without anyone realizing it at the time. Although their family circle was not enormous, the love inside it was. Her husband often joked that Ginny was trying to raise only three children, but the truth is she spent her entire life mothering far more people than that.

Because Ma never stopped being Ma.

Her children, grandchildren, and eventually great-grandchildren knew her as the person who answered the phone first, worried constantly, calmed fears, offered advice, and somehow always made people feel safer simply by being there. She never turned her back on her family – not once.

Life tested Ginny repeatedly, and somehow, she continued showing up for everyone else anyway. She faced cancer twice. She survived the loss of her beloved husband in 2018, the person many of us believed was simply the other half of her. And then came the quieter losses, the ones that accumulated over time.

Her friendships were lifelong and woven throughout every chapter of her life. Some friendships began in grade school, some were formed through neighborhoods, and others simply arrived through the twists and turns of life and stayed. Joanne, Cindy, Millie, Dennis, Marianne, Loretta, Patty, Jane—these were not casual friendships; these were decades of shared histories, inside jokes, phone calls, celebrations, grief, and showing up for one another. In recent years, losing Cindy and Jane seemed especially difficult for her. After losing our dad, those losses felt like pieces of her world slowly disappearing around her.

And yet, even during the hardest seasons of her own life – through illness, grief, loss, and heartbreak – Ginny somehow remained more concerned about comforting everyone else than she ever was about herself.

One of the proudest decisions of her life came in 1986 when she became a friend of Bill W.’s. At the time, there was only one grandchild, and Ginny wanted desperately to be present long enough to watch her grow. That decision changed not only her life, but the lives of everyone who loved her. Because of that decision, she was blessed with seeing her family grow into five granddaughters, one grandson, and great-grandchildren she adored beyond words.

Ginny loved animals with the same loyalty she gave people. She spent decades talking about her childhood dog, Tippy. Later came Baby, the puppy brought home when her children were young, and eventually Frank the cat, who quickly became her companion, comfort, and shadow.

She worked many jobs throughout her life – secretary at Eastman Kodak, reading to a blind man, survey work, convenience stores, cleaning homes – but none of these were the work that defined her. Her true profession was caring for people.

She loved country music, reading, swimming, and somehow – even to the surprise of everyone who knew her – became an enthusiastic Buffalo Bills fan after her husband died, developing a particular affection for Josh Allen despite showing almost no interest in football throughout her entire marriage. She loved watching The Incredible Dr. Pol, Call the Midwife, Rachel Maddow every Monday night, and whatever Marvel movie Christopher convinced her to sit through.

She was also a very gifted artist, though she never seemed to believe she had much talent at all. One of her favorite hobbies was doodling — filling pages with the little drawings, sketches, and creations that came so naturally to her, even if she never fully appreciated how talented she truly was.

Even last summer, she was still climbing into the same backyard pool that had been part of the family for more than fifty years.

She remained stubborn until the end.

She remained fiercely loyal until the end.

And perhaps most importantly, she remained worried about her children until the very end.

Because growing up without siblings meant she never fully understood that brothers and sisters could argue endlessly and still love each other deeply. She worried about that often. But before the end, Maribeth, Christopher, and Patrick each reassured her of the truth: no matter what happened, they would always love one another and remain united by their love for family.

Earlier this year, she quietly carried more than she let anyone know. When double pneumonia led to hospitalization and eventually rehabilitation, everyone believed she would once again do what Ginny always did: survive. She passed therapy. She walked laps. She made progress. By Friday, everyone believed she would be coming home. But this time, after a lifetime of fighting through everything life had placed before her, her body had simply grown tired.

Virginia “Ginny” S. Weed – our Ma – was beautiful, strong, funny, stubborn, loyal, and endlessly devoted. She was the center of her family in ways that perhaps only become fully visible when that center is suddenly gone.

Her family will never be the same.

And perhaps that is the clearest evidence possible of a life lived exactly the way she lived hers: loving fiercely, giving endlessly, and leaving behind people who cannot imagine a world without her in it.