BOMBER MEMORIAL

KATHLEEN MARIE "KATHI"/"MEMO" WHITING MADSEN ~ Class of 1965
March 7, 1947 - February 10, 2026



Kathleen Marie Whiting Madsen, 78, of Richland, Washington, passed away peacefully on February 10, 2026, just two weeks after being diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.

Kathleen was born March 7, 1947, in Spokane, Washington, to Lloyd and Lillian Whiting. She was the youngest of four children and essentially raised as an only child due to the age differences with her siblings.

The family moved to the Tri-Cities when she was very young, and she graduated from Richland's Columbia High School (now Richland High School) in 1965.

On February 11, 1967, she married William "Kent" Madsen ('65) in Richland. They were later sealed in the Salt Lake City Temple in 1976 where they were sealed for time in all eternity with their precious daughter, Aimee.

Together they raised four children: Angela Marie, William "Jason", Sara Ann, and Paul Cannon. Kathleen suffered the heartbreaking stillbirth of their first child, Aimee.

Kathleen was a devoted homemaker and a talented dental assistant for many years, working in Seattle, Salt Lake City and Spokane, retiring from Inland Imaging in Spokane.

Despite chronic migraines and other health challenges, she served faithfully in her ward and stake, including as Primary president, in Relief Society presidencies, and as an exceptional organizer of ward events and activities.

Kathleen was a master crafter, an enthusiastic online shopper, and famous for buying anything she liked in multiple colors. She was fiercely protective of her privacy and avoided cameras, yet radiated love, kindness, and quiet strength to everyone around her.

Kathleen is survived by her husband of 59 years, Kent Madsen ('65); her children: Angela, Jason, Sara and Paul: 14 grandchildren and 3 great grandsons with another on the way.

She was preceded in death by her daughter, Aimee; her parents; sister, Dolly; brothers, Raymond Duane "Bud" ('50), and Gary ('55).

A celebration of life was held at 2 PM on Saturday, February 14, 2026 at Sunset Gardens Event Center.


Written by her son, Jason:

Today I would like to share some reflections on the life of my mother, Kathleen Marie Whiting Madsen, a woman whose life was defined by quite endurance, deep love for her family, thoughtful acts of service, and many wonderfully human qualities that made her so distinctly herself.

Mom, also lovingly known as "Memo", was born on March 7, 1947, in Spokane, Washington to Lloyd and Lillian Whiting.

She was the youngest of four children. Her sister, Dolly, was 18 years older; her brother, Raymond Duane, lovingly known as "Bud", was 16 years older; and her brother, Gary, was ten years older. Because mom's siblings were so much older, she often said she felt like she grew up almost as an only child.

In one of our conversations, she reflected on that time with a kind of quiet honesty and said, "I remember feeling kind of lonely sometimes." It was not something she described with bitterness or sadness, just a simple statement of what life felt like for her as a young girl.

Yet that small comment offers a tinder glimpse into her inner world and helps us understand something about the gentle, reserved, and deeply private person she would later become.

Mom would sometimes say she didn't have a particularly strong memory of her childhood. In fact, she once said very plainly, "I have such a terrible memory; I just don't have a good memory." Yet certain moments stood out vividly.

One of those memories involved traveling across numerous states with her father. She recalled stopping at state capitol buildings and remembered her father climbing all the way to the top of the domes, an image that clearly made an impression.

She also remembered trips through different states and national parks, small fragments of childhood that somehow remained when many other details faded.

Her family moved to the Tri-Cities when she was very young, first briefly to Kennewick and then to Richland where her father worked at Hanford as a firefighter. Her parents were members of the Reorganized Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, and her father served for many years as both a preacher and patriarch.

Mom once shared that growing up as the daughter of a preacher was not easy. She said it often felt as though she lived in a bubble, that everything she felt, noticed, and observed were under magnification. There was a constant sense of needing to be careful and proper, something that perhaps influenced her naturally private and reserved nature.

Mom attended school in Richland, beginning at Spalding Elementary, continuing through Carmichael Junior High, and graduating from Columbia High School (now known as Richland High School) in 1965.

She was known as a dedicated and capable student, thoughtful and hardworking in her studies. At one point, she even considered becoming a pediatrician, a path that would have perfectly suited her gentle nature, patience, and deeply caring disposition which were all qualities that so beautifully defined her throughout her life.

It was during high school that she met our father, Kent. Their early connection was simple with shared classes and brief conversations, nothing dramatic at the time. But after graduation, life quietly brought them back into each other's paths.

When I asked my dad what first attracted him to mom, his answer was wonderfully sincere. He said, "She was cute. She had a great smile. And she had a good personality." What dad did not fully explain, however, is that mom possessed a highly refined and remarkably effective ability to capture his attention; a skill she executed with what can only be described as expert precision. That simple description by dad captures something very real about her.

After high school, both eventually found themselves in Seattle.

Mom initially pursued transcription work at Virginia Mason Hospital but quickly realized it wasn't the right fit. In a decision that would become a meaningful thread throughout her life, she shifted into dentistry, accepting a position as a dental assistant with no prior experience and learning entirely on the job.

As a young couple, mom's and dad's relationship deepened during those Seattle years. On February 11, 1967, they were married by her father, Lloyd.

Like many young couples of that era, they began life together modestly but with optimism and determination. Those early years included hard work, small apartments, and simple joys. One particularly memorable and somewhat humorous thread of their early marriage was their enthusiasm for purchasing cars. For a young couple just starting out, they went through what can only be described as a surprising number of vehicles. Apparently, new cars were simply "part of the adventure."

In March of 1970, they moved to Salt Lake City. It was there that mom joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. True to her honest and straightforward nature, she later described her testimony very simply. "I didn't really have a testimony in the beginning. That just came after." That statement perfectly reflects who she was ... honest, thoughtful, and deeply sincere in her faith.

One of the defining sorrows of mom's life came with the loss of her first child, Aimee. After two months of bed rest, labor began, but something felt terribly wrong. Mom later described that moment in her own words, "I remember telling them, 'This is not a labor pain. Something is wrong.' I knew that pain. It was sharp, different, not a contraction." Even in the midst of fear and heartbreak, her memory of Aimee was filled only with love. "She was perfect. She was beautiful."

That tragedy became a turning point. When mom later became pregnant with Angela and felt the same unmistakable pain, she recognized it immediately. "I'm having the same pain," she said. Doctors acted without delay, performing an emergency C-Section, the first of many. From that point forward, each of mom's children would be delivered the same way. What began in sorrow became a profound and unexpected blessing. Mom would later reflect with quiet certainty, "Most young mothers wouldn't know the difference, but I knew. There was no way that was a normal labor pain." Even in loss, mom's intuition became a source of protection, a reminder that life's deepest sorrows can sometimes shape its greatest blessings.

One of the most sacred milestones in my parents' lives came on April 5, 1976, when mom and dad were sealed in the Salt Lake City Temple. For my mother, this experience was deeply personal and profoundly healing. After the devastating loss of our sister, Aimee, questions about eternity and family were not distant theological ideas, they were deeply felt realities. The doctrine of eternal families carried immense meaning for her, and the temple sealing brought a sense of peace that was both quiet and deeply reassuring. Reflecting back on that time, she once said with simple clarity that it was "exactly what I needed." That statement reveals something tender and important about her faith. The temple did not erase the pain of loss, but it anchored her hope in the promise that families are bound not only for this life, but for eternity.

From 1976 until 2002, Spokane became home. These were the years when mom and dad raised all four of us children. When I think of this era, we all think of memories filled with friends, laughter, and the simple joys of family life. Mom spent a heroic portion of her life driving us everywhere. Piano lessons (where effort bravely competed with a noticeable lack of prodigy), soccer practices, and gymnastics, to name only a few. She lived in carpools, parking lots, and on the sidelines. She was always there, always patient, always supportive. The kitchen operated under mom's wonderfully permissive philosophy of full freedom backed by total abundance. She didn't so much cook as insure the entire operation was permanently stocked. Cupboards full, Fridge full. Freezer full. No child of hers would ever risk the slightest inconvenience of hunger. Mid-afternoon "snacks" therefore became self-managed productions with stove-fried chicken patties, oven baked tater tots, macaroni and cheese, ranch dressing with carrot sticks which were all created by children with great confidence and highly unpredictable results. The inevitable messes were simply part of the ecosystem. Mom seemed to understand that the real goal wasn't a clean kitchen, but kids who felt cared for and completely at home.

Dad, importantly, was not present for many of mom's "shopping" adventures, a circumstance that likely protected both his nerves, but certainly not his wallet. Mom would take us downtown to Spokane, roaming the Skywalk Mall where Nordstrom, The Bon Marché, and The Cresent formed our personal playground. The circular clothing racks were, to us, expertly designed hiding spots. To mom, they were panic-generating vortexes where children disappeared without warning. What we only appreciate now is how much effort and energy all of this required. The driving, the patience, the constant motion, the stress we undoubtedly created ... it's easy to imagine that the physical burdens mom later carried were, at least in part, earned in the very ordinary but very demanding work of raising us. And somehow, she made it all feel effortless, warm, and full of love.

Mom served faithfully in many church callings during those years: Relief Society, Young Women, Primary, and even Cub Scouts, often helping organize activities and quietly ensuring things ran smoothly. Her contributions were steady, generous, and deeply meaningful.

One of our dear family friends, Tamara, shared a memory that made us all smile. She said she will always remember mom in her Cub Scout uniform, adding that any Cub Scout leader is surely going straight to heaven. Anyone who knew mom would probably agree. In one small but telling example of her discipline, she discovered that chocolate triggered severe migraines. From that point forward, she simply stopped eating chocolate altogether. For most human beings, this would represent an unsustainable life strategy! Despite her challenges, she endured.

My father shared something deeply important about their marriage. He said, "Mom was always supportive and never complained" as he worked tirelessly to provide for the family. His career required frequent travel and extended business trips. While he remained fully devoted to his family, the practical reality was that mom often carried the daily responsibilities of home life. Not alone but perhaps more alone than most people would have been.

In 2002, my parents moved back to the Tri-Cities. In many ways, this chapter carried quiet purpose. My grandmother would spend nine years in a care facility battling the effects of a devastating stroke. Despite mom's own physical limitations, she was able to help dad through this long season of caregiving. She also devoted tireless effort to helping care for my father's sister, faithfully driving her to medical appointments and providing consistent support. These acts were deeply compassionate and characteristic of her thoughtful nature.

Mom's personality remained wonderfully consistent in these later years. Their home was beautiful, inviting, and always immaculately clean, though, as our family affectionately knows, perhaps a bit cluttered. Mom saved many things. Often multiples. Items were carefully labeled. Sticky notes appeared everywhere. If something might be useful someday, it had a place. Dad sometimes viewed this with mild exasperation. Mom viewed it with absolute logic. Crafting supplies, ribbons, pens, containers, and carefully saved items filled the home. Many things were intended for future projects, projects she fully planned to get to.

Mom took quiet but very deliberate pride in how she presented herself. Even while dealing with constant discomfort and health challenges, she genuinely liked to look nice and feel put together whenever she went out. She enjoyed choosing outfits, often in multiple colors, of course, along with jewelry and the small details that made her feel her best.

And one thing we all knew about mom, she always wanted to smell beautiful. Perfume was never just an afterthought. She took real care in selecting fragrances she loved, wanting to feel fresh, polished, and ready to face the world. It was one of those small but telling expressions of her personality, a reflection of grace, self-respect, and the desire to feel good even when her body often made things difficult.

Mom was modest, reserved, deeply private; very much a product of her generation. Certain topics were simply not discussed openly in our home. Meanwhile, her children grew up to be remarkable candid and unfiltered. That contrast because one of those quietly humorous family dynamics.

Though naturally quiet, mom had a deeply tender and unmistakable way of expressing love. She wrote beautiful handwritten cards. She left Post-it-notes decorated with hearts, often many hearts. In later years, she would send heartfelt messages filled with hearts and decorative warmth, expressing how much she missed and loved her family.

Dentistry remained a steady and meaningful presence throughout mom's life. During our Spokane years, her work as a dental assistant left a lasting imprint on our family and, without any grand declarations, helped shape my own journey into the profession. It became one of those subtle but powerful threads connecting us. Anyone who knew mom also knew how seriously she took the principles she lived by. Mom practiced what could only be desrcibed as legendary dental hygiene. Despite suffering from severe dry mouth, a condition that often leads many patients to lose their teeth, she maintained every single one of her natural teeth until the day she died. In my professional opinion, nothing short of miraculous! This was entirely consistent with her meticulous nature.

Like many couples, mom and dad shared countless simple pleasures. Sunday nights always meant popcorn! Ice cream was also always welcome. Both loved Cheetos. They even enjoyed driving to Hermiston for their favorite Chinese food, meals that may not have impressed culinary critics but were thoroughly loved by them.

During their years in the Tri-Cities, one of the traditions mom and dad continued whenever possible was making the long drive to California to visit children and grandchildren. These trips were never simple or effortless. They required planning, patience, frequent stops, and careful consideration for mom's health and comfort. Yet they were always undertaken with love. Birthdays, holidays, and family gatherings meant a great deal to her, and whenever she felt well enough, she wanted to be there. There were also many occasions she simply could not make the trip, and she was deeply missed at those events. I know those absences were not easy for her. But they reflected something that defined much of her life, a quiet determination to stay connected to those she loved even when her physical body imposed limits that her heart never did.

In recent weeks, mom's health began to decline. What initially seemed like a minor illness ultimately revealed the devastating diagnosis of pancreatic cancer. What followed was a very painful and difficult chapter. And yet, perspective matters.

The restored gospel of Jesus Christ teaches that mortality is not the end of our story. Because of Jesus Christ, suffering is temporary. Because of the Resurrection, all physical limitations will be healed. Because of eternal families, separation is not permanent. For my mother, whose mortal life required such endurance, those doctrines carry profound beauty. All that was difficult was healed. All that was incomplete will be restored. All that was endured will be worth it. Because of Jesus Christ, her story is not over. Because of eternal families, separation is temporary.

I am deeply grateful for my mother's life, for her love, her sacrifices, her humor, her service, and her unmistakable ways of showing affection. And I am profoundly grateful for the Savior whose Atonement and Resurrection make reunion possible.

Bomber Memorial put together by Shirley COLLINGS Haskins ('66).